You Gotta Have Faith

A big thank-you to my amazing yoga instructor, Lisa Jones, for the quote above.

Sometimes I get a major wake-up call which catches me totally off guard.  This weekend’s tournament was one of those.

The week leading up to the tournament was a rough one for my son.  He came down with a cold/sinus infection on Monday and immediately started taking a antibiotic in hopes that he would feel significantly better by the Saturday start day.  All week, he shortened his practices, even resorting to hitting with only me one of the days, trying to conserve his energy.  I begged him to drink Emergen-C – my go-to when I start feeling a cold coming on.  He drank one, maybe two, all week.  I begged him to drink protein shakes at the end of each day.  He drank one, maybe two, all week.  I begged him to amp up his hydration efforts in prep for a scorching hot weekend of tennis.  He didn’t really do anything outside the norm in that regard.  I wasn’t happy.  I was preparing myself for another tournament where he wasn’t 100%, where he would have an excuse for losing early, and where, once again, my weekend was shot.  And then we saw his draw – the 9 seed first round – ugh!

We drove to the tournament Friday afternoon, got checked in to our hotel, got checked in to the tournament, then needed to get some dinner.  My son told me he wasn’t very hungry but knew he needed to eat something.  We found a local restaurant, ordered our meal, then my son proceeded to eat about 2 bites before declaring himself full.  I wasn’t happy, but I suggested we take everything back to our room and maybe he would eat later.  He didn’t.  We both went to bed angry and frustrated – me because I didn’t think he was taking proper care of himself to be ready to compete the next morning, him because I’m not very good at hiding my anger and frustration (though I’m really good at nagging)!

The next morning, we were both still angry, so breakfast was a quick and quiet affair at the hotel before driving to the warm-up courts.  While he was warming up with 3 of his buddies, I called my husband and vented.  Once we arrived at the tournament site, I set up my chair in the shade while he got ready to play the 9 seed, a boy, by the way, who he had beaten a few weeks earlier.  Let me say again that I didn’t have a very good feeling about the morning’s match, feeling pretty confident that my son’s second match would take place in the backdraw.  Credit to me that I kept those negative feelings to myself!

I sat pretty far away from my son’s court during his match, so I couldn’t really see much, but I could tell that my son was winning . . . handily.  Somehow, he mustered the energy and the willpower to beat this boy even worse than he had previously.  My son came off the court after the win feeling very positive and pumped up for his next match.  I was still a little angry at him, but I kept it to myself.

Obviously, my son figured out what he needed to do to be ready to compete.  He knew what his body needed and what his brain needed, and he did it.  All of my worrying and nagging was a complete waste of energy.  Even though I didn’t see my son doing the prep that *I* felt was necessary to get ready for such a big event, *he* knew what he needed to do.  He had moved into a new phase of the maturation process, and I needed to recognize that and acknowledge it to him.  I needed to have faith in him and his ability to prepare for competition.  I needed to trust the depth of his passion and the power of his angels.

Another lesson learned.  I’ve gotta have faith.