So, how do I start this?
Believe me, I have gone over this question more times than I can count these past few weeks. When I put it out there on Facebook last week that this blog would be coming soon, I thought that it would help to motivate me. But when I saw the response to the post I actually got more nervous, afraid that the words would not be there, I was afraid that it was going to suck.
My Facebook posts are random, I rarely plan them. Sometimes the Lord lays something on my heart, or I am inspired by something that happened through the course of the day and the words begin to flow. But this, at least to me, seems so much more intentional and to be honest, I really didn't want this to be disappointing. As I prayed about this a story came to mind, something that had happened many years ago; and I began to understand what this blog was going to look like.
My dad loved to play baseball, and like any good father, he shared his passion for and knowledge of the game with his son.
Unfortunately, I was terrible at playing baseball.
I don't know why, but I was born with poor eyesight. My left eye in particular is very weak with an astigmatism. I wore an eye-patch over my right eye for a year and a half when I was young, just to make me use the left eye and to help prevent me from having a lazy-eye. Well in a game like baseball, you have a very small and fast moving object - a.k.a. - the ball.
My dad would always give me the age old advise of baseball "Keep your eye in the ball". What usually ended up happening, however, was me keeping my eye on the ball alright; or should I more accurately say the ball ending up in my eye. I could never see the ball, it moved to fast for my eyes to focus on it. And if I did happen to see it, all too often because of the astigmatism, I would see the ball in one place through my right eye and in a slightly different place with my left eye. It made it almost impossible for me to hit or even catch that stupid ball. I hated the game of baseball.Now when you know that you have been adopted there are times when thoughts, however irrational, will creep into your mind. I knew how badly my dad wanted me to love baseball like he did, and there were times as a little boy that I was ashamed of how poorly I played. I would think that maybe if I had been his 'real' son that I would be as good as he was and he would be proud of me. Let me be clear, my dad never made me feel like I was anything but his natural son and always told me that he was proud of me. But I knew that my dad was very athletic and I was not. My dad liked to play sports and I did not. Most of the boys my age were stronger and faster than I was, and I dreaded being the worst kid on the team.
So, as fate would have it, when I was about Isa's age probably 9 or 10; some of the dads at our church put together a sort of little league for church teams. My dad played in a church softball league and they had put this together so that their boys could play baseball against each other. Of course, he made sure that I was on the team too. He was patient and he worked with me, but I still wasn't very good, at all. I survived the season, mostly striking out and failing to catch to ball. I had told myself that there was no way that I would ever do this again. I did it one year for dad, but I honestly did not want to go through this again.
It was the last game. It was getting late and it was my turn at bat. I always hated being at bat, it was like everyone was watching just me and most of the time I would just strike out anyway. I just wanted it to be over with. I honestly don't know what was going on in the game, I just remember the sense of dread standing there with the bat in my hands waiting for the pitcher to throw the ball. Now I am pretty sure that as I swung the bat my eyes were closed, but somehow I hit it.
There are few things in life that feel as exhilarating as a bat connecting perfectly with the baseball, but when it happens there is no mistaking it. I opened my eyes and saw the ball go right past the third baseman into left field, a perfect base hit. I ran as fast as I could to first base, I couldn't have been more overjoyed. So I was very confused at what happened next.
No sooner than I had made it to first base, I turned around to see my entire team running straight towards me. I was confused, what had I missed, why was everyone so excited? As all my friends are congratulating me and giving me high-fives I began to figure it out.
It was the bottom of the ninth inning, the score was tied and we had a runner on third base. My personal triumph, my little single base hit was also the game winning R.B.I. Honestly, I had been clueless, and now I was the hero. I had no clue what was going on, no idea what was at stake; it wasn't even me who made the game winning run, but in that moment I had the game winning play.
As I was remembering all of this, the Lord began to speak to my spirit.
I was getting too worried about meeting expectations with my writing. I wanted my first post to be epic, something that would blow everyone away; but when I make it about me, it's rarely impressive. I have never been the guy to walk up and smash a home run with my first hit, but occasionally I get to help bring someone home. I do hope to inspire and encourage, but I am no better than anyone else.
