I was born and raised in a good churchgoing home in Tennessee. Anyone looking only at outward appearances would have believed I was a committed Christian. In high school I continued to attend church regularly with my family. If asked, “Is Nancy a good Christian girl?” any of the adult members of my church would have replied, “Oh yes; of course, she is. She’s even president of the youth group.” Being president of my church’s youth fellowship didn’t mean a thing. I had not given my heart to Jesus; I was too busy living my life my own way. I did not understand who Jesus Christ was, what He had done for me, and what He would do for me if I would only ask Him. 

As a result of going my own way, I felt increasingly empty and aimless. At first, I didn’t realize my life lacked purpose. I was popular in school, I always had friends among the in crowd, and I was repeatedly elected to hold office in student government. From outward appearances there was nothing wrong with my life. 

Performance in athletic activities gave me value, and my self-esteem depended on my success in sports. From a relatively young age sports were the center of my identity, and I planned my future around a career in athletics. I was continually involved in various athletic competitions at my school. I started for the ninth-grade basketball team even though I was only in seventh grade. I already knew what I wanted to do with my life: “I’m going to play college basketball while majoring in physical education. Afterward I’ll become a coach or an athletic director.” I took comfort in knowing where I was headed. 

In the ninth grade my world was shattered. I seriously injured my knee, and every time it started to heal, I injured it again. I loved basketball so much I couldn’t wait for my knee to heal properly before I got back on the court. I went to an orthopedic specialist at St. Thomas Hospital, who also happened to be a team physician for the Vanderbilt University Athletic Department. Since I was an avid Vanderbilt fan, I really thought that was a big deal because he was the best. Dr. Lipscomb prescribed a weight-lifting regimen to rehabilitate my knee. 

I continued injuring my knee. Several times I ended up in Dr. Lipscomb’s office after ill-fated attempts to play basketball. My knee would be tightly swollen and blue, and he would withdraw several syringes full of bloody fluid that had collected at the joint. Though I hated the pain I suffered and the horrible sight of what I was doing to my knee, I kept trying to play sports. My determination led to two major knee surgeries. Finally, Dr. Lipscomb sat me down in his office and told me what I didn’t want to hear: 

“Nancy, due to the obvious weakness of your knee and the repeated injuries, it is clear that you can’t go on like this. You need to stop participating in sports.” Surely this can’t be true, I thought. There’s got to be something that can be done to fix my knee. Sports were the one thing I knew I was good at, and basketball was my life. It was unimaginable to me that I could no longer play. 

As I realized I would never again be able to play basketball, I grew hopeless and bitter. Once I faced the fact that I could no longer play, in order to have something to do with the game I loved, I became the manager of the girls’ basketball team. I went through intense emotional struggles before I could consent to merely carrying water bottles and distributing towels to the players. I hated being reduced to having such an unimportant and invisible position on the team. I was used to being at the center of attention on the court, not being stuck on the sidelines. It took everything in me to remain involved in the game only as a supporter, and I was envious of the girls who were out on the court. Many times as I watched the team play, I wondered why I subjected myself to such agony. But I couldn’t stand the thought of not being connected to the team in some way, so I stuck it out as water girl. 

Though I could still pursue a career in athletics as a coach or a trainer, my immediate future seemed bleak because the possibility of playing college basketball had been snatched from me. I no longer had a driving goal to give my life meaning. Many of my girlfriends were hoping to find husbands and get married soon after high school. While I was not opposed to being a wife and mother, I did not feel I should marry young. There was something else I was supposed to accomplish, but I had no idea what it might be. I became increasingly angry at the world since I had lost the ability to do the thing I really loved to do. 

In response to the anger I felt, I rebelled. My rebellion was probably similar to that of most teenagers of that time. Once in a while I went out smoking and drinking. I knew it was wrong, but at the time I didn’t care. Since I would be unable to pursue my ambition of a life in sports, I no longer cared about staying in shape. Though I periodically dabbled in alcohol and tobacco, I never got mixed up in either heavily enough to become addicted. 

By the summer I graduated from high school, I had long recognized the emptiness of the teenage drinking parties I occasionally attended. Not only were they unfulfilling, but also they were not exciting enough to overcome the oppressive lack of direction in my life. Furthermore, I knew what I was doing was not only wrong but also against the standards I had set for myself throughout my teenage years. I had always been a leader, but by drinking and smoking I was conforming to other people’s standards and behaving more like a follower. 

The one positive thing I had going for me during my high school years was that I had a job with the Cracker Barrel restaurant in my hometown of Manchester, Tennessee. Though I didn’t think about it much at the time, this was good experience in preparing me for future responsibility, and it also enabled me to save enough money to buy my first car and pay my own way through college. Some of my friends were experimenting with drugs, and I considered joining them once I got to college. But another part of me really wanted my life to have lasting significance and value. My feelings were mixed. 

Though I didn’t realize it at the time, sports was the idol that I had used in the place of God to give my life meaning and direction. Through the knee injury, that idol was taken from me, leaving nothing to disguise my emptiness. I was miserable and frustrated.

This text is an extract from the book “ECHOES OF MERCY” written by Nancy Alcorn.

We invite you to read the following article “The Gag Rule”.