The other night I watched my nephew play his first T-ball game. He looked so grown up with his crooked hat on top of his floppy ears.
His parents were beaming with pride as he spun like an airplane and stood on his head in the outfield. As far back as I can remember, baseball has always been a part of our family. It’s sort of like having blue eyes or freckles. It’s in our blood.
I grew up cheering on the Cubs and chewing that terrible gum that came in all the baseball card packages. Guys like Nolan Ryan and Cal Ripken Jr. made us believe that anything was possible.
My older brother ate, slept and dreamt baseball. We spent hours playing backyard baseball and attending his games. I can still smell the artificial cheese and popcorn from the concession stand.
When I had my own daughter, I couldn’t wait to pass on sunflower seeds and sticky bleachers to her. I have done my best, but I have resigned to the fact she hates baseball. She complains it is too hot and itchy.
She would rather paint her nails than sit through one inning of the World Series. She has never heard of the Texas Rangers or Nolan Ryan. Despite the overwhelming odds, I haven’t given up hope she will one day be a fan.
You see, what she doesn’t understand yet, is it’s not really about baseball. It’s about being together and making memories. It’s about connection.
It’s the same way with God. He longs to share himself with us. It doesn’t matter if it’s over coffee, fishing or baseball.
He just wants us to experience who He is. Knowing Him is something we can pass on to our children that will last forever. That’s one statistic that will never change.
Here’s to summer and baseball, and to my daughter who has a sports fan inside her just waiting to come out. Batter up!
“He has shown you, O mortal, what is good. And what does the Lord require of you?
To act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God.” — Micah 6:8
Follow Sarah Thompson, who is a social worker in the Enid area, on Facebook: www.facebook.com/godsuncommongrace or email her: email@example.com