opening day

I know that there isn't a single person in my life as interested in baseball as I am. Nobody is rude enough to tell me that they don't care, so I bore them anyway. Should it bother me that I can't share this interest? Perhaps. I will buy at least one pair of Sox tickets this year, and be running around at the last minute looking for a companion. Which has me wondering: why does it mean anything to me? I've experienced being the fan of a "world champion," and it was predictably hollow. I do not follow the game to live vicariously through millionaires or to channel repressed passion.

Rather, I am most intrigued by the depth of its strategy. Yes, it can be as simple as one man throwing a ball as fast as he can past another, with eight other men ready to respond to contact. That's the stuff even a little leaguer can comprehend. But at its finest, each batter must perfect his swing, manage his concentration, and make split-second decisions. The pitcher cannot rely on speed alone, but must construct the perfect grip, arm position, and release to simultaneously create velocity, accuracy, and deception. And this doesn't even consider the variables of each hitter and pitcher adjusting for one another.

The hours of physical and mental preparation is mind-boggling. When a player's career is finished, he will be considered a great hitter if he failed 7 out of every 10 attempts, and a legendary hitter in failing only 17 of every 25. And though the odds are always against the hitter, the best will succeed when the team needs it most.

I see similarities with the frustration of the spiritual battle. The game happens to be a matter of life and death, but it seems more often than not, I stumble. Shortly after I prepare and adjust to build my confidence, I swing through yet another curveball. I grow impatient and lose my concentration. The crowd expects me to lead the team to victory, but my thoughts are fixed to my failure.

I forget the point of the battle. While I worry that every flail and mishap will undermine the integrity of the Gospel, God must continually remind me that the outcome is predetermined. It is by His magnificent grace that I am allowed to take the field and participate in His victory. He will be glorified, and it only speaks more greatly of His love that He allows me to share in the celebration.

God is asking me to step up to the plate. He wants me to look beyond my weakness and rely on His strength. In my doubt, I fully expect to fall flat on my face, disappointing the crowd. In His presence, I am only concerned that He is pleased with my attempt.