Many high school graduates are beginning to experience the end of their sports in one way or another. Their seasons are coming to an end, and, for some, life will never be the same.

In my case, as a thrower in track and field, I don’t have much opportunity to throw after high school. You don’t just randomly start throwing a shot put in your backyard or a discus at your local park. For the most part, you’re done with that part of your life. And, for me, it has been a huge part of my life. Throwing has become a passion, and now it feels a little like I’m losing a part of myself.

This verse is part of Christ’s Great Commission. As followers of Christ, this is an awesome commandment and responsibility we all share. My question is, how often do we go, but only halfway?

As athletes, we are constantly around teammates, competitors, and others who don’t know Christ. We go to practices, competitions, and social events where we are surrounded by people in need of a Savior, yet end up only going halfway—showing up, but not engaging them in what is most important to us: Jesus Christ. What stops us from going the whole way? Sometimes it’s simple forgetfulness or distractions, sometimes it’s fear, and sometimes it’s a lack of confidence or willingness to be different.

Former Notre Dame football coach Knute Rockne said, “I’ve found that prayers work best when you have big players.” Maybe when it comes to football, big players do make the difference in prayer. In the game of life, I’ve discovered the bottom line to getting prayers answered. As I look back on the times God has answered my prayers, I know why I got the answer. It was because I prayed the right prayer. I was specific with God when I prayed.

In Malachi 3:10 the Lord says, “Test Me in this way…See if I will not open the floodgates of heaven and pour out a blessing for you without measure.” Here we see the power of God to provide when we test Him. The way to test God is to be specific.

I’ll never forget attending my first professional basketball game. I sat two rows from the top of the stadium in the “nosebleed” section. Before the game, I went courtside to see the players up close. It was an awesome feeling standing there looking up. I could only imagine what it would be like during the game when those seats were full and the fans were cheering.

The word “clouds” in ancient Greek times referred to the highest seats in a stadium. If you had a ticket for one of those seats, the usher might have said, “Your seat is in the clouds today.”

A large crowd gathered for the memorial service of Coach Whitson, a much-loved junior high coach who had been at the same school for 17 years. Several former players spoke of his impact on their lives, describing him as happy and joyful. Those close to him knew what they were talking about, because Coach Whitson understood what it meant to offer thanksgiving and praise to God regardless of the circumstances. He walked in worship, even when the circumstances were not happy. Though he had had his share of pain, his focus on thanksgiving gave him a joy that touched many lives.

Much like Paul, I also felt at times that I was the worst of sinners. I wondered how God could forgive me, how He could use me. I didn’t measure up. As a young football coach, I modeled myself after several older, rough and rugged, salty coaches who were known to be profane to the extreme and who had a “take no prisoners” attitude. It had worked for them; maybe it would work for me. Using these questionable techniques, I, too, became successful—as in wins and losses. I gained the respect of my peers and won trophies and accolades, but for what? There was still a major hole that needed to be filled—a Jesus hole.

It had been a long day of doing things for my summer job, and it had thrown my schedule out of whack. The time I had put aside to do my lifting and running for football also got messed up. And if having my day split into pieces wasn’t bad enough, the aches and pains from the grind of summer workouts was beginning to wear down on me. That’s when the clouds rolled in and the rain started to fall.

Chris Tidland is a very good golfer. However, for six straight years he missed the final cut in q-school by a couple of strokes. In 2005, it came down to the final hole, and he missed it by one stroke. Many athletes would stop trying after all those years, but knowing Chris, he would never give up. The following year, Tidland again found himself in the top 30 players on the leaderboard in the final round. Only the final 30 would advance to the PGA Tour the next season. Would he finish strong and get an early Christmas present?

As athletes, most of us have experienced victory on the playing field, in the gym, on the road, etc., whether on a team or as an individual. Although we may not remember all the victories, we can probably recall how we felt during that time of victory. It was overwhelmingly satisfying, wasn’t it?

As athletes, most of us have also experienced defeat—maybe even more than victory. And just as we can remember the feelings of triumph, we also remember those of loss—the sadness, disappointment and remorse. Just plain defeated.

I once heard of a man named Scott who calls himself a professional gate-crasher—and with good reason. He claimed to have attended 300 sporting events and concerts, including 25 World Series baseball games, all without paying a single penny. In fact, he wrote a book that describes 50 ways to sneak into concerts and sporting events.

Scott’s gate-crashing raises all sorts of ethical questions, but let’s talk, instead, about a higher issue. Think about what it takes to get into Heaven. Jesus said there was only one way to get in: through Him (John 14:6). The “ticket” is having a personal faith in Jesus as your Savior, believing that He paid the penalty for your sin and accepting His offer of forgiveness as a gift (John 3:16; Romans 6:23).

At the end of the movie The Greatest Game Ever Played, there is a scene that depicts what winning is all about. Based on a true story, 20-year-old golfer Francis Ouimet wins the 1913 U.S. Open with a fifth-grade caddie named Eddie. After accomplishing this unthinkable feat by sinking a playoff-winning putt on the 18th hole, Francis yells, “We did it!” Francis played the round of his life, but understood that he won with the help and encouragement of Eddie. This scene captured my heart and I was convicted. I’m embarrassed to say I would have yelled, “I did it!”