As our youth baseball schedule wraps up for another year, I am again reminded of how God teaches me through the ordinary. I used to think the God of the universe utilized some cleverly, divine two by fours; then I realized the ordinary is so much more effective…
We were sitting in the stands, eagerly awaiting a come-from-behind rally, under the lights of the small D1 school. It was a special moment for those undaunted, 15 year old boys.
Truthfully, the game had become somewhat emotional by this point, especially for the adults, soaking in the sentiment of previous innings. In a split second swing at an earlier fastball, one of our players’ cleats remained firmly lodged in the artificial turf; his right knee cap was then immediately dis-lodged. With the instant, accompanying cries of pain and panic, it was a gruesome sight… especially when you love the kid. Thus, we were waiting for something good.
With a man on and the rally ready, our non-fiction version of Speedy Gonzalez stepped up to the plate. The young man is a joy to watch, as a hard hit combined with his uncommon quickness often leads to an exciting play. The moment was undoubtedly intensifying.
“Strike,” the umpire subtly motioned on the first pitch thrown.
We eagerly awaited… and then…
“Strike three! You’re out!” yelled the ump in a far more emphatic fashion. However, “strike three” was called on strike number two.
In the questioning that immediately quieted the crowd, neither team’s supporters knew how to respond… “Really? Did he really just call the boy out on only two strikes?”
Fairly respectful clamors clang from the crowd, attempting to respectfully alert the umpire of his obvious error. The coaches also joined in the questioning, perhaps wondering if there was some kind of “new math” that had yet to be announced. The ump motioned to our coach to hold off — stay where he was; he would confer with his likeminded peer on the field to discuss what happened.
For an odd, a little-too-long, hushed moment, the two umpires huddled on the field. It was obvious neither had a ball/strike clicker — and that neither truly knew the count. After the brief conference, the home plate umpire raised his clenched fist in the air and again signaled “out.”
At that point our coach stepped onto the field, and yelled, “What? It’s only two strikes,” to which the field umpire promptly yelled more loudly back for our coach to get back in the dugout, as “the decision has been made.”
So here in front of teens who tend to take in all of our adult behavior were two men who had made a obvious mistake, discussed only with the likeminded, and when confronted with the facts, simply shouted for all opposition to shut up. They refused to dialogue; they refused help from both partial and impartial influence; they refused to acknowledge they even needed help; they instead focused most on silencing refuting fact.
Sometimes we teach our children well. Sometimes we don’t. They will learn from both our successes and mistakes… even from the ordinary.
Respectfully…
AR