Short, But Still Shooting

When I was young, I loved basketball. Loved it. I mean loved it in a way that completely ignored reality.

Reality being… I was short.

Not “kind of short.” Not “average height.” I was the kid who looked up at the rim like it was a NASA project.

But that didn’t stop me.

I dribbled like I was preparing for the NBA. I practiced layups that required more faith than physics. I shot three‑pointers that had a better chance of hitting a passing bird than the net.

And every time I stepped onto the court, I believed, truly believed, that height was just a suggestion.

The other guys would tower over me, seemed to block out the sun, and I’d still be there thinking, “If I can just get one clean shot”

Spoiler: I rarely got one clean shot.

But here’s the funny thing: I never felt discouraged. I wasn’t embarrassed. I wasn’t frustrated. I was having the time of my life. Because when you’re young, passion outruns limitations. You don’t think about what you can’t do, you just do what you love.

Looking back, I realize something: God didn’t give me height, but He gave me heart. And sometimes heart is the better gift.

I didn’t become a basketball star. I didn’t dunk (unless you count the time I jumped, missed everything, and dunked myself onto the ground). I didn’t grow into a tall, intimidating forward.

But I learned something priceless: You don’t have to be built for something to enjoy it. You don’t have to be the best at something for it to shape you. And sometimes the things you “fail” at end up being the things that teach you joy, humility, and a whole lot of humor.

So here’s to all the short kids who still shoot. Here’s to all the dreams that didn’t pan out but still made us smile. And here’s to the God who uses even our funniest failures to form us.