Realizing How Much I Care

I've always said the trophies don't matter that much to me. I'm not in it for the medals or the trophies - I don't even know what to do with them. Where do you even put them? I'm uncomfortable having them on display, but it doesn't seem right to hide them in the back of a closet, either.

Until my little sister broke one of my trophies. And it wasn't just any trophy, it was my extemp trophy. That was a big deal to me. That trophy represented hundreds of hours. That trophy represented late nights, 2 gigabytes of stored articles, and eight months of research collaboration with my extemp club.  That trophy represented success in an event that I used to be too scared to try.

And she broke it. She didn't break it on purpose, but it had kind of been one of those days and when I saw what she had done, my frustration boiled over.

In that moment, I realized how much I cared. I cared if that trophy broke. I cared if that trophy was kept shiny and dust free. I cared if my little sisters couldn't keep their sticky fingers off of it.

It's just a trophy. Five, ten years from now, it'll probably be in a box at the back of a closet.

"I . . . Count them as rubbish in order that I may gain Christ."

 I count it as rubbish, or I freak out if it's broken?

I've said a lot of things about extemp in the time that I've competed in it. It's an addiction. It's an obsession. It's my favorite speech event.
I've also said a few things that reflected my pride in a way that I regret.

In January, Voice of the Martyrs was just as much a part of my regular reading as Foreign Policy, CNN, and the Economist were. Part of what I loved about extemp was the fact that I knew how to pray for the people of the world, because I knew specific needs.

There was a time when doing research left me on my knees and in tears as often as it left me jotting down notes on global leaders that I needed to brief myself on.

I don't know, maybe I'm wrong, but I feel like that girl wouldn't have yelled at her little sisters for breaking a plastic trophy.

Today, my extemp research led to a few cynical remarks under my breath and frustration with my internet connection.
Something changed, and I don't like it. Suddenly, I care more about my success than the hurting world behind the extemp topics. I care more about a trophy than about the little girl who says "Please don't leave me!" when I go to tournaments.

Pressure has this way of revealing what's really going on inside someone's head and where their priorities lie. Today, push came to shove and I picked my trophy over my sister, and I realized that in a very short time, my priorities had shifted.

I want to go back. I want to get back to the point where I really did care more about character than about trophies. Where extemp was an active part of my prayer life. Where speech and debate was something that I did for the glory of God rather than the glory of self. Back to the point where I recognized that I accomplished nothing in or out of the competition room apart from the grace of God. I want to once again count it all as rubbish in order that I may gain Christ.