There is a
soccer team in Thailand comprised of boys who live on the water. Their passion for the game was hobbled by the constriction of having no place to play. But enthusiasm pushed through those obstacles and they used
scrappy boards to build a platform on the sea. The surface was often wet and the ball and players kept splashing over the edge, but instead of incapacitating them it sharpened their skills. They got good, although they had no way of knowing since there weren't any other teams to compete with.
One day they heard of a competition on the mainland and they signed up. When the time came the boys boarded a skiff to leave, and their families surprised them with
actual uniforms and cleats. The team was excited. And scared.
When they came face to face with other boys their skills began to emerge. They entered the semi finals as contestants, and then the rains fell. But having played on the water all along they took off their shoes and got back on the field. It was a close call and they emerged in second place. Not bad for a bunch of scruffy island kids with no coach.
Today marks the thirty
fourth anniversary of when John and I walked down a narrow aisle skirted by folding chairs on a grassy knoll. He wore homemade cotton pants dyed with onion skins, and a red wool jacket over a white wool shirt. A friend named Lynn made the buttons, which were embellished with a series beginning with a seed and ending with a flower. His pocket was embroidered with a pomegranate and the words "She is mine, He is Mine." I wore a white wool dress with a golden bodice and a red wool cape. There were
pockets in the dress, because I like pockets. Along the neckline I embroidered the words, "Blessed are those who are called to the marriage supper of the lamb," with a little sheep made of French knots. We were barefoot. The quotes were in their original language, and I can no longer translate them, but I remember.
When we embarked on our marriage there were restrictions. John's salary was sparse. We had no furniture, save one Amish made rocking chair from my
brother. Our knowledge of communication skills could fit on a 3 by 5 card, and what we lacked in experience we more than compensated for in naivete. The first congregation we lived in was troubled with feuds entrenched back for generations, and our place of worship was a three room Floridian bungalo. We did not thrive.
Then we moved to Albuquerque, and matched our mettle against the barriers of church planting, and even less income. John had no chair for his desk so he
used two cardboard boxes. We were on welfare.
But three decades is enough time to learn how to climb back into a relationship, after slipping off the edge. We won't win any ribbons with our marriage, if such things even exist.
Still we are in the game, and that's not too shabby for a couple of starry eyed kids with no coach.
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