Soccer season was starting once again. This year my tiny, 35-pound, 5-year-old daughter would be playing Micro-League for the Bombers. As we walked to the first practice on a cool summer day, I was anxious to see who the coach would be. Would his focus be on making the game fun and a team experience, or would he focus on goals and winning? As practice began I met the coach, Ray. My first impression was that Ray was a good man. Any lingering doubt about him vanished when an odd incident occurred during a practice game: the white shirts versus the blue shirts.

As they began, an olive skinned little boy who (we later learned) spoke no English wandered from the playground equipment over to the sidelines of the game. He watched. He waited. Moments later, I looked for him again, but he was gone. Then I noticed there were now thirteen Bombers running up and down the field. The boy, perfectly camouflaged in blue shorts and a white t-shirt, had joined the white team. He ran, he passed, he kicked. He smiled.

No one seemed to notice that he wasn't a part of the team. No one yet said, "He hasn't paid the fees! The proper forms and releases have not been signed!" Soon, however, a ball rolled into a mother's lap, and as the new boy ran to fetch it, the mom innocently said to the coach, "He's not on the team." The kids, who had not even noticed that a new friend was on the field, stopped. The coach looked down at the now very dirty boy, saying, "He's not? Hmm."

There was a pause as the boy looked up at Ray, who held his soccer fate, at least this day. Finally Ray made his judgment. He put his hand on the boy's small back and said, "Come on! Let's play soccer!" And off all thirteen Bombers ran.

None of us deserve to be on God's team. We haven't earned it. Nor have we have we paid the price ourselves. Yet, in his grace, Jesus chooses us to be on the best team in the universe.