Dear Athletic Trainer

To the One that Taped Up My Shin Splints Each Day,

Do you remember that bright sunny autumn day when we were walking across the fields from the athletic training room to the soccer fields? Probably not. I was one of many kids that you taped up each day as fall athletes endured two a days.

I had never had shin splints before but when I when I went to see you about the pain in my legs, you knew right away what the problem was. You explained it to me and then you taped me up and sent me on my way to run all those miles while my muscles built up enough to stop hurting. Twice a day, I came in to get taped. The tables often full of kids waiting their turn for your magic. And each time you stood at the foot of the table and worked on my legs, you saw me. Not just my physical pains, but me.

That day so, so many years ago, we were walking across the field. We knew each other well enough by then. You knew I was a church kid and you had invited me to club, young life club that is. We were enjoying the sun, the warmth that make early fall days in Oregon so special. Our conversation was interrupted by another student asking if the training room was open. You responded, “Just for you,” and kept walking along. Just for you. Those words caught me. I asked you why you would say it was just for him, when you had left the room open for a whole group of kids. I had seen a few in there as we left together. I am sure that part of my consternation was that you had said it to a football player, who probably did believe that the room was left open just for him. (These same football players would not let us lowly soccer players use their field even when they were not using it so my resentment was justified.)

You said something along the lines that whether ten kids, fifty kids or just that one kid used the room, it was there just for them. It didn’t matter how many walked through the door, the room was there for each one. “Just like Jesus. He died just for you. Whether thousands of others are saved also, or just one, he died just for you.”

I think that was the first time I thought about Christ’s death on the cross as personal, as just for me. I could never think of myself as having enough value, enough worth to have someone, anyone do something just for me.

Just for me.

How my faith changed that day and in the weeks to come when it sunk that Jesus was there just for me. Not for me as part of a group. Not for me as a member of my family. But just for me.

I am writing letters to a number of people, but it was you that taught me that the number doesn’t matter. That no matter how big a number is, the one matters.

Jesus died just for me.

Thank you for sharing your faith with me so unabashedly. For taking a simple moment and making it profound.

This freshman girl on the soccer team