I Failed To Do My Best So Now What?


By Phil Scovell






 The purpose of this testimony is to show how a memory event can have pain 
and
discomfort that masks the true lie.

 I was 16 years old and it would be my last wrestling tournament.  It was an 
all
city competition and hundreds of boys from 10 to 16 years of age were 
wrestling from all
over Nebraska that day.  It was Saturday.  I was so used to going home every 
Friday for
the weekend, and getting away from the school for the blind, I hated even 
staying over
the weekend for a wrestling match.  Besides, I wasn't that good.  Oh, I won 
more than I
lost, and I enjoyed the sport, but I new I wasn't that good, had never even 
gone to state,
let alone winning enough matches to make it to a state tournament, and now, 
here I was,
wrestling for a championship which I knew I wouldn't win.  Frankly, I didn't 
care if I did
or not.

 After a half of a day passed, I found myself seated in the finals after 
beating 5
other guys and now I had one more to go for the first place championship.  I 
was even
seated next to the sighted guy whom I was to wrestle.  He started up a 
conversation, as
we waited out our turn to wrestle, and I discovered he was really a nice 
guy.  We were
about five rows back so each time a row moved up, he showed me where to sit 
and we
continued visiting like we were long time buddies.

 When our names were finally called, I had no feeling for how the match 
would
conclude and as I said, I didn't really care.  Second place was always good 
enough for
me, or so it seemed, and I didn't mind getting a C in a course, although I 
preferred a B, or
even an A, which I occasionally obtained, but a B or a C was always fine 
with me
because I hated school.  In fact, the best grades I ever achieved were in 
Bible College
because I was finally studying things I liked and wanted to learn.  Anyhow, 
this young
fellow and I walked out on the mat and when the whistle blew by the referee, 
the match
began.  I lost by one point.  Nope!  I didn't even care.

 My mom had driven from Omaha over to Lincoln, about 65 miles, after she had
gotten off work Saturday at noon, to not only watch me wrestle but to take 
me home for
the rest of the weekend.

 When it came time to give out the trophies and my named was called, the 
young
man who had beaten me by one point, ran over and led me to where the nice 
lady was
giving out the awards for accomplishments as the announcer called out our 
names and
school names.  I had never won a trophy before in my life so the hard solid 
metal little
statue of a guy poised to wrestle, which is sitting on my book shelve behind 
me as I type,
was placed in my hands.  The guy who had won first place and had led me to 
the awards
table, said, "Phil, this is my mom handing out our trophies."  What an 
unusual day I had
experienced.  I had wrestled 6 times, felt like I had been run over by a 
truck, and suffered
muscle aches literally for a week from the strain I had exuded that day.

 "So, what is the problem here?"  I'm glad you asked because I'm not telling 
this
story just because I can't find anything else to do at the moment.  This 
memory has
always bothered me but I never knew why until recently.

 As this memory has come to mind hundreds of times over the years, I felt a
tremendous amount of emotional discomfort.  In fact, I considered the true 
problem
related to something I did that made me feel incredibly stupid that day.

 I had wrestled about three or four times before my mom arrived.  When she 
came,
she sat next to me with the team up against a wall in a single row of chairs 
place just a
few feet from the multiple wrestling mats being employed for the matches. 
So far, so
good.  I was so exhausted, I could hardly stay awake.  During long 
tournaments, I often
was able to fall asleep just leaning back in a chair or even stretching out 
on cold hard
steal bleachers.  After drinking a cup of pop, that's what we call soda back 
in the
Midwest, I ended up laying my head down in my mother's lap and falling 
asleep.  That
was the part of the memory which always first came to mind.  I felt stupid 
and very
immature for what I had done in front of all my teammates.

 This time, when the memory appeared out of no where, I examined the memory 
in
prayer.  "How did you feel?" I felt myself saying.  I knew the answer; I 
felt stupid.  Why?
In front of all my teammates, and hundreds upon hundreds of others in the 
auditorium, I
laid my head in my mama's lap.  What a big tough wrestler I was.  So, 
obviously, I felt
stupid and embarrassed because I shouldn't had done that and although all 
the other parts
of the memory I describe likewise played out when this memory surfaced, my 
stupidity
was all I could truly feel.  I hated the memory because of what I had done.

 As I prayed this time, however, more came to the surface.  I remembered 
what my
coach, a great man and a great role model in my mind, said to my mom as I 
walked out
on the mat for the first and second place winners positions.  "Well, it 
looks like Phil is
going to be my only champ in this tournament."  As I turned the memory over 
and over, I
realized something I had never noticed before and that was the feeling that 
I had let my
coach down because I had not tried my best.  Maybe, just maybe, if I had 
tried a little
harder, I could have won and been the first place winner.  I had won first 
place in
tournaments before but no trophies had been awarded.  I knew my coach was 
still proud
of me winning second place, but I personally felt I had not done my best, 
and had let him
down.  Trying to find logic to my feelings within the memory, I reasoned, it 
wouldn't be
the first time that I had done less than my best so what was the big deal? 
Well, I've
already stated it, "I didn't do my best," and I could have done better.

 Mom and I went back to Omaha, me with my little trophy, and I was going to 
get
to spend the rest of the weekend at home.  Plus, I'd get to attend our 
church Sunday and
that was, after all, way more important to me than winning first place at 
anything; wasn't
it?

 As it turned out, the truth about the memory was not what I had done 
falling
asleep with my head in my mom's lap as a 16 year old; it was the feeling I 
didn't do my
best.  This was even worse to consider because how could Jesus fix something 
like that?
I mean, I could not ever go back and do it all over and try harder to win 
first place.  I was
stuck, trapped, by my own failure and not trying my best.  I asked the Lord 
how He could
repair the damage I felt I had done.

 Before I tell you what He said, understand that this memory is no big deal. 
It had
no big effect upon my life, none that I know of anyway, and there were many 
other times
in life I did my best.  Regardless, this memory popped up so many times in 
my life, I
finally realized something needed to be healed because Jesus wanted to fix 
something for
me.  That Jesus!  He's always wanting to help us ; praise God!

 So, when I felt this situation was hopeless, I told the Lord how I felt 
about not
doing my best to win.  He said, "It doesn't matter because I'm your best." 
I cannot
describe the wonderful feeling that came over me when I realize that no 
matter if I failed
because I didn't do my best or not, Jesus was my best.  He is my Lord and 
Savior and He
is the best a person can do regardless of everything else.  I felt happy and 
free and I saw
Jesus standing in the large building where we wrestled that day with all of 
those other
people and saying, "Phil, I'm your best that you have ever done."

 How about you?  Have you ever experienced this type of emotional pain? 
Maybe
it's old and a long time ago.  Maybe what happened yesterday, due to what 
someone
perhaps said, reminded you of something when you were little.  If you know 
Jesus as
your Savior, He is the best you've ever done and it will never get any 
better than Jesus.
He is your past and your future and your eternal trophy.

Satan Has A GOD Complex
WWW.SafePlaceFellowship.com