I’m not a huge sports fan, so when I go watch one of the kids’ teams play, I spend much of the time watching the spectators – the moms and dads, grandparents, aunts and uncles. There are no casual bystanders. No, they’re active observers. Focused entirely on the game. It’s not enough to scream at the top of their lungs and to clap and whistle. Oh, no. They sit on the edges of their seats, or jump up, and when the soccer ball approaches their child, the parent kicks. Hard. Falling out of the chair. When a tackle is imminent, the parents twist and contort to help keep their child out of reach. Watching them, you can see how badly they want to help. To see them succeed. To be the best and the fastest and the smartest.
I think our Heavenly Father does the same thing. God isn’t sitting up on His throne, quietly, calmly watching. No, He’s on the edge of His seat, jumping to His feet, eager and excited and encouraging. He wants us to do well so badly He can’t hold still. When we need to jump, He jumps. When we need to duck, He ducks. And when it’s apparent that we’re out of our league, that our opponents are stronger and faster and more skilled – then He does for us what we can’t do for our kids. He comes off the bench and rises up inside us. Then He runs, sprints, kicks, dodges – and scores. Within us. For us and through us. And then I realize I've been an avid spectator all along, one of His biggest fans, unbelievably proud to be on His team.