Last year Jen Fulwiler asked a groups of bloggers to reflect on the “Our Father” prayer one phrase at a time (I had “Art” and “As It Is”).
“My third grade basketball team had just one superstar, and his name was Deon.
The rest of us were a goofy mix of driveway legends and playground wanna-be’s, but Deon was the real deal. He had a Herculean 4’9” frame and skills honed on the notoriously rough courts of suburban Orlando.
With Deon at the helm, our whole season was a breeze. He led us in scoring each game as we collected win after win, sailing smoothly into the playoffs.
There things got a little more challenging. The first playoff game came down to the wire, yet Deon’s late-game heroics produced a win. The next game was even tighter. But once again, channeling his inner Jordan, Deon willed us to victory.
But the third game was different. It was about five minutes before tipoff, and the whole team stood in a huddle. Everyone was quiet—even the coach. We exchanged nervous glances as we all noticed the same thing.
Deon wasn’t there.“