Faith, Hope, and Love All
In the midst of the pandemic, I returned to a favorite pastime from my youth. Tennis. It was the game of my family, my childhood, my schools, and my early adulthood. I gave it up for 20 years—our move to the Pacific Northwest invited more hikes than court times. Children needed carting around and the one indoor center was out of reach financially and geographically. But the pandemic slowed my travel, allowing me to be home for long summer days. My adult children moved home too; our nearby tennis courts let us safely enjoy exercise and play in a world that limited so much contact.
My husband, seeing the joy I experienced in returning to tennis, surprised me with a membership to the tennis club. I hesitated, wondering if it was too late to really play again. I wanted to be good. I knew this game, and I’d rather not play than play like a hack.
The head pro met me with a smile. He understood my fears, but enthusiastically and confidently told me I would be able to get right back in the game in no time, assuring me many of the club members were my age and older. The idea was to have fun and keep at it.
At first, I just took lessons and hit with the ball machine. I didn’t want to play with people who might decide I wasn’t good enough for their level. The pro pushed me out of my comfort zone and I found myself playing women’s doubles. I knew nothing about doubles, having been a singles player. I’d pray for the ball not to come at me at the net, worry about which shot was mine, and constantly apologize to my partner.
To my surprise, the invitations to play doubles kept coming. The women cheered on every good shot. When I missed, they’d tell me it was a good idea, or I’d get it next time. No one was getting either prize money or a trophy, the women laughed.
This wasn’t the tennis of my younger years. They referred to it as social tennis—not a term I really knew. Fun, encouragement, sport, and practice defined success. I learned the custom of offering someone several tries on their first serve, and being careful of any stray ball that came near, replaying a point if another court distracted play. We played as well as possible, trying for those rare winners, fist-pumping the perfectly angled shot, reminding ourselves to watch the ball and move our feet. Some points felt exhilarating, wiping out the memory of a botched overhead or a double fault.
I really was playing again. It was typically the best hour of my day, a time so focused on the very moment at hand that nothing else could distract me from the game. A feeling of being fully alive, present and connected filled my spirit most times we played. And it became my turn to welcome new members, to cheer them on and root for their growing game.
Most of us knew little about each other outside of tennis. We gradually found out about each other’s work, family and interests, but tennis first bonded us together as friends. In a polarized society, we set aside political, religious and cultural viewpoints.
At one point, I declined playing because of a church commitment. The woman who had most welcomed me as a new player commented that tennis was her church. It was her place of belonging, giving and sharing life with others. I accepted that with a smile.
Lately, I’ve been thinking more about what she said. It’s Lent, and I haven’t given anything up. I’m trying to read more, use social media less, faithfully attend church and reach for the good. But in many ways, I’m seeing how tennis indeed has the ingredients of a spiritual practice.
We show up on time for each other. We know we are all imperfect, but we celebrate those moments that show us what perfection feels like. We work hard to improve, knowing it is a sport that is never conquered, just fully engaged. We resist anger, compliment winners when we lose, call balls good that may have been out, and support our partner no matter how well they play. Ideally, we enter the present moment, focus and stay in the point at hand, forgetting about the last one and striving on. When the contest ends, we smile and clap rackets and express gratitude for our time together. We remind each other on a bad day that even the pros lose lots of games and that in every tournament half of the players leave after the first match. The promise of another game keeps us hopeful that all our practiced effort will culminate in a that rare transcendence when we are fully in the zone.
I wanted to be good or not to play. What I’m realizing is playing tennis helps me be good. I’m practicing kindness, honesty, faithfulness, generosity, patience, perseverance, and hospitality. Joy and hope spill out. I want all these qualities to extend beyond the court and into all my life. I may never get to the next level, but I know the beginning score is what matters most. That’s where we start. Love all.