Page 70 of A Surefire Love
Gasps sounded around the room. These kids would’ve been toddlers at the time.
“Everyone was hurt, some worse than others. My shoulder was dislocated and I was banged up, but the hardest part for me was the spiritual and emotional aspect. I still miss Coach Voss.”
But Coach was gone, and these kids needed to hear the end of Anson’s story. “At Coach’s funeral, people kept talking about how well he lived his life. Former players and guys who’d been in his Bible study shared about how he helped them when they were headed down a bad path. That’s when I realized I didn’t want my life to be about basketball. I felt very strongly that God was calling me to pick up Coach’s legacy and run with it. The athletic accomplishments I’d been chasing wouldn’t last. Only a relationship with God does. I backed out of the scholarship and went to seminary instead.”
He skimmed the last couple of words he’d scribbled down and abandoned the paper on the lectern. “These days, I work here, and I’m a basketball coach at the high school. I still don’t get everything right. Just like Coach used to, God corrects me—usually through His Word or His people—and sends me back out to try again. Now, it’smyhonor to invite other people onto the team.
“But that metaphor can go too far. God cares about youbeyond simply wanting to make you better. He wants you to be part of His family. When you’re in a scary or sad situation, you don’t have to fix everything yourself. You can trust Him. He’s a coach and a friend and a savior.” Anson paused and surveyed his audience.
Tate, the most hyperactive of the bunch, bounced his leg, but even he watched Anson. Meanwhile, Blaze smiled.
“Does anyone have questions about my story?”
Hadley blurted out hers before he could call on her. “What was the fight about? The one with your teammate?”
“How to do a drill.”
“Did you see your coach die?”
“No, I didn’t.” He pointed to another student, hoping he’d pipe up before Hadley reloaded.
The boy asked about the accident too, as did the two students afterward. He’d captured their attention, but perhaps he’d failed to point it toward the Lord.
Testimonies could be powerful, but this might not have been the time or the place for his.
Blaze could listento Anson field the students’ questions all night.
For years, he seemed too uptight to relate to anyone, let alone a child. Yet his talk had been inspiring. His commitment to building a heavenly legacy, one that involved these kids he had no familial connection to, made her breath catch.
She saw his dedication in action as he worked through their blunt questions about his hard experiences. He answered without chastisement.
“What does it mean to be part of God’s family?” Jasper asked.
Anson’s shoulders lowered a fraction. “I’m glad you asked that.” He went on to answer with empathy and grace. And a Bible verse.
How in the world could she take that hot seat in two weeks?
Maybe Anson would help with the Q&A following her testimony. Or maybe that part could be optional.
“Okay.” Anson’s voice broke through her thoughts. “We’re going to break into small groups. Girls, you’re up front with Blaze. Guys, let’s circle up in back.”
And just like that, five middle schoolers pulled their chairs closer, as if she could teach them something. Blaze glanced down at the discussion questions Anson had given her and read the first one. “Anson talked about thinking of God like a coach. How do you think of God?”
Painful silence stretched.
Hadley chewed the corner of her mouth as she eyed the other girls. Mercy picked at her nails. The remaining three looked anywhere but at Blaze.
As a distant authority figureprobably wasn’t the kind of answer she ought to share with the kids. The Lord was more to her than that, but when Anson talked about God being more than a coach waiting for her to do better, she’d needed the reminder.
You don’t go alone. You don’t have to make situations better for yourself. You can trust Him.
Promises like those had drawn her to Christ in the first place. She’d been overwhelmed by her failures and the sense of doom that she’d end up like her mother. She’dneeded a loving savior like the one Pastor Greg—and now Anson—described.
Blaze steeled her nerves, ready to muddle through an answer about being grateful for God as her savior, when Mercy spoke up. “Sometimes the Bible calls Him Father, doesn’t it? I like that one.”
“Father is a good one.” Praying it wouldn’t backfire, she risked another question. “In what ways is God like a father?”
She hadn’t meant to put Mercy on the spot, but before she mentioned that anyone could answer, her sister piped up again. “Once, I was playing outside with a friend, and she said that if anything bad happened to her, her father would come rescue her. I didn’t believe her, because we were all the way in my yard, not at her house, but she was like, ‘I’ll prove it.’ And she screamed so loud.” Mercy held a hand near her ear. “Then her dad walked out into her backyard looking for her. She waved at him and said she was fine, and he went back to whatever. And I was, like, kind of jealous, but that’s the kind of dad God is, I think. He’s always watching, and He’ll take care of me.”
