double whammy

The Point

From the My City Hotel on the Asian side of Istanbul, I feel a little twitchy in my contented state. This may be due to the three cups of kahve (coffee) I just inhaled, or perhaps Tracy is finally letting her sheath down a little.

You see, there are many sides to this person working the keyboard. I can be quite goofy and engaging, but I can also be the opposite extreme—reclusive and very shy. I’ve been battling too much of the latter recently. It is my tendency when things are difficult or heavy for me to withdraw in order to regain stability and positive focus—not always a great thing, but sometimes necessary.

This was certainly the case leading up to this past Tuesday’s match against Gunes Sigorta (our fifth and final contest with this team). It was finally a European League match; I was set to start; and I honestly felt as mighty as a lone unripened lima bean. There are many reasons why I felt so small—the poor attack connection with our setter, feeling like everyone was just expecting, waiting for me to blow the big game, etc. Whatever the reasons, I knew there was much work to do to get my mind right. I went through my routine like normal—the studying, the music, the prayer (and the hair). But this time my need for true thoughts to replace the bad ones felt extra vital; the “Fake it til you make it” would not cut it. So I had to search for what was real, what I could control, and what promises from God I could think on instead.

As I filtered through the usual round of thoughts before the match of what it means to compete knowing my value is set and my needs are met by God alone, another powerful truth began to surface. Considering first what was at stake, I think the worst that could happen is that I do completely botch the match; every touch is an error; and the club condemns my career convincing everyone in the world of volleyball to never hire me again. Wow—not cool.

But, truly, even that would not be the end of my story. Volleyball is not who I am, but something I do. It is a gift—a joy to me from the Creator of all. Even more, volleyball is a means to a much greater end in my life—growing to the utmost in character and person like that of the one and only Jesus Christ. My bigger goal is to extract, to touch, to own every curve and grain of my making, my pot. The Potter didn’t spin me into being so that I could be great at volleyball. He didn’t create me to reap happiness or comfort, marriage or praise. These can all be good in life, and happiness is certainly a blessing and desire, but, really, it is not the point of living.

And so, as I positioned the clips throughout the mane and strapped in the ankles for another round of juking and pounding, I resigned myself to simpler thoughts. Get up on time, Trace, and swing fast. Close with your feet on the block and press. Firm hand and pop on the serve. “Next play” mentality. Bring on the battle, bring on the hard, because all I want is to be everything God intended. So I will give everything tonight, and let it be how it will be.

I was struck once again by the words of 1Peter 5:6-7:
“Humble yourselves under God’s might right hand, and He will lift you up in due time. Cast all your anxiety on Him, because He cares for you.”

We competed hard and won in five. The win was very exciting as we then advanced to the second round of the European League, which means that if we beat our Polish opponents next (best of 2 matches) we advance to the Final Four! I believe we can really do it!

I will admit that it is a little strange divulging so much about my pre-game thought in a blog, but the purpose of this thing is to share my experience. And, really, this is the bulk of what’s going on for me right now—wrapping my mind around where I fit in this new professional arena.

Dairy and Daggers

Now, in an effort to move away from the incredibly deep volleyball lima bean talk, I was delighted to discover today that my teammate Nesve (nesh-vey) shares my incredible delight in creamy foods. Cheese, milk, yoghurt, cream…You name it; we love it. And might I go so far as to say if you haven’t eaten dairy foods from countries outside the US, then you haven’t eaten them at ALL. Milk actually has taste here. And Cheese….don’t even get me started on the varieties and shapes and textures that all make your taste buds slap happy.

YEeeaaahh….so besides the BEAN-O, you might want to send me some armor, because the daggers that were flying from some locals a couple days ago were ALL headed in my direction! Nancy and Jason Metcalf (my fellow Nebraska peeps) and I chose to surround ourselves with bags and kebaps and rugs galore at the famed tourist site of the Grand Bazaar. The roofed maze of color and chatter filled my nostrils with ripe leather. The name of the game is bargain, and I thought myself a veteran having filled many-a-bag with China’s Silk Market goods for crazy cheap. And so when we were led to a special room to check out Turkish silk rugs, I was excited for the haggling to begin. The well-spoken man charmed us with apple tea and kind words. In fact, Nancy and Jason had bought rugs from him in previous years. He whipped out maybe twenty rugs, spinning and flaunting their uniqueness. One particular white, red, and green rug caught my eye. He dropped the 950 Lira bomb (over $600). Uhh…. Excuse me? Nancy, Jason, and I talked it over. After finding some stains and imperfections, I decided I’d offer him 300 L. I wasn’t determined to get it, but thought if he bit—sweet—if not, I’ll just walk away.

“This rug is very nice,” I said. “But with the stains and everything, I’ll give you 300 Lira”

“Sure.” he said, rapidly nodding. “Sure. 300 Lira.”

I was floored. Dangit, I thought, I should have asked for 250. Then I noticed his expression. The fumes, the eyes…and the explosion.

“You know she wasn’t going to buy a rug, Nancy! You come in here and waste my time!” He paced the floor and kicked the rugs—arms flailing. “You are insane trying to buy a rug 300 Lira! AHHH!”

I realize now my small offer could have felt very insulting to him, but I was so shocked to see this guy flip the switch so fast. From complete schmooze-fest to fierce anger! Nancy and Jason were responding calmly to his accusations, but I in my increasing anxiety just started backing away towards the door.

I suppose I’m thankful for Mr. Spazz, because I wasn’t as shocked the next time my low-ball offer shuddered a seller. A beautiful Louis Vuitton messenger bag beckoned me and visions of coffee shops. That is, until the guy said it was worth 400 Lira! Say WHAT? For a knock-off? I offered him 50 Lira. He glared at me with a sort of crazed grin. Taking back the bag from my hands, he said, “Sorry, lady. You will never see your dream.”

Ha. So it is true that in Istanbul perhaps vendors are not as bendy when it comes to the worth of their products. I will return to the Grand Bizaare, but next time with a thicker skin (or a chained vest?), more money, and expanded dreams!

Now we play another big match against Fenerbahce tonight (Saturday). Gotta get my mind right. But first, I’m going to find Nesve for a little pre-match cheese.