Madness. That’s what they call it.
68 teams, all with lofty ambitions, and millions of people pouring time and energy—emotion, too—into making bracket predictions and forecasting outcomes.
Our family is no exception.
After the first weekend of play, when the pool of potential national champions shrank to just 16, I had a conversation with Abe, our ten-year-old grandson. While Abe doesn’t invest much mental energy during the regular NCAA men’s basketball season, he’s always eager to fill out a paper bracket and compete for the family crown.
After a brief chat with Abe, I asked how his bracket was holding up. His expression shifted immediately. “Not very good,” he replied. “Why is that?” I asked. “Because I picked Kansas to win.”
Enough said. In fact, Kansas had already been eliminated in their first-round matchup against Arkansas. The Jayhawks, who have made the tournament for 35 straight years, had an unusually disappointing season. Their regular season record was 21-12, and despite being voted the top college team in the country that fall, they had fallen completely out of the top 25 rankings by season’s end. This was not a typical Kansas basketball season.
Abe hadn’t noticed. Nor did he really care when filling out his bracket. Although he’s never lived anywhere but Colorado, his mom has been a lifelong KU supporter since her childhood years in Lenexa, Kansas. That loyalty was contagious. For Abe, it wasn’t about records, predictions, or probabilities. It was about affinity and commitment.
His was a loyalty that didn’t consult reality. And so, with confidence and hope, he penciled Kansas—a #7 seed—straight through to the championship.
Ironically, I found myself admiring my ten-year-old grandson. Loyalty trumped statistics. Commitment outpaced logic. He wanted the Jayhawks to win the national championship—not because he knew the players on the team, or because he felt confident in Bill Self, the KU coach, but because Kansas was his team. It was his mom’s team.
Misplaced optimism? Perhaps. But also a beacon of light—a loyalty that transcends regular season records and performance based rewards.
It
reminded me of a deeper loyalty, anchored not in sports, but in the love of God
and His boundless grace.
“My
sheep hear my voice, and I know them, and they follow me. I give them eternal
life, and they will never perish, and no one will snatch them out of my hand.
My Father, who has given them to me, is greater than all, and no one is able to
snatch them out of the Father’s hand. I and the Father are one.” (John 10:27–30, ESV)
With all our flaws, imperfections, and sometimes disappointing seasons, God’s
grace declares us “His own.” We are His beloved. His champions. Safe in His
hand.
He doesn’t check with Las Vegas before making His selection. He checks with the
perfect work of Christ, and then He writes our name.
Flawed, broken, sinful—but forgiven. Children of the Father. Beloved.
And yes, His choice for eternity.
Loyalty supreme. Love divine.
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