It was a gym class like I've never seen before. The fourth graders were learning how to bowl in the elementary school's gymnasium. Along one wall, pins were lined up in triangles. The designated bowlers stood on the other side of the gym in line with the bowling pins. Without any equipment other than heavy rubber balls, bowling alleys were imagined. There were about 12 "alleys" differentiated only by the four or five children assigned to each.
It was not just bowling class, but Cosmic Bowling. To make it more fun, the cold harsh florescent lights of the gym were dimmed, colorful blinking lights were strung up along each side, and the music was upbeat and loud, just like nine and ten year olds would clamor for.
That many children, flashing lights, and blasting music sounds like chaos. But it wasn't. The kids were not just learning how to bowl, but about place. I saw no squabbling. No shouts of "My turn. Me first." No shaming for balls rolled astray. No division between the cool kids and not.
Because each child had an assignment and a spot to take care of. They all had a job to do. They moved from one role to the next in a pattern. One at a time, they took a turn as the bowler. The next child was the ball returner, standing on the sideline to return the ball to the starting line. One or two kids at the end of the alley were the pin setters, removing and setting the bowling pins in order and ready for the next roll. When one bowler was finished, they moved to the next spot in the lineup. And continued to switch places throughout the class. A place for everyone. Everyone in their place.
The last station was perhaps the most important place of all. The waiter stood opposite the returner on the side of the alley. That kid watched what was going on and cheered for the bowler when multiple pins were knocked down. It was not the waiter's turn yet. But he was still a significant part of the action. He or she did not just wait with a bad attitude, complain, or push someone out of the way. The waiters balanced out the rotation. As long as everyone did their part, bowling in the dark with 60 kids was fun for everyone.
And then, it was time for the waiter to bowl.
Waiting is not a passive verb. It is not just a weary place of transition, grumbling about others, but doing the waiting well. Things may not yet be ready. And indeed, we may not yet be ready for what we need to do or for what is next. But we can cheer on those who get a proverbial strike and encourage those with wayward curve balls to try again.
And quite frankly in life, it may be someone else's turn to bowl. Someday may seem a long time coming. But waiting prepares and equips us. It's part of the practice. We can wait, or we can waste. We may actually learn something in the waiting room. Imagine that! We have work to do too, or we can waste a whole lot of time whining about it. Selfish claims in a loud voice, Mine! Selfless sees other people in the picture. Selfish demands it now! Selfless has all of eternity.
This half-hour gym activity on a rainy Friday morning encompassed a whole lot more than having fun and learning to bowl, but also seeing how all the people and places work together. Not commiserating that I am just a waiter, nor a waster of time. But realizing it's just not my turn yet.
Maybe I'm meant to be a waiter right now. Maybe because I need to. Or because someone else needs me to be. This is my place right now to support and encourage and to occupy this time and space and circumstances. To be a waiter. And that changes the game for everyone.
Waiting knows its place and is confident that the right time is coming. And realizing God knows what He is doing. That's what faithfulness does.
Blessed is the one who listens to Me, watching daily at My gates, waiting beside My doors. Proverbs 8. 34
Ready to roll.
