I get it, I get it - not everyone loves sport. Perhaps sport evokes memories of enforced laps during PE lessons, or spectacular unco-ordinated free-falling on the football field.

Perhaps you would share the perspective of my Year 10 form teacher. Upon looking at my truly ridiculous list of extracurricular activities—at peak craziness I was in four different sporting teams at the same time—she asked incredulously, “When do you have time to have life?” To me, being in four sporting teams was ‘having a life’!

If you are like my form teacher, then I ask for your indulgence for a few minutes. I invite you to step inside the mind of a person like me. A person who genuinely loves throwing, catching, kicking and shooting balls of all shapes and sizes. A person who loves sport. 

I was sitting at the dining table one morning in August 2023, after another sleepless night, spoon feeding my 12 month old baby girl as she sat in her high chair. Weary and worn out after months of sleep deprivation and doing life with 3 little, somewhat spicy, humans under 6 - I turned to the Psalms seeking refreshment for my tired heart (not that I could read well through my puffy, blow fish eyes). I had read the words of Psalm 23 many times, but this morning, in God’s kindness and in my desperate need, they had a particular effect on my heart.

As a parent, there is a great temptation to panic and worry about what everyone else is doing, about seriously screwing up your child’s future if you get this high school stuff wrong. Everyone else is sending their children away and mine will be the only ones left. To be honest, I think my boys would look handsome in a blazer and tie, and I like the idea of them having access to brand new performing arts theatres, swimming pools, gymnasiums, music lessons and overseas trips. People would see me as a ‘good’ parent. I would look acceptable, even though we don’t own a farm or any land at all.