Just do it

Remember when that was the slogan? I remember Michael Jordan jumping and dunking. I remember wanting a pair of Nike Jordan's worse than anything in the world. I was in the 4th grade. I asked my mom if I could get a pair of Jordan's if I got straight A's. I got a 'yes' on this request. Which I thought, boom, it's in the bag. I was a good student, I worked hard, plus I had some natural smarts. In my mind I had just secured a pair of the coveted 'Air Jordan's' (how awesome are they!).

This was the first time in my education that my lack of natural ability in the area of English (Read, Writing) showed up. I struggled with my writing and reading was now dull and painful. I was naturally good at Science, Math, and Music, but English had now begun to give me issues. I can remember getting through the first half of the year with all A's. I was happy, but nervous. The second half turned out differently. I struggled with grammar and writing, I struggled badly. I couldn't just pay attention in class and get A's, I had to study. This did not come easy to me. I can remember laboring over my English books at night and hating every minute of it. I began to hate reading. This pattern of hate continued into my adult years.

I got my interim report card..... C+ in English. Back then your semester report card was on a heavy manilla stock paper that you used for the entire year. It was filled in by hand by your teacher. The interim report card was printed out on dot matrix paper. I can remember thinking I would destroy it and just tell my Mom that the printer wasn't working, so I didn't have a interim report card. I remember thinking about changing the grade  on the interim sheet. Then forging my teachers initials on the sheet to show that the computer got it wrong. If memory serves right I got really scared to do either and just gave it to my Mom. She immediately reminded me of our agreement, as if I had forgotten all about it.

I can remember that next 4.5 weeks pouring over my books. Doing everything I could to recover that grade before the end of the year. I worked harder than I had ever worked before. I can remember fore going video game play to study. This was serious. It began to click, at least some of it did. I still struggled but the extra intensity helped. I can remember another kid in my class had the Jordan's. His parents had just bought them for him because he wanted them. I guess living in upper-middle class America during the early 90's was pretty nice as a kid. Don't get me wrong, my parents took very good care of me. Remember these thoughts are coming from a 4th grader, so 'nothing is fair' and 'everyone is against you'. I worked and worked. I can remember seeing A's on papers again and being excited. I knew I was making up ground and closing the gap to secure my 'A'.

Finally the end of the school year came. I knew my manilla report card would be coming. I knew that I would be able to take it home and claim victory. They gave us our report cards a week before school was out. (Which I will add this proves that making up snow days in June is POINTLESS) I remember how excited I was to open that wrinkled, folded piece of paper. I opened it and started at the top. Skimming down to see A after A, then came English. A heavily written B+ stood in the column next to the word ENGLISH. It was written in a way that made me think it was an A-, but was then modified to be a B+. My school was on a 7 point (not 10 point as it is now), but 7 point grading scale. So a 93% was an A- and a 92% was a B+. I remember bolting from my chair to Mr. Gabbard's desk and asking if this was a mistake. That the originally written A- was correct and that this B+ was an intruder or an error of some sort. I can remember wanting to cry so bad and I tend to show that ALOT. I am assuming he saw this because he walked me outside of the room to talk to me. He told me that he had miscalculated my grade % and that it was caught when the teachers cross checked each other. He had calculated my grade to be a 92.5% which would round up to a 93% and be an A-. However when properly calculated by grade was actually a 92.4%, which was rounded down to be a B+. I understood math very, very well, so this explanation was enough for me. I returned to my desk, buried my head in my arms, and softly cried so others wouldn't hear me.

I remember leaving the report card at school for the next 4 days, until the last day of school. I had no choice but to take it home and show my mother. I can remember scheming on how to modify this B+, how to make it an A. I eventually resigned myself to the fact that this was going to happen and that the coveted Air Jordan's wouldn't be mine.

On the last day of school I took the card home, placed it on the kitchen table, and went to my room before my Mom could talk with me. I remember running up stairs (which is not easy for a fat kid) and crying face down on my bed, softly as to not let my Mom hear me. Eventually after I had calmed down I remember going down stairs to the family room and approaching my mom. The manilla report card sat on the end table next to our blue and white checkered couch. I sat down in the love seat at a 90 degree angle from my Mom. She eventually turned and picked up the report card. Opened it up and told me how proud she was of me. This, honestly, caught me off guard. I expected God Himself to be summoned by my Mother and fire to rain down from heaven and consume me (again 4th grader thought process). Instead she went on about the good job I did and how hard I worked. Again, I am in 4th grade, so sarcasm was not an option in my mind. I feared it was some sort of setup for the final blow of BUT YOU SCREWED UP ENGLISH!!! Finally she put the manilla report card down and went back to watching the show that was on TV. I was lost, had no idea if I was in another dimension or if this was real. I summed up the courage to ask about the B+. I am fairly sure tears were coming or my face was turning red at this point. She looked at me and again told me how proud she was that I brought the grade up and improved. I then moved the conversation to the agreement we had. This was very hard as I still didn't fully understand what was going on. She said, You put in your best and worked hard. You can get the shoes. I remember going from an unknown state of confusion to complete and utter Joy. I was so happy, I gave my Mom a hug and ran back up to my room to cry some more.

Now that I look back on that, I see the real heart of that story. My mother, even though her and I made a very specific agreement, showed me Grace. Our story with God is not much different. God created us, gave us a very specific agreement and we broke it. Since then Grace has been the theme of the human story. From Noah, to Moses, to Abraham, to Joshua, to Daniel, to David, to Jesus. With Jesus being the ultimate form of Love and Grace. My mother didn't want me to be a robot and execute her commands. She wanted me to grow and become a more educated person. She wanted me to grow up and be able to contribute to the society at large and have relationships with other people. She wanted me to learn the value of hard work. Much like my Mother, God wants us to get the heart of who He is. It's not about the rules and regulations. It about the condition of your heart. When you engage God, come with who you are. Let God shape you and the rules and regulations will come as an overflow of the Love and Joy He puts into you. Know that God wants a relationship with you and he wants to give you Grace. He wants to Love you and give you Joy. God is NOT a scary ogre who wants to crush you with his rules and power. He wants a relationship with you, He wants to show you Love. His Love is great, His Love is Jesus.