The coach calls my son off the bench to sub in. I overhear the plan to send him on to replace a midfielder, a position geared to assist with both offense and defense.
Joy spreads across my boy’s face and his back straightens. Despite being the top scorer on his recreational soccer team this past fall, since landing on the winter soccer team he’s only played defense.
A defensive player from our team gets knocked down. The game pauses and the coach walks over to help the player off the field. The teammate is fine but needs a break.
The coach tells my son to go in for the defensive player instead. My heart sinks along with my son’s chance to play offense today.
While I’m a big fan of defensive players, my son is less so. Most of us couldn’t name one outstanding center-back, but can recognize the names of the top strikers in the world of soccer.
After the game my son remarks, “Everyone else on the team got to play offense, except me.” He’s not wrong.
Our desire to be the best, or at least occupy an advantageous position, is strong. We don’t like to feel overlooked or limited in our options. Our culture encourages us to strive for greatness—to be the fastest, smartest, or most talented at something.
And whether it’s myself or my kids, reconciling this pull with the reality of being ordinary feels like whiplash.
Read my full article on Gospel-Centered Discipleship.