Why Would I Chose 77?

I'm pretty sure we could all agree that 77 is a pretty weird number for a volleyball player, right? I remember playing away at another school during my time at Baylor, and I heard a young man from the student section say "HEY 77, SHOULDN'T YOU BE ON THE FIELD WITH YOUR FOOTBALL TEAM?!" My team got some good laughs out of that one. Yes, 77 is kind of a football number, but it has a story. My story.

I'll get to how Baylor became a part of my life later, but first here's the background story that made me who I am today and how I chose my number. My Grandfather, Paolo Milana, traveled across the Atlantic Ocean from Sicily all the way to Canada as a teenager. Before he left, his mom had a common cold, but because of the war, they were unable to get medicine for her and she passed away. One week after she passed, his father's car was stopped and he was shot along with others who were close to my grandfather. He had no choice but to travel to Canada and work for family on a Heinz tomato farm. After two whole weeks of traveling across the ocean, contracting all kinds of illnesses and feeling "sick as a dog" (cue Italian accent), he arrived in Canada and was put to bed around 3 a.m. They came into his room three hours later, woke him up and said "Get to work!" He worked all day in the hot sun on that farm, and then he woke up the next morning to do it all over again. My father was raised by this man, and worked tirelessly on the tree farm for the family business my grandfather had started. When other kids in his high school went to football games on Friday nights, he would be pruning and transporting trees for his family. His "Christmas break" involved the hardest work he had to do all year. My dad always told me stories of his childhood, but they weren't the kind of stories you would expect. He didn't tell me about the early mornings, the blisters on his hands, the sunburns on the back of his neck, or the exhaustion from working days and months on end on a tree farm. He told me about coming in the house after a day of work in the hot sun, smelling his mother's cooking and eating enough food for about five grown men. He told me how he taught himself how to swing a machete with both arms so he could do twice as much work. He told me about him and his brother's relationship and how they never fought, regardless of how tired they were and how hard their work was. Although he grew up with an immigrant father who never finished high school, he followed his dream and became the first in his family to go to college and eventually earned a master's degree in automotive engineering. He taught me what true perseverance looked like in the presence of pain and the illusion of defeat, the kind that Jesus had on the cross the moment he died for my sins. He also taught me what it looked like to follow Christ with my whole being. He taught me who God is and showed me the kind of relationship I could have with Him. Through years and years of long days and coming home late, I knew his job took a lot out of him, but I never once heard him complain. After being in the prime of his career with a resume you wouldn't believe if you read, he was fired and found a job truck driving, and I still never heard him complain. Through the midst of every tough situation my father and my family has been in, he has always looked toward the peace of Jesus and has had full trust that God would provide and take care of us. I never truly realized how big of an impact he had on me and my relationship with Christ until I myself was challenged throughout my college career.  Growing up as an awkward, gangly young girl, I never expected to be "elite" in anything, especially sports. I had grown up playing softball, basketball and volleyball, but I can remember being so mad in rec volleyball because I didn't have enough strength to set the ball over the net. Let's just say that college sports were completely out of the question. All I knew was that I was extremely competitive and hard-working, and that I truly loved sports.

This changed as I grew a couple inches and started getting comfortable with my long limbs. I absolutely loved volleyball, so decided to try out for a regional team in 7th grade. I can easily say that was one of the most fun years of my life. I fell in love with the sport and couldn't stop growing, which definitely didn't hurt my case. As a freshman in high school, I was 6-foot tall and received attention from collegiate programs around the country. I was fortunate enough to compete in the USA Volleyball pipeline for the majority of my high school career. This led to many college visits and offers from some of the top programs in the country, and I chose Maryland. Although people questioned me and were surprised I didn't go elsewhere, I didn't blink through my decision. I wanted to be the underdog and beat the top dogs. I wanted to help grow a vision that I was passionate about, and I didn't let anyone tell me no.

