I was a high school sophomore awaiting surgery to repair torn cartilage in my knee. In walked a young orderly with a razor to shave my leg. Before long, the blood began to flow. He was unskilled, and his razor was dull. Fortunately, the next day was different. The surgeon was skilled, and his scalpel was sharp.
 
Surgery is always painful, but its purpose is to heal. To be successful, the surgeon must be skilled. I once saw a documentary on a surgical technique to reduce an enlarged heart. The surgeon literally sliced off a quarter of the heart and sewed it back together, where upon it began beating again! Would you want a medical intern doing such a procedure? I think not.
 

As a member of the sports media, I hear quite a few stories about athletes who build their entire lives around their sport. They eat, sleep, breathe and live specifically to achieve their personal athletic goals. It consumes so much of their mind that they don’t focus on anything else.

But then something unexpected happens. It could be a variety of things: injury, illness, or whatever. Suddenly, they are stripped of the sport that had occupied so much of their time and energy. And when it’s gone, they’re left with nothing. Complete emptiness.

It is at this point that many athletes realize they need something more—something that can’t be found in trophies or medals, something that is eternal. And this is exactly where God wants them.

One day, the team was practicing when their coach had to leave for a minute. Once the coach was out of sight, the team started acting up and shooting half-court shots. Suddenly, out of nowhere they heard a voice say, ”I saw that.” One player made the comment, “Man, Coach must have eyes everywhere.” In sports, the eyes of a coach are always watching even when no one thinks they are looking.

When I was in eighth grade, my world got turned upside down. My dad was a pastor, and when he got a new job, we moved from a small town where I was comfortable, had friends, and felt like I made a difference, to a little bigger town where I had to “prove myself” all over again. I greatly feared being insignificant and wanted to do anything I could to set myself apart. So, I did what I knew best: I played sports thinking that would give me the value I wanted. As it turned out, I did achieve success, but it didn’t have the lasting value I thought it would. I wound up being labeled as a show-off and dealing with an entirely different problem—all because I thought I needed to prove myself and achieve worldly significance.