Believe me, I have gone over this question more times than I can count these past few weeks. When I put it out there on Facebook last week that this blog would be coming soon, I thought that it would help to motivate me. But when I saw the response to the post I actually got more nervous, afraid that the words would not be there, I was afraid that it was going to suck.
My Facebook posts are random, I rarely plan them. Sometimes the Lord lays something on my heart, or I am inspired by something that happened through the course of the day and the words begin to flow. But this, at least to me, seems so much more intentional and to be honest, I really didn't want this to be disappointing. As I prayed about this a story came to mind, something that had happened many years ago; and I began to understand what this blog was going to look like.
My dad loved to play baseball, and like any good father, he shared his passion for and knowledge of the game with his son.
Unfortunately, I was terrible at playing baseball.
I don't know why, but I was born with poor eyesight. My left eye in particular is very weak with an astigmatism. I wore an eye-patch over my right eye for a year and a half when I was young, just to make me use the left eye and to help prevent me from having a lazy-eye. Well in a game like baseball, you have a very small and fast moving object - a.k.a. - the ball.
My dad would always give me the age old advise of baseball "Keep your eye in the ball". What usually ended up happening, however, was me keeping my eye on the ball alright; or should I more accurately say the ball ending up in my eye. I could never see the ball, it moved to fast for my eyes to focus on it. And if I did happen to see it, all too often because of the astigmatism, I would see the ball in one place through my right eye and in a slightly different place with my left eye. It made it almost impossible for me to hit or even catch that stupid ball. I hated the game of baseball.Now when you know that you have been adopted there are times when thoughts, however irrational, will creep into your mind. I knew how badly my dad wanted me to love baseball like he did, and there were times as a little boy that I was ashamed of how poorly I played. I would think that maybe if I had been his 'real' son that I would be as good as he was and he would be proud of me. Let me be clear, my dad never made me feel like I was anything but his natural son and always told me that he was proud of me. But I knew that my dad was very athletic and I was not. My dad liked to play sports and I did not. Most of the boys my age were stronger and faster than I was, and I dreaded being the worst kid on the team.
So, as fate would have it, when I was about Isa's age probably 9 or 10; some of the dads at our church put together a sort of little league for church teams. My dad played in a church softball league and they had put this together so that their boys could play baseball against each other. Of course, he made sure that I was on the team too. He was patient and he worked with me, but I still wasn't very good, at all. I survived the season, mostly striking out and failing to catch to ball. I had told myself that there was no way that I would ever do this again. I did it one year for dad, but I honestly did not want to go through this again.
It was the last game. It was getting late and it was my turn at bat. I always hated being at bat, it was like everyone was watching just me and most of the time I would just strike out anyway. I just wanted it to be over with. I honestly don't know what was going on in the game, I just remember the sense of dread standing there with the bat in my hands waiting for the pitcher to throw the ball. Now I am pretty sure that as I swung the bat my eyes were closed, but somehow I hit it.
There are few things in life that feel as exhilarating as a bat connecting perfectly with the baseball, but when it happens there is no mistaking it. I opened my eyes and saw the ball go right past the third baseman into left field, a perfect base hit. I ran as fast as I could to first base, I couldn't have been more overjoyed. So I was very confused at what happened next.
No sooner than I had made it to first base, I turned around to see my entire team running straight towards me. I was confused, what had I missed, why was everyone so excited? As all my friends are congratulating me and giving me high-fives I began to figure it out.
It was the bottom of the ninth inning, the score was tied and we had a runner on third base. My personal triumph, my little single base hit was also the game winning R.B.I. Honestly, I had been clueless, and now I was the hero. I had no clue what was going on, no idea what was at stake; it wasn't even me who made the game winning run, but in that moment I had the game winning play.
As I was remembering all of this, the Lord began to speak to my spirit.
I was getting too worried about meeting expectations with my writing. I wanted my first post to be epic, something that would blow everyone away; but when I make it about me, it's rarely impressive. I have never been the guy to walk up and smash a home run with my first hit, but occasionally I get to help bring someone home. I do hope to inspire and encourage, but I am no better than anyone else.
It's better when we help each other get through this life together, at least that is what I have thought about as I remembered this story. My hope when I write is that it will help to move you, whether it moves you closer to God or is an encouragement through your day; I pray that anyone who finds their way to this blog is blessed and has a better day because of what has been shared here.
