The family went down to the Mission Centers of Houston this past weekend to serve by organizing the pantry, arranging food and drinks on shelves and taking a tour of the facility so we would know more about their mission.

After we finished, we headed over to the gym where we had an impromptu game of basketball. Somehow the teams ended up forming as adults verses the kids.

It had only been about 6 minutes into the game when Wes decided to throw the basketball to a small five year old near me.

It was sort of slow motion.

His throw was a little off, more towards me than the five year old.

I’m not normally competitive, but the adults were losing. Here was my chance to even out the game with a fantastic basketball interception.

I took one giant leap towards said five year old reaching with my tiny arm as far as it could stretch.

I must have lost my balance because the next time I blinked I was airborne just above the ground with this kid, both of our bodies fully extended, soaring over the gym floor.

I had steam-rolled a kindergartner.

When it was over, I stood up and looked at B.

He was perfectly still, just standing on the court, mouth open, gaping wide eyes. I couldn’t quite figure out why his face looked so traumatized.

“What?” I shrugged at him.

I’ve learned a few things since this moment. In no particular order:

Apparently, I will not let some young whippersnapper outshine me on the basketball court.

I was also not meant to play basketball.

Husbands are not helpful when you bulldoze little children.   

“Aaaaaaaahhhh” can successfully communicate, “There is no way I’m going down, not at the Mission Centers of Houston while I’m serving with my brand new Sunday School class who doesn’t really know me yet. I will conquer you and win this game, no matter if you were a toddler two years ago or not.” 

I was a successful teacher for 8 years and never took a kid down.

This time though, I clobbered a tyke. A little one.

If a robber ever enters our home, B needn’t worry. I would most definitely overthrow him with my “shoving, elbowing, propelling through midair, flatten you in a second” mid-life mentality.

I actually ransacked a cute, little munchkin at a church service project.

Well, they say confession is good for the soul. I hope I will eventually feel better about all of this.  

Until then, don’t put your kid on the court with me unless they’ve really come to play.  

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