Never To Be Thrown

I’m lying on my bed in my stifling room, as I seem to do so often these days. No longer simply for sleeping, my bed has become my desk, my chair, my office, and even my church. But as I lie on my blue and white dotted duvet, my eyes lazily skim the opposite wall of my private haven and linger on the marked white frisbee, standing pride of place upon by box-shelves where it’s sat since I moved in a year ago. I sigh in deep longing at the memories it invokes, both distant and not-so-very-long-ago.

This frisbee is never to be thrown. Not for lack of enjoyment. Ultimate frisbee is one of my favourite sports. Granted, I hate most sports so that’s not saying much. Or maybe it is. Anyway, this is a special frisbee. Not because it’s of any value (tenner off Amazon), but because it’s of infinite value to me. It marks the climax of my teenage years, which feel further away than I care to admit.

I think back fondly to my church youth group and the summer nights at the start of each week when we would file out eagerly onto the green for our game. It was our weekly tradition. We used to meet for youth group in the old school house down the road after the evening church service. While some piled into a car to relocate the 200 metres down the road, every week I stubbornly refused and walked.

There was always a race to the old sofa. At a squeeze, you could fit four. And we squeezed; it was worth it. It was one of those really old sofas that was so broken and tattered but oh so comfy. You sat down on it and had no hope of getting back up again, you’d sink so far down. We were devastated when we turned up one night and it had been replaced by a spanking new sofa. How dare they! No-one was rushing to sit on that rock. But all was put right with the world when our beloved green monstrosity mysteriously returned a few weeks later.

Each week, we’d spend some time chilling then break into our groups for Bible study and prayer. As soon as the evenings stayed light long enough, instead of playing an inside game after the study we were out on the green to play Ultimate Frisbee. Well, usually as soon as it was light enough. That one time our main leader Rory decided it would be a good idea to play illuminated by car headlights seemed like a great idea at the time. It worked well enough until the end, when Rory realised he probably should have left his engine on and a few of us had to run his car along the road to get him started again.

Those games were great. Some competitiveness, but still fun and friendly. Well ok, there was quite a lot of competitiveness, considering some of the people in our group. But that made it more amusing. Twenty, twenty-five minutes of running around with your friends and your leaders was the best way to end a weekend. Though in a small village church, in a way the leaders were your friends too. Church is family wherever you are, but even more so in villages where the congregations are small enough to know most people pretty well. You all just seem that much tighter, close-knit. But definitely not without the insane pettiness that can only come from living in a village long-term!

And so, from our beloved trademark pastime came our ‘graduation’ ritual. On one sad Sunday night at the end of our final school year, we were presented with a crisp white frisbee- a replica of the one we played with (the only good brand)- signed by the whole youth group. It felt almost like a rite of passage: the presentation of your frisbee meant you’d made it through the years of Sunday School and Youth Group, and were now passing into the ranks of adult ministry. It was a new stage in Church life.

But it was also a goodbye. Village kids, from my experience at least, split broadly into two categories: those who stay and never leave, and those who leave and never come back. If you get the job or education or simple desire to leave the villages, well there’s not really much to draw you back, even if you love the village as much as I do. Apart from family and friends I miss dearly, there’s nothing there for me anymore. And that’s the story for so many young people who fly the nest, never to return.   

There were two of us who graduated in my year group. There’d been more over the years but as often happens in youth groups, school and jobs and friends and all the pressures of teenage life crowd in and priorities and faith are put to the test. Sadly, for most of the others, it was God who got crowded out.

But Joe and I, we made it to the end. I was heading off to Uni, Joe would be going a year later after travelling and working. But for both of us, we were leaving our Church family. It was the end of our childhood. It was a big moment. For the past three years we’d signed our friends’ frisbees and watched them been handed over in ceremony. Now it was our turn. It was not an understatement to say I’d been looking forward to getting my frisbee for three whole years. Sad, I know.

But alas, Rory forgot to order the frisbees. One was most definitely not amused. We forgave him, of course, but we that didn’t stop us ribbing him about it. It wasn’t until a whole year later, as I gate-crashed the end of year BBQ after returning from Uni, that the prized disc was placed into my beckoning palms. But not until after my younger brother had received his. Me, bitter? Not at all.

I laugh at how this cheap bit of moulded plastic has had such an impact on my life. It’s travelled with me in every one of the five house moves I have made since then, and has been displayed proudly in each of my rooms. Through all the ups and downs of the past seven years, this frisbee has been with me through it all.

I slide off my bed, the metal squeaking noisily under the movement, and pick up the frisbee from the shelf before taking it back to my spot. I run my eyes over the different names and messages written in various colours of permanent ink. Most I have not seen in many years. Most of those who were there at the BBQ to sign a year late were not ones I was particularly close to. Mind you, we weren’t the closest group as a whole. I never quite cracked through the bubble of the village divide. But there was no animosity in the group, least none serious enough that I can remember now.

I smile once again at the jibing messages of the leaders I had grown so fond of over my teenage years, the men and women who had invested so much time and energy and care into us, who had made sacrifices that I’m now only beginning to understand to nurture us in faith, answer our questions, and make us feel like an important part of the Church.

Nathan took the opportunity, as he always did- to bring up the fake Christmas tree. At least he doesn’t mention the lights. This time. Rory acknowledges the error of his ways before sharing his encouragement at my perseverance and commitment in Christ. My brother supposes he’ll see me around. Classic.

My eyes are then drawn to the writing around the inside rim. I tilt the disc and rotate it in my fingers to read the words: ‘For the message of the cross is foolishness to those who are perishing, but to us who are being saved it is the POWER of God. 1 Corinthians 1:18’.

I think over those words. That is something I have believed my entire life. And it’s been my experience. My friends at school would often mock me for being a Christian, thought it is such a waste of time, a stupid thing to believe. Must be such a comfort, That’s nice for you, whatever you want to believe. Though deep down, I’m a fool.

But that very foolishness, just as I know my leaders were praying for me as I grew up and as I left, and Rory as he chose and wrote that verse down, is what I base my whole life upon. That Jesus died on the cross to save me from the punishment my sin deserves, that this message is the power of God. It’s salvation. I know it to be true in every fibre of my being. Do doubts sometimes creep in? Sure. But just like my treasured frisbee is never to be thrown, I know that whatever hits me, nor will I ever be thrown from faith in this cross.

Times are crazy now. It’s hard to believe sometimes just how much has changed over the past few weeks and months. There’s been so much fear and panic, but also some incredible kindness and love. Who knows what things will be like once we get out of this? I feel constant change is going to remain the norm for the foreseeable future. But as I hold this frisbee in my hands, I smile at the peace I feel. Because in all this, I know there’s one thing that has never changed, and never will. The one constant in my life. And that is the message of the cross. The good news I know and teach will not change. Nor will my God. Nor will the power this message brings. Even in times of undeniable pain that brings me inexplicable joy.

As I rest the frisbee back in its place, I thank God for the leaders who invested in me and taught me this message. I thank God for my family who raised me to know Jesus as my Saviour. And I thank God that He never changes, that He has kept me through all this, and will keep me until the day I meet Him face to face. And I pray for those who don’t know Him yet, that they will soon come to understand the unfathomable peace and joy that His wonderful message brings.

This frisbee is a piece of my life. It marks an end, and it marks a beginning. It holds remnants of the past and prayers for the future. It is always part of my present. To most people who see it, it will look like nothing to them. But that’s ok. To me, it represents the greatest treasure I have ever been given: a faith, a family, and a future.