A GOOD KIND OF HURT...by Brad Locke

This testimony just goes to show us that God is in control of our lives...

I couldn't miss that summer. At the Louisiana Tech intramural center, I couldn't miss. At the campground in Mobile, Ala., where my family vacationed, I couldn't miss (won a free lunch, too). In Mr. Morgan's swimming pool, despite a floating, bobbing target, I couldn't miss.

Well, I didn't miss very often. That was the year, 1995, that I reached my athletic peak. I hadn't played organized basketball since ninth grade, but I was doing things on the court I'd never done before. Not that I was spectacular by any means, but I more than held my own in full-court pick-up games.

I was headed for Covenant College the coming fall, and I had every intention of making the basketball team. My friends thought I could do it. I was convinced I could do it. Who knows if I actually would have, but I never got to find out.

On July 4, dunking on my buddy's 8-foot rim under a spotlight, I came down on a stray ball, my right foot turning inward at a full 90-degree angle. It was as close to being broken as it could be without being broken. It swelled up to twice normal size, and I was on crutches for six weeks. I got off them just before leaving for Chattanooga.

I tried out anyway, but I wasn't the same player. Barely got down the court. Couldn't shoot. I eventually played my way back into previous form (maybe even better form), and I assimilated myself into the program by becoming a team manager.

But by the time coach Ken Brooks said to me, "We'll keep you in mind," I knew my chance was done. I had neither the grades nor the dough to return, and I harbored regret over my suffering for a long time.
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