What I didn't realize is that my decision changed my life in ways I would never be able to fathom as a sophomore in high school. My first two years as a Terp were brutal. My coaches pushed me in ways I never thought I could be pushed, mentally and physically. I didn't know who I was. I stayed in my room most of my time at Maryland and didn't make any effort to build relationships with my teammates or anyone around me. I saw differences in lifestyles between me and them, and I shut myself off from them completely because of it. Instead of showing my light and living as an example of Christ, I ran away from differences and challenges and hid in a hole to protect myself.

What I didn't realize was that I was not only hurting those around me, I was hurting myself. I was not growing, I was not learning, I was not thriving. Instead, I was surviving. The problem wasn't my teammates or my school, the problem was me. It was a random Wednesday. The training room was quiet as I sat on the table, waiting for my trainer to meet with me. She said she had something to talk to me about. We had just finished our season, so I didn't really think anything of it. "Probably an end-of-the-season check-up," I thought. I thought wrong. She walked into the room, pulled up a chair right in front of me, and laid her hand on my leg. "Your labrum is torn pretty bad, Gia. We need to schedule you for a surgery as soon as possible," she said quietly, waiting on my response. I didn't know how to respond. I was shocked. I never thought I would ever have to get surgery, especially not on the arm I hit with every single day. Surprisingly, I wasn't sad at all. My first season was not fun for me. I remember having three weeks left and calling my mom with tears streaming down my face, saying, "I can't do it mom, I can't do it anymore." The emotionally defeating practices, the lack of any connection with my teammates, the hours of homework, the aching of my body, the pressure to perform, the anxiety attacks from not being able to breathe during workouts. I was done with volleyball, and I put my relationship with God on the back burner. I had completely lost my passion, I was scared, and all I wanted to do was go home and rest.

Knowing that my surgery would allow me to miss volleyball for eight months was a relief for me. Knowing I didn't have to touch a ball for that long almost made me cry tears of joy. I needed a huge reset button, and I thanked God for it. What I didn't realize was that my reset button would put me through the works. Recovering from surgery is like learning how to walk again. The power behind my swing is one part of my game that set me apart from others but, after my first surgery, I simply couldn't get that power back to where it was. I had to make up for it in other ways in order to be good enough to help my team make the NCAA tournament for the first time in a very long time. As my second season ended, we were pretty certain we would make the tournament. My coach rented out a whole restaurant for us to watch the selection show. There were reporters everywhere around us, ready to film our reaction to finally making the tournament. As the show went on, the room became more and more solemn. We were all recording the screen, waiting for our names to pop up. The end drew near, and we finally saw our name. We were the first team out of the tournament. It was over. Everyone's mouths dropped. We didn't know what to do. Reporters quietly walked out of the room, the TVs were turned off, and my coach gave us an end-of-the-season speech. After two years of my collegiate career, I still had not competed in an NCAA tournament. Not shortly after, I also learned that I would need to have surgery on my bicep tendon and have it re-attached to the bone at a lower location on my hitting arm. Eight months' recovery. Boom! I was at an all-time low in my life and knew that something had to change. I knew I couldn't change it myself, I needed the one person I knew could love me no matter what. I needed the one person who knew all of me and who desired to enter into my life and be a light in me. I needed my creator, my best friend and my father. I needed Jesus.

