As we get older our perspective changes. We see more, we learn more, we begin to understand things in a different way. A young person would think of it as someone selling out and going along with the flow. A dynamic individual who quit trying to reach for the stars and instead has settled for the reflection of the stars in the water. The reality is of this change is, however, called maturity. Maturity sneaks up on you, too. You don’t change your fundamental self, you just begin to change the way you see your objectives.

          I was hugely competitive. Always had been and, truth be told, I still am to a degree. I think most people are competitive to one point or another, even though now there is a concerted effort to take the competitive nature out of kids. Soccer leagues that don’t keep score, everyone gets a trophy, it’s the experience that counts. I have read that competition is bad for children because losing will damage their fragile psyches and winning will make them boastful. If that sort of thing keeps up we are one day going to have an election that the little darlings lose and they will go nuts and riot and scream and cry………oh, right, that happened last November, didn’t it? So, the truth is that competition is good because it helps you to prepare to become an adult in the real world, where there are no safe places to cower in and no relief from reality.

          But competition for me went well beyond my teenage years. Everything was a test, a game. And don’t feel bad for Marsha. We played board games a lot and she would cheat anyway she could. I let her cheat, too, because beating her then was so much sweeter! There does come a point, though, when competition has to cool off some. I had not reached that point.

          Our son, Adam, was 11 years old and had taken an interest in bowling. I loved to bowl. League bowling, bowling with Marsha (when we lived in Miami and before Adam was born we would sometimes go at 2 AM), bowling with friends. If there was no one to bowl with I would go by myself. My opponent then would be just me. Before Adam came along and we actually had extra money, I would go twice a week by myself and bowl ten games each time. It really was the only thing I did for myself. When Adam decided he wanted to bowl, I was all for it.

          It was New Year’s Day of 1993. I was pastoring in Warren, Ohio. Adam wanted to go bowling, so we went. We got to the lanes and there we saw four men from our church. These four guys had all been in the military before Pearl Harbor, since it was one of the few places a man could get a job back in the 1930s. They had fought their way through the South Pacific and had all been on Guam when word came of the Japanese surrender. Back home they all got jobs, raised families and became four of the best church members you ever saw. Now, all retired and growing feeble, these four old friends got together twice a week to bowl. Once, just the four of them and then the second time as a team in a senior’s league. We headed over to say hi and we were quickly invited to bowl with them.

          I really didn’t want to bowl these guys. Old Everett was getting quite feeble. The day after Christmas he had taken a fall at home and still wore the bruises on his face. Bob was so uncoordinated it was kind of funny. I had seen a movie as a kid and there was a soldier in it who was so uncoordinated he once picked up his rifle and put the muzzle to his shoulder and the stock toward the enemy. That was how I imagined Bob during WWII. Ben was actually blind. He could see light and, if he was close enough, forms, but that was all. Lou, a man I had come to love like a father, was in the best shape of all of them, but he was also the oldest. I didn’t want to bowl them and show them up (for I surely would) and I didn’t want Adam to see these four men whom he respected do so poorly.

          But they kept after us and Adam wanted to bowl with them, so I finally said OK. They expressed fear that Adam would blow them away and, when he took a warm-up throw, they acted like he was the best ever. I was really going to hate beating them so badly.

          Everett went first. He tottered up to the line. It looked like he couldn’t get the ball up. But once he toed the line, he looked different. Calm, sure of himself, in control. His approached was perfect. His throw, while lacking power, was right on the mark. Not a strike, but he got his spare. Well, I thought, lucky. Bob was next. He even dropped the ball as he came to the line. But once there, he changed. Not clumsy now. He did get a strike. Ben, the blind man, came up. Lou walked up with him, holding his elbow. He made sure Ben was centered on the line and then he let Ben bowl. Nine pins down. Lou told him what pin was left, centered him on the line and let him bowl. He drilled the solitary pin. Spare. Lou was next and he nailed a strike. Adam came up and left two standing, but to hear those men whoop and holler, you would have thought the boy got a strike on three lanes all at once. I came up and got eight and then picked up the spare.

          As the game went on those four guys gradually pulled ahead. When it was over, Lou and Bob had scores over 200, Everett was in the 180s and Ben had a 179. I remember that because my score was a 177. I felt humiliated. I had done just about as good as I could, yet these ‘old’ men had beaten me. They just bowled the one game because they had already bowled. They packed up and left, wishing us well and a happy new year. Adam and I bowled two more gems with little being said. Finally, we were done and we packed up to leave.

            It was cold and snowy in the parking lot, so we hurried to the car. Once in with motor running Adam said, “Dad, I was really proud of you back there.” I was still smarting from the pasting I had received. I suspected sarcasm. “Oh,” I said, “What do you mean?” “Well, the way you let those guys win.” Surprised, I said, “I didn’t let them win! They were awesome! They beat me!” Adam smirked a little. “Come on, Dad, I’ve seen you bowl. You could have crushed them!” “Son, when was the last time you saw me bowl that well? Mr. Aldrich and Mr. Burns got over 200!” He looked at me in pride. “Sure, when you bowl me you hold back, even bowl left handed sometimes. But you could have wasted those guys.” It didn’t matter what I said, he knew in his heart I could have beaten them.

          I came to realize that day that winning is not always important. Being right is not always the issue. Proving a point can be counter productive. What is really important is love, weather it is the love of a son for his Dad or the love a pastor has for his people or the love we have for others through Christ. And if you love, that is a greater accomplishment than anything competition can give you.

          I related that story at Everett’s funeral. Ben and Lou and Bob were sitting with their wives, but they were all together. It gave them one last laugh together for the four of them.

Could I have beaten those guys? Not a chance.

          Blessings.