It's not called GymNICEstics!

This past weekend I was afforded a unique opportunity. Well, let me start from the beginning. Every year. Leah's gym hosts a few gymnastics meets. The first meet we host is generally in the fall. Fall is the beginning of compulsary competition. Last year we switched programs, so Leah was not competing this weekend. It was a change for me, as I generally volunteer anywhere that will keep Leah from actually picking me out of a crowd.This normally includes much hiding, which I have officially perfected. Since I didn't have to hide, I thought I would try something new this year. I bravely looked at the sign up sheet and wrote my name next to event timer. This seemed very scary to me, however, because it would place me next to the people we fear more than life and stay away from like the plague; avoiding eye contact at all costs. These people- The Judges. The Judge is infamous for many reasons in the gymnastics world. If you sat in a crowd during any session, you would know that they are (according to most parents): partial to private gyms, constantly misrepresenting the actual score of the event most girls have just competed, very mean, looking to fault the girls for any thing not limited to: picking wedgies, wearing nail polish, heavy make up, disheveled hair,jewelry,etc. They are also known to(again, according to the parents) score cuter girls higher than ugly ones, reward older girls with higher scores, and never smile.As a parent, my job is to be a nurturer. In the world of gymnastics meets, this means I hug my daughter, tell her I love her, and send her on her way. I also clap and am extremely proud of all of the girls on her team. I am elated when they excel at something they worked so hard to get and hurt when they are mustering all of their strength to finish after a mistake. I AM a nurturer. Yet, I was placing myself right next to the judges, and I was soooo nervous. I slept poorly and woke up early, afraid of what would happen if I messed up the time or, worse, if one talked to me. I showed up, exhausted, and I was ready to do my job. I had resolved to do this, and I would. I was given the task of timing vault warm up. My anxiety was lessened when I saw the cheat sheet left for me. I breathed a sigh of relief and awaited the first group. When they came to salute the judges, I was smiling at the adorable sight I saw before me. 6-8 year old girls, many competing for their first time. There were faces of confidence mixed with faces of fear. Glitter and ribbons were in abundance. Fidgeting was inevitable due to nerves. As they walked away, pulling and picking their leos, I was curious how anyone was going to be able to judge them! I just wanted to squeeze them all and make them feel better! Yet  3:45 seconds later, they ran down the vault run and the judges were in action. I was enthralled at the way the 2 judges could look directly at the girls yet score them on their papers at the same time. I was baffled that they would have scores that, often times, were almost identical to the other. They definitely knew what they were doing. I was amazed as they executed justice based solely on the vault performed in front of them. As a nurturer, I looked at the girls with love and smiled, hoping to will away any fear or trepidation they may have had. There was also one other aspect that was represented: The Coach. While parents are the nurturer and judges are,well, judges the coaches bring a perspective that was unique to each one. Some coaches spent the entire warm up coaching the girl to improve her vault yet remained quiet and supportive during the competition of it. Others were there to hug and comfort the girls, not really using the meet as a venue to coach but to enforce confidence in their gymnast. Then, there were the rest. You know, the one who my daughter will never be around, nor would her gym ever employ (thank you, Kristin!). Like the old guy who referred to his female coaches as his harem (to the judges) and the guy that kept sighing and rolling his eyes after every girl vaulted. It was strange to watch this interaction, because it varied so much from gym to gym.I was glad to know that many of the coaches were proud of their girls and that they often hugged them. It was a combination of the parent and the judge.It was comforting to know that, although they were being instructed and corrected, they were also being loved and encouraged. This was the point that brought me to a realization. I am going through so much in life, but I am not alone. I have a Father, a Coach and a Judge. The beauty is, I get to rest in the loving arms of my Father and walk with the help of my encouraging and instructive Coach. However, justice has already been atoned for. I do not need to worry about judgement! I have been covered by the blood of my Redeemer! He has paid the price and ultimately was judged for my performance- my sin. I am forgiven, and He no longer looks at me through the eyes of justice- scrutinizing my every move and failure. He looks at me through the eyes of a Father who loves and cherishes His daughter. He loves me. He is elated when I succeed and hurt when I hurt. He encourages me to do more, yet comforts me when I feel as if I can't do anything. He sings over me (Zeph. 3:17). His thoughts towards me are of peace, to give me a future and a hope (Jer.29:11). And ultimately, He paid the price for me. He willingly laid down His life so that I may live in fullness. I never cease to be amazed at how so many situations in life can bring me back to this knowledge. I realize that this is because so often I refuse to believe it. I know me, and regardless of how nice or loving I am, I can never be as loving as Jesus. I can only bask in the glory that He has allowed me to be His child. What better thing is there? I am so thankful for the loving people in my life and the lives of my family, as it reminds me that I have so much to be grateful for. As I left that day to continue working at the church, I was blessed. I realized many things through event timing. Judges are actually quite nice and amazingly gifted at what they do. You do not turn into stone when you look into their eyes. They do smile, and they like Nordstrom shoes, but do NOT like coaches to refer to their female coaches as their harem!