Captured by Grace

Quiet. Only the sound of the distant surf, the wind whistling in the tree tops. It is dark. Somewhere in the distant jungle a flashlight glimmers than disappears. No one is around. Or is there? Look carefully. That dark mound, that tree stump. It just moved. Look closer. It is a player, clad in black, waiting for the moment to strike.

For me the highlight of Managaha has always been the traditional Saturday night game of "Capture the Flag" played late in the night in the boonies of Managaha. It is a game of stealth, of patience, of long stretches of waiting and boredom punctuated by heart-pounding, adrenaline fueled chases through the jungle that make all the waiting worth it.

Chaos. "Grants going for the flag. Go! Go! Go! Get him!." Flashlights blaze on! You stumble blindly through the woods, tripping over roots, sweeping away spider webs. Shouts. Screams of victory? Or frustration? And for whom? Our team or theirs? "Did you get him? Did we get him!" We did. Triumph. Yes! That's how the game is played, baby! Whoo-hoo. The flag is safe, as silence again descends on the jungle. For now.


The goal is simple: Cross into enemy territory, capture their flag and bring it back to your side without being tagged by the other team. If by chance you get tagged, you are escorted to prison where you will be infinitely bored while you wait for your teammates to come bursting out the darkness, evade the prison guards, tag you and set you free again.


In practice, it is a long, hard-fought game that will keep the players reliving the highlights well into the next day


I think since the very first Managaha campout I've been one of the team captains, and over the years I've racked up a string of victories--that is until last year. And this year.


Twice in a row now, my team has suffered ignomious losses. The worst part of it was that both of the games I lost in the past two years, I lost within 30 minutes (a real Capture the Flag game should last at least a couple of hours) and through no ones fault but my own. The final indignity is that I lost this years game making the exact same mistake I made last year! See every game has what I call "line loungers." These are unimaginative folks that like to just hang around the boundary line flipping their flashlights about, taunting their fellow line loungers on the other side of the boundary, and occasionally making little darts and feints across the line before scurrying back to their side.


Last year, I figured that these line loungers were useless, and I would pull them back and try to lure their line loungers deep into our territory. Well it worked too well. One of their line loungers wandered across the line, unchallenged, walked back to our flag, took it, and walked back while we were distracted by having just captured their team captain. I suppose they figured, "Hey, you can have our captain. We've got your flag. Game over."


You'd think I would have learned my lesson and left the line loungers be this time. I would've thought so too. But we'd both be wrong. Sure enough, thinking I had an invincible back up plan, I pulled line loungers off the boundary for a little walk-around, and while we strolled, the word came back--our flag had been taken. The game was over. And silly me, had the exact same shocked reaction as last year--"That's not possible!" But of course it was.


Heather Tucker, a hard core pre-school teacher had darted across the line and snatched the flag while my flumoxed players tried to figure out what was going on.


It was early yet, only 11 P.M.. It had only taken 30 minutes for my team to be beaten thanks to my hubris, so we decided to switch sides and play a second game.


The game began and this time I wasn't messing around. I kept people all up and down the line and we settled in for a hard fight. I made a constant round of my troops, encouraging them, and informing them of the latest developments as our "prison" began to fill with captured members of the other team. Our team was playing well--disciplined, tight, focused, eyes on the prize. We were not messing around.


But the victory we longed for was not to be. I actually preferred the quick loss to the teeth-gritting frustration of the second game. Twice we captured key members of their team, including their captain, the intrepid and daring Missy Chamberlain. Twice we had to let them go because of what might be termed "technicalities". Oh, the claims were legitimate. There was a dispute as to whether a rescuer tagged a prisoner before she was tagged. Prisoner and rescuer went free. Our players in the excitement of the tag were not properly escorting prisoners to prison. Three high-value players--Grant, Heather, and team captain Missy went free. Again. I later found out that one of my prison guards let Ricardo Rankin one of the fiercest CTF competitors on the planet go, after he argued that the only reason he'd been caught was because he thought someone walking on the beach was one of our players. Running away from the latenight beach comber he got tagged. My prison guard let him go.


All the calls were more or less legitamate. I couldn't argue that. But they stung. It hurt our morale to keep feeling like we were making progress only to have it seemingly snatched away from us. To be frank, the kids on my team were handling it better than I was. Truthfully, I was angry. I was resentful. I understood the rules, I understood they were fair, I knew all that. . .I guess I just wanted a break. And I knew there was no reason I should get one.

The crowning indignity was, with 10 minutes left to go in the game (we had decided to end the game promptly at 1:00 A.M.--another frustration, as I was used to playing until the game was won or lost, not just ending it arbitrarely), we decided to throw caution to the winds and make an all out run for the flag. For the past hour the opposing team had seemed to have taken on our strategy, seemingly melting into the woods and doing nothing. Waiting. Waiting for us to make a move. (Or, the less charitable side of me thought, running down the clock since they already had a win under their belt). I went to collect one of my players who was talking to the opposing team's captain at the boundary line. We ended up talking for a few minutes and during that time the clock ran out. Missy was ready to call it a night, and she didn't think it would be fair or practical to have her team keep playing. I was mortified. My poor team had been waiting all night for the signal to "go." Time and time again, I'd told them to wait, promising them that the time would come. They must be patient. And loyally, faithfully, trustingly, they had obeyed me. They had waited in the dark, crouched down in the bushes, the pouring rain, and now even that, the chance to run and have some excitement would be taken away as well. . .on a technicality. Missy drove a hard bargain. I ended up revealing my whole strategy to Missy, practically begging for a chance to run. Finally, she agreed to play an additonal ten minutes on the humiliating terms that even if we got their flag, they would be considered the winners. My ego beaten and stinging with shame, I agreed and we all gamely made a run at the flag. Many of us ended up in prison, and we were never able to get their flag, nor they ours. The game ended in a draw around 1:30.


