Bowling

I hate bowling. I would rather have a tooth extraction. An impacted tooth extracted. I really dislike this "sport". So now, with this confession, I have angered, alienated or intrigued you. It's a hard thing to dislike a common interest so much. Really does put you in some awkward social situations.

Last month, one such situation presented itself. Around the lunch table, one of my friends suggested that “bowling would be a fun group activity” for us to all engage in. I immediately began mentally flipping through my calendar to remember how long it had been since I’d had my last dental cleaning and check-up.

Inevitably, my friend drew me into the conversation. No way out. I tried to explain that bowling, for me, was similar to my attempts to play tennis – you are not actually playing if the racquet does not make contact with the ball – you are merely standing on the court flailing your arms about, holding a tennis racquet.

My friend then proceeded to encourage me – “We can put the bumpers up – it will be fine.” He didn’t realize who he was dealing with. As a recovering perfectionist, I may need to relinquish my “sobriety chip” as I admit this next bit – I said, (a bit strongly, and through clenched teeth) “I don’t want the bumpers up”.

I didn’t mention to anyone here that the last time I was taken to a bowling alley, I declined the offer and opted for plan b (when given the option by my date). We wound up on a train to Edinburgh, and had a lovely time, as I recall.

Crunch time came last week when an announcement for our bowling outing came from the front, before class began. A show of hands was asked for, to gain a proper head count. My hands remained safely in my lap.
A voice two rows behind me addressed the class, “This is for fun, and don’t worry about being good at it”.
I turned around, to see my friend looking directly at me, his hand raised, ready to be included in the head count. He continued, holding my gaze.
“You don’t have to be good, this is about relationship.”
Immediately, my seatmate, with her hand raised, turned to me and asked, “Aren’t you going?”
Defeated, I raised my hand. I simultatiously liked and disliked my two friends in that moment.

That night, I went to bed early. I had to get some space. What was going on? As I lay on my bed, I realized the thing about bowling was that it brought back all the (bad) childhood memories of anything having to do with sports. Being picked for teams last; my awkwardness with bat and ball; loathing physical education classes and organized sports; the humiliating moment when my PE teacher stopped the softball game to give me a one-on-one coaching session on making contact with the ball as I stepped up to the plate in front of all my classmates.

All of it came rushing back, and I realized that to go bowling was to willingly admit imperfection, to walk into a huge area of weakness. And woundedness.
On the other hand, I have outstanding teeth and dental records. My dentist has actually said to me that he was glad more people didn’t have teeth like mine, or he’d be out of a job. Dental check-ups were easy, pain-free. I was okay there, because I had good teeth. Athletics were a completely different story.

As I sat there, realizing buried childhood pain, I made another realization. The words of my friend were true – it wasn’t about being good. It was about relationship. My friends were not going to reject me because I bowled in the gutters. They loved me for who I am – and that was enough. It was wounded pride that was in the way here. While that sunk in, I realized the spiritual truth which paralleled my friend’s words.

It is the same with Christ. He wants relationship with me, I don’t have to be good – in fact, by definition, I cannot be good (Romans 3:23, “For all have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God”). I do not need to be perfect or otherwise cleaned up; I just have to show up. Christ accepts me as I am.

So, I went. I showed up. It took courage, and a lot of prayer. I bowled a 68. Not terrible. Actually, I was pretty happy with it. I bowled on the lane, and only once or twice did I “gutter it”. The best part was that I actually had fun, and I’d go back again.