Bruised Ribs and Ego
March 31, 2004

A few weeks ago, I was playing racquetball with a couple of Marine officers at the gym just down from my office. We were going at it tooth and nail! Testosterone was pegging the meter. It was beautiful!

Unfortunately, yours truly made a tactical error toward the end of the final game. Believing I was still fleet of foot — as I like to think I used to be — I dove for a low return shot off the front wall. What followed next is the conversation that took place in my head as my feet left the floor and I assumed the position of a horizontal disaster in the making.

"You can't make this shot," said a little voice.

"Yes I can!" was my instant reply.

"You're going to regret this!"

"Nonsense," I said with less conviction.

"Look! Your hand that is holding the racquet has just hit the floor. Your ribs are going to land right on top of your hand, with those bony knuckles of yours just waiting to inflict pain on your body."

"I'm tough," I said as my eyes registered what was about to happen.

Bam! I landed right on the hand that was elevated because of the handle of the racquet. Pain!

"Told you so!" said my little voice.

My playing partners asked if I was okay when I didn't bounce right back up. "I'm fine!" I lied. However, the stricken look on my face said otherwise. Being of the male gender, I sucked it up and finished the game. Mercifully, we only had two more points to play.

I then began a two-week process of recovering from severely bruised ribs. It's amazing the way the Lord has made us, because your ribs are connected to every other moving part of your body — or so it seems. Breathing becomes a real chore. I was panting and wheezing doing the simplest things, like picking up my backpack, or bending over to get something out of the fridge, or stepping off the curb. Sneezing is enough to make you apoplectic!

Any reasonable person would give the body a reasonable amount of time to heal. I had planned to play golf the next day at the Marine Memorial Golf Course on Camp Pendleton. When I woke the next morning, my body sent a clear message: "Don't even think about it." So I didn't play that day. But, I'm certain that if I'd had a tee time and someone to play with, I would have played. Nevertheless, I did play racquetball the next week, finding myself on the losing end of every game. Not wanting to use my ribs as an excuse, I said nothing to my fellow racquetballers.

Early that same week, I received a golf invitation from a chaplain friend. Could I join him and a couple of his friends for a round at the end of the week? Yes! Of course, I replied. The little voice informed me that this was going to be an ugly outing. I should have listened.

Considering the mechanics of the golf swing, you quickly realize that every part of your body is twisting, rotating and flying in a myriad directions.

"Why did you agree to play?" said my little voice.

"Because I'll be fine by then."

"Wrong answer!" said the little voice.

I even went home over the next weekend, with the opportunity to preach to my congregation. Did I say, "Sorry, but my ribs are injured. Have someone else preach"? No. I didn't.

Did I ever stop playing racquetball and golf long enough to give my ribs time to heal? No. I didn't.

So, what did I prove through all of this? Plenty! I proved that my ego is still very much alive and well, though somewhat bruised. In addition, I proved that my pride is intact. And I proved that I'm still fighting the reality that I'm no longer twenty. I also proved that the Lord has much more work to do in conforming me into His image.

One look from my wife says it all: He'll never learn!