My kids were happy to have had a chance to run, and chalked it up to a game well played. They were proud of how they'd played--and I was proud of them too--but somehow I couldn't let it go. It was just a game. It was all in good fun. And yet I was miserable. I felt cheated. Wronged. I had known Missy would be a tough and worthy competitor--behind that friendly grin is an iron will, nerves of steel, savvy intellect, and the heart of true competitior. It was why I asked her to be the other team captain. I'd always said women were better at this game then men, and she'd proved me right. So why couldn't I accept it, and go to bed in peace?


We exchanged the usual "good games", but I couldn't keep up the facade. I had to let Missy and Grant (who had been one of those captured and let go twice) know how I felt. So I told them. Told them I wasn't happy with the outcome, with how the game played. They listened, patiently, graciously. They didn't argue. And I felt a little better. But only a little.


What else? What else did I need? What was I looking for?


I didn't know until I it received from my good friend Grant.


"Hey, Sean. I just wanted to say it takes a big man to play the kind of game you played, to take some bad calls with such a good attitude. I don't know if I could do it."


What was he talking about? I didn't have a good attitude; My attitude stunk! He didn't need to say that to me. I didn't deserve that. I hadn't earned it.


But you see, that's what I had been longing for--a break, an undeserved, unearned gift--in a word, grace. And unwittingly, I'm sure, Grant offered that to me and in a moment he lifted the burden from my shoulders. Just like that, everything was okay. The game sunk back to it's proper perspective. I was okay. I wasn't going to be haunted by resentment, nursing a grudge. I could let it go.


"Thanks, Graves. It really means a lot to me for you to say that," I said. He had no idea how much it meant.


You see all evening I'd been living by the letter of the law, striving to play the perfect game and failing. I didn't expect any breaks. I knew I didn't deserve them. The rules were the rules. You couldn't play a game without them. But deep down I was looking for a break. I was longing for grace.

And the amazing thing is that when you receive grace, it really does change you. Grant's extension of grace literally changed my attitude in a way that I don't think any thing else could have. He could have argued with me and proved he and Missy were right and I would have no choice but to acknowledge it. He could have chosen to take to heart my obvious petulance and just ignored me, let me stew in my own juices and he would have been within his "rights" to do so. He could have pretended everything was fine and smiled in the face of my disgruntlement and he would have looked like a nice, good natured guy. But none of those things would have changed me. Only grace could do that.


Grace. In case we've forgotten, that's what our faith is all about. That's what sets the followers of Christ apart from all other faiths. We are the recipients and the purveyors of grace.


That night I was playing capture the flag, but instead of capturing a flag--that was not to be--I was captured by grace, and I'm better for it.


Thanks, Graves.


Grace makes beauty out of ugly things
Grace. . . a thought that could change the world
--U2


For by grace you have been saved through faith;
and that not of yourself; it is the gift of God.
--Ephesians 2:8

A gallery of the some of the key players in this years capture the flag match-up:

The Captains. Me and Missy. You do not want to run into this lady in the jungle on a dark night. She will take you down! Well done, Missy. It was a privelage to play against you and no shame to lose to you. Let's do it again next year! I'm totally up for a rematch. Or better yet, teammates!

Ricardo Rankin (Team Missy), CTF veteran and fierce competitor. He takes the game seriously, but with a genuine respect for fair play and sportsmanship. I would have loved to have had him on my team. The hallmark of a great CTF player is that they pretty much disappear during the game and you never know where they are. That's Classic Ricardo.

My prison guards. They were busy throughout the evening keeping track of captured members of Team Missy. Well done ladies. It's a thankless job keeping track of whiny prisoners and you handled it like pros.

Defense Team, (Team Maycock)! Britni, John Moreno, Mai anchored my defense. These troupers literally sat for hours, hidden, patiently waiting to the spring the trap on those who dared go after our flag. Theirs was especially unrewarding but invaluable work--they'd never make the run for the opponents flag themselves. That glory would go to others while they guarded the home front and kept us safe. My admiration for them knows no bounds. I absolutely REFUSE to compete next year without them!

My line loungers. If only I'd left them alone during that first game, the evening might have gone much differently.

Heather Tucker (Team Missy). She played with spunk and fire. She won the first game for Team Missy with her gutsy grab for the flag. She played hard, smart, and stealthy and they dont' come any better than that.


See the guy in blue with guitar in the middle? He played a strong game, full of courageous, daring moves. He laid it all on the line to move the game along. But Grant's most powerful move was made after the game was over.