When People Show Up, So Does Love

My knobby knees shook, and huge drops began to fall from the overcast February sky. We stood in the vacant street in front of the old house on Jerome Avenue, and my sister broke down the mechanics of the “crossover.”

I wanted, as badly as I had ever wanted anything at twelve years old, to be like my sister.

She was a talented basketball player in high school and may as well have hung the moon. She was smart, assertive, and athletic, and she could beat most guys in a pick-up game. What more could a girl ask for?

“Dribbling,” she said, “it’s like dancing. You gotta have rhythm.”

And so we practiced.

Ba-dada-dum.

Ba-dada-dum.

Again and again, the ball pounded the pavement as we braved the Pacific Northwest rain. Slowly, my crossover began to take shape; first as an uncoordinated attempt at replicating my older and more skilled sis, but eventually into my own rhythm.

Almost magically, I began to develop my own style.

Soon, it did feel like dancing. Almost like a puzzle, my body began to figure it out. Looking back, I’m certain my small frame grew in stature because of the confidence I gained in those rain-soaked hours.

Later that same afternoon, I played in a tournament basketball game, and it felt like somebody had given me the key to the treasure room. I found that sweet spot between work and play, and all my practice paid off.

I didn’t know it then, but that “crossover” would lay the foundation for all my other moves in basketball.  It helped facilitate a journey in the sport that would last throughout college, all propelled forward by a day in the rain.

Those moments playing basketball with my sister, learning from her during my formative years, were incredibly meaningful. Over the decades since then, I’ve experienced the implications of her love for me in many more ways.

The older I become, as I lean into my own identity, I have realized a theme in my interactions with my sister.

I craved someone who would see me and believe in me. I needed it badly, and she honored that need.

When I was twelve, my family was experiencing significant dysfunction, transition, and tumult. I felt lost.

Recently, I read these words. They stopped me in my tracks because of how they resonate with my story:

“Be who you needed when you were younger.”[1]

I see now that at least in part, my sister was giving me the adult she needed when she was younger. I’m so glad she paid attention to her own story so she could support me when I needed her most.

And what a gift she has been.

What a privilege that she poured her own journey into me, instead of telling me to just get over it.

I didn’t know, all those years ago, how much and how often I would come back to those moments with my sister. She embedded in me the belief that I was valuable and capable, that I was a worthwhile investment.

These beliefs allowed me to take risks and stay hungry on the basketball court.

But it was more than basketball.

It was a framework for life.

[Tweet “When we know and experience that we are loved and valued, we are capable of big, hard things.”]

I learned that on the court, and inch by inch, I am learning it in life.

Thanks, sis.

[1] Glennon Melton, Momastery. Twitter, July 21, 2015

 

Aundi Kolber loves Jesus, people, and stories. She has a goofy sense of humor, but may start a deep conversation within five minutes of meeting you. She is a professional counselor in Colorado. Her hope is to use her voice to talk about hard and beautiful things. Aundi blogs at bravelyimperfect.com.

 

Photograph by JOESEPH..