I was raised on a tiny farm in rural Fairfield County. Its cedar shake farm house with Gambrel roof and dormers sat proudly on a high hill providing a beautiful vista in all directions. It wasn’t uncommon for first time visitors to step from their car and mutter, “What a great view!”
Like all farms built at the turn of the 20th century, little out-buildings cropped up like mushrooms in a damp forest. An implement shed and former stable sat at the end of our driveway. Behind that sat a corncrib with the outhouse attached. Further uphill, a tiny, octagon-shaped, brooder house for incubating newly hatched chicks was tucked behind a giant, graceful willow tree, while the main chicken house sat even further up the hill. Finally, the pig pen rested strategically at the very top, furthest from the house for reasons known by anyone familiar with hogs.
One fundamental problem with growing up on a hillside was finding a level portion of ground for a basketball court. It was either uphill or downhill; there was no in between. After much debate and consideration, Dad nailed a flimsy basketball hoop to the front of the chicken house. Within days his four sons had trampled the grass into a hard-packed dirt court approximately six feet in diameter—just under the bucket.
A fundamental rule of basketball is to always follow your shot. As soon as you shoot the ball, you race toward the basket in order to be in the proper position to snag your own rebound should your shot go awry. The problem on our court was that missed shots always rebounded downhill toward the barn. In fact, every shot, hit or miss, raced downhill so quickly you had to run for your life in order to stop the ball before it disappeared under the barnyard gate into a pile of fresh cow manure. (We kept a manure towel hung on a rusty nail, which apparently never caught on in the NBA.)
Good basketball technique aside, if you played on our court you learned to shoot and follow your shot alright, but you never ran toward the basket: instead you raced downhill to the barnyard. It simply didn’t matter how the ball came off the rim, because it always ended up at the barnyard.
Our chorus of complaints to Dad was met with a promise that he would send a note to our coach if any of us tried out for the school team, explaining why we instinctively ran to the sideline following every shot.
Old habits are hard to break, aren’t they? Whether it involves habit-forming substances or habit-induced behaviors, it’s very difficult to re-train ourselves once we develop a pattern of repeated behavior.
The Lord realizes this and understands our weaknesses. The Bible says he even sympathizes with our weaknesses. A key to overcoming our natural weaknesses is to recognize that it takes at least the same amount of energy and time to reshape good habits as it did to originally develop our bad habits. It takes persistence and patience.
Don’t become so well-adjusted to your culture that you fit into it without even thinking. Instead, fix your attention on God. You’ll be changed from the inside out. Readily recognize what he wants from you, and quickly respond to it. Unlike the culture around you, always dragging you down to its level of immaturity, God brings the best out of you, develops well-formed maturity in you.
Romans 12:2 The Message
Lord, strengthen me to overcome my bad habits, whatever they may be. Thank You that You are an encourager and equipper of those who trust in You.
Read Ron’s column, Simple Faith, each Saturday on the Faith Page (page 3) of the Lancaster Eagle Gazette, or visit www.lancastereaglegazette.com.