After my second season, I met an incredible human who pointed me toward reading God's word. One day during our Bible study, they asked me, "Are you born again?" Truth is, I knew I wanted to be, I knew I believed that God loves me, created me and sent His son to die for me, but I knew I had not spoken this truth and asked Jesus to come into my life with all of my heart. They guided me through this process and showed me what it meant to be born again. Once I believed with my heart and spoke, I became born again. My friend showed me how to study the word, and throughout this process I started to learn what God thought of me, how he sees me and what he wants for me as a child in His family. I learned that all things happen for my good, that I can trust in Him with all of my heart, and that through Him I can do all things. I started to let these truths and many more seep into my heart and renew my mind. I started seeing the world in a completely different way. I became a light, nothing could take away my joy, and nothing could take away the fact that because He has already won, so have I, no matter how much my story tells me I should be defeated. During that Christmas break, I was playing cards with my mom and sister. I remember cracking up together and teasing my mom about being terrible at cards. After she went back at me, I laughed and looked down at my phone. My coach at Maryland emailed me and my team. He was resigning as head coach of Maryland volleyball. I was shocked. I was scared. I didn't know what to do. I just sat there and freaked out. I started crying, got up from my seat, put my hands above my head and paced around the house. Seeing my reaction, my mom told me she thought someone had died. She picked my phone up and read the email and had a very similar reaction. No one saw this coming. I was going to help my coach build a program, I was going to help my team make it to the tournament, I was going to do it with him. Until I wasn't. He was gone, and there was nothing I could do about it. "I'm staying with my team," I told my mom after calming down. "We can do this, we can make it through this." As the day went on, I prayed and asked God why this would happen. I knew He had a plan and that it was perfect. I knew that all things happened for my good. I knew I was His child and that if He takes care of the birds in the sky, am I not valuable enough for Him to take care of me? After hours of discussion with my family, I decided that I should request to talk to other schools. I wasn't expecting much, but I was trusting that I would be able to know where God wanted me. If that was Maryland, great. If it was somewhere else, that would be great as well. When I was given freedom to contact and be contacted, the floodgates opened. I never realized I would be sought after by so many amazing schools. A couple weeks after my second surgery with my arm in a sling. I was truly humbled and so truly thankful for every conversation I had with some amazing coaches from around the country. I started to get excited about the possibilities of transferring. Never did I think I would ever transfer, but once I talked to Coach Mac (Ryan McGuyre), everything changed. I'll never forget our conversation. He asked me about my story and I told him about my surgeries, expecting him to react a certain way, knowing I wouldn't be able to train for months. He quoted Romans 5:3-4, which says, "We also rejoice in our afflictions, because we know that affliction produces endurance, endurance produces proven character, and proven character produces hope." This blew me away. I had to visit this school. On my visit to Baylor, I remember being so nervous. I looked at the schedule, and it said I was with the team for the majority of the day. No coaches, just me and the girls. Me being kind of shy and uncomfortable with people I don't know too well, I was extremely intimidated. That was all taken away within five minutes of being with the team. I knew Shelly (Stafford) from the USA Collegiate pipeline, and I remember absolutely loving her. I was so happy when I saw her. I also met Braya (Hunt), Tara (Wulf) and Yossi (Yossiana Pressley), along with others that joined throughout the day, and I eventually met the whole team. I can't remember a day that I laughed more than I did on my visit. I absolutely fell in love with the culture of the team and each of the hearts of the girls that I met. I didn't think a team like this could ever exist. It was so obvious to me that they loved each other, and were just so real in the way they interacted. They were so inclusive with everyone on the team. There was no sense of cliques. There was no judgement. There was no hostility. There were, however, a whole lot of laughs and giggles. I was so happy. God brought me to my home.

When I stepped on the Baylor campus to move in, I remember Kellianne (Layton) texting me about my future jersey number. She told me that 14, my number from Maryland, had been taken, and asked me what number I wanted. I began to think hard about this decision. I had been through a lot and was amazed with where I ended up. It was impossible for me to have planned coming to Baylor. I knew God wanted me at Baylor for a reason. I knew His plan involved Baylor, and I knew His plan was perfect and complete. The number 7 isn't just a lucky number. To me and many others, it signifies completeness. God created the earth in six days, and on the seventh He rested. In that rest, His work was made complete. After two surgeries and transferring to a school across the country, which I never thought would happen, the first thought that comes to most people's minds would not be "complete." Oddly enough, as I sat there on my new bed in Waco, that's the only word that came to my mind. Completion. All of a sudden I had it. I had my number. I was complete in God, regardless of my two surgeries. I was also complete in Him after transferring to a school to a state where I had never been before. After both surgeries and both schools, I sat there and was able to completely rest in the fact that I was complete in God, regardless. Because He completes, I can rest. I picked up my phone and texted Kellianne, "Number 77 isn't taken, is it?"