The Fix

Showing Up, Never Giving Up

“People look at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart.” - 1 Samuel 16:7

“Those kids—walking around with their pants hanging down and their hats turned around.”

I just didn’t understand them.

Then one of “those kids” stood before our church and told his story. Something in it inspired me to go.

Eastside Academy needed mentors. I had recently retired from a career in hospitality, and I thought, I can help fix those kids.

“For all those who exalt themselves will be humbled, and those who humble themselves will be exalted.” —Luke 18:14

After church, I went to the designated room—something I seldom did.

The mentoring program was in its infancy, but the heart, humor, compassion, and honest transparency of Executive Director Greg Stone and Board Chair Gary Brooks drew me in.

“Aww, these kids just drive me crazy—but I love them,” Greg said. “I’m a recovering alcoholic, so I can kinda relate.”

Authentic truth. Humble hearts.

I was in.

“We’re having a school celebration at the park on the lake. Come join us and meet the kids.”

So I showed up.

It was a gray, overcast day—not great for swimming. Near the beach was a basketball hoop and a concrete court dusted with sand.

“Hey, you guys wanna play some ball?”

The boys came to life. The girls circled the court, taking pictures.

As they boarded the bus back to Eastside Academy, I called out, “Hey, you guys wanna form a basketball team? Play some games?”

“Yeah, that would be sick!”

In their language, I learned, that meant, Heck, yeah!

I had no idea what I had just proposed—or how showing up on that gray day was about to change my life and humble my heart.

“Many are the plans in a person’s heart, but it is the Lord’s purpose that prevails.” —Proverbs 19:21

After a few phone calls, I learned there were no fall recreational leagues for teenagers—only school leagues. Eastside Academy had just thirty-five students, but it was eligible to compete against Christian, public, and private schools registered with the state’s interscholastic athletic program.

Time was short. The phone calls began.

Soon, our nineteen-game season was scheduled against teams throughout western Washington.

Thirteen boys showed up for our first practice—most in the same clothes, with their pants hanging down and hats turned around. Seven came the next day, then eleven. The number changed constantly.

Their brand of basketball had two rules:

No boundaries.

No blood, no foul.

Fun rapidly devolved into fits, frustration, and fighting.

I was in over my head.

In the middle of one particularly chaotic practice, Pastor Dudley walked over, placed his hand on my shoulder, and said, “You’re doing good work. Thank you.”

What?

I had a few other words in mind.

“Create in me a clean heart, O God, and renew a right spirit within me.” —Psalm 51:10

We gathered at center court for another of my “calm ’em down, coach ’em up” talks about roles, responsibilities, and expectations.

Sean interrupted me.

“Hey, Coach, don’t you get it? We’re just a bunch of alcoholics, druggies, and bangers.”

I had to let that sink in.

They had accepted the lies and labels others had placed upon them—and had become resigned to living them out.

“No,” I said. “I don’t believe that. To me, you’re basketball players. We’re a team—and I believe we can win.”

There was silence.

Perhaps that was the best response.

This had become about much more than basketball.

“‘For My thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways My ways,’ declares the Lord.” —Isaiah 55:8–9

Our new uniforms arrived just before the first game.

“Filthy!” Josh announced.

That meant, I love them.

I was learning their inverted slang—the language, clothing, and resistance through which they expressed identity and found belonging in a world that told them they didn’t belong.

And something was happening in me.

I was beginning to love these guys.

I was beginning to belong—with them.

“Hey, Coach, we gotta pray before we go out there!”

We made a habit of opening and closing every practice in prayer. It centered and settled us.

Carlos, a kid with knife scars bearing witness to his gang experience, was now learning to pray.

Before our first game, the boys moved through their warm-up drills in their “filthy” new green-and-white uniforms with unfamiliar discipline.

They were no longer merely a group of kids.

They were a team.

They belonged.

A curious crowd began filling the little church gym. More chairs were brought in. Parents—some who had seldom shown up before—were showing up now.

Wade leaned toward me and whispered, “Hey, Coach, that’s my dad over there. I haven’t seen him sit next to my mom for years.”

As each player’s name was announced, he ran onto the court and joined his teammates at center court. There were smiles, high fives, and handshakes as the boys looked around the packed gym.

This was new—all of it.

Would they play together? Would they trust one another? Would they believe they belonged?

The “Star-Spangled Banner” played. The jitters grew.

Something new was about to begin.

I felt what I call “God-bumps.”

From the opening tip, the boys played just as we had practiced—as a team. They shared the ball, ran the court, and played their hearts out.

We jumped to an early lead.

Parents who may once have yelled at their kids were now yelling for them.

Deep into the game, stamina dwindled. Fatigue and frustration set in. Smoking, drinking, and late nights were taking their toll.

We began to break down.

With four minutes remaining, our lead had fallen to four points.

“Time out!”

The boys gathered around me.

“Look one another in the eyes. Do you trust what you see? Remain disciplined. Control the pace. Finish strong—together.”

When the final buzzer sounded, the screams reverberated through the little gym.

At center court, Big Mike thrust both arms into the air.

“We won!”

Big Mike had rarely been given the opportunity to participate in anything before. Now, he let it all out.

Fans, friends, family members, and parents—some who had once run from these boys—now ran toward them. They cheered and jumped for joy over their basketball players, their team, their winners.

I will never forget that night.

As I walked across the court, I saw Sean’s mother with her arms wrapped around his tired body, her cheek pressed against his sweaty jersey. His eyes were bright, and a huge smile stretched across his exhausted, red face.

Pure joy.

And then I understood.

I think I get it, God. I’m the one being “fixed.”

And there was—there still is—so much more in me that needs fixing.

Not by me.

By God.

“Though you have not seen Him, you love Him; and even though you do not see Him now, you believe in Him and are filled with an inexpressible and glorious joy.” —1 Peter 1:8

The Eastside Academy Basketball Team finished its first season with 13 wins and 6 losses. But their record only confirmed what they had already begun to believe: They were Winners!