"10 Says He Shorts It"

One of my favorite movies of all time is the 2001 remake of Ocean's 11. Get together a whole bunch of A-list actors and stick them in Vegas where they attempt to pull off the biggest heist of all time and you've got cinematic gold that leaves even the most straight laced movie viewer rooting for the bad guys. (Seriously, I would have been so bummed if they didn't pull off this robbery.) There's a scene in the movie where The Amazing Yen is supposed to make a maneuver that involves moving from one part of a room to the other without touching the ground or any of the motion detection sensors that would trigger an alarm, thus endangering their scheme. During a practice run, one of the characters says to another, "10 says he shorts it," indicating his doubt that the acrobat, as amazing as he is, will not successfully stick his landing.

I have a similar experience every time I am walking through a field and come across a big muddy puddle. I could go around it or avoid it altogether, but there's just something so appealing about it that all I want to do is try to jump OVER it. (I would like to meet the millionaire making bets that I will "short it.") Many a time I have missed my target (over a puddle and otherwise) and I've been left to clean up a mess of muddy socks, shoes, and sandals. But I think that the even bigger matter at hand here is the idea that someone, may be watching, waiting for me to make the wrong move.

I can't speak for everyone, but I know that in these moments when I'm on the receiving end of such judgment, I feel like everyone is watching, perhaps wondering what I'll look like covered in the mud of my failure. And then, if I do fail, I'm left wondering "What's wrong with me? I'm supposed to be strong, but now I'm not so strong...in fact, I'm proving myself to be quite weak." BUT over the past few days, I am hopeful that the so-called "fascination with abomination" has been reversed into a belief that "compassion is in fashion." I've been so moved these past few months by the outpouring of support for athletes such as Naomi Osaka and more recently, Simone Biles, who withdrew from athletic competition to take care of their mental health. Underneath this support has been an underlying current that says, "It's ok to not be okay." And if you look even farther, you can see it's good to admit that you tried to leap over that big puddle of mud...and today is not the day. Far from being a let down, you end up being a cause for lifting up.

When I reflect on these things, I want to look at them through the lens of my faith and what God would say about me, and 2 Corinthians 12:9-10 come up:

but he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for power is made perfect in weakness.” I will rather boast most gladly of my weaknesses, in order that the power of Christ may dwell with me. Therefore, I am content with weaknesses, insults, hardships, persecutions, and constraints, for the sake of Christ; for when I am weak, then I am strong.

Our culture lauds strength, beauty, and achievement, but we forget that there's value in weakness. Weakness teaches us about the great values of humility, community, and selflessness. We eventually learn how to live our lives not for ourselves but for others. So, Simone Biles withdrawing from Olympic competition didn't need to be a moment of national embarrassment but one of saying, "Hey, she's carrying a lot of weight on her shoulders. The last thing she needs is added pressure. Let's love her." It's these opportunities to love where we see Christ rush in, make up for everything we lack, and teach us how to love one another. There's nothing more worthy of a gold medal...or ten bucks.