I’m not sure when or why it began. From the start, my aversion to all things sports seems to be a defining part of my personality. My parents, doing their parental due diligence, put me in soccer when I was knee high to something. As expected, I was that kid playing on the side line, distracted by flowers and such. I’m pretty sure I lack the inherent competitive streak required of all true athletes.
To give a complete picture of my athletic prowess, I’ll tell the story where I asked the question “Are the Celtics in the World Cup?” ending in thunderous laughter. Oh. Wait. I pretty much blew the punch line. Regardless, you get the idea. I’m not exactly the “sporty” type.
As a result, it’s funny to hear family and friends interject their speculations of who our little Reed (33 weeks tomorrow) will be. Will he be athletic? Will he be creative? Intelligent or average? Sweet or naughty? Just as we possess little understanding of God’s character or why Sonic ice cream doesn’t melt it’s difficult to forecast who your child will be. He could have any, all or none of the aforementioned characteristics. Maybe he’ll be an off-the-wall nut forging his own path. There’s no way to be certain and this brings me pleasure. As a future parent I’m excited to nurture his strengths, shepherd his weaknesses and take oh-so-much joy in discovering who God created our little one to be.
But, if he is athletic by some random act of God, I’ll know he doesn’t get that from his mother. Of that, I’m certain.