Welcome to Little League.
We’re on a baseball field. I see a coach, decked out from head to toe in the team colors: hat, shirt, pants, socks, you name it. He’s rooting for us. He’s rooting for me.
Scattered across the field are the new little players, eager to learn and ready to play.
But they don’t know how to.
They don’t know where to stand, how to prepare for the ball, or what to do when it comes to them.
Coach heads to the 1st baseman. He models defensive stance, moves the player off to the side of the base, teaches him to keep his eye on the ball.
Then Coach hustles to the 2nd baseman. He does the same, shows him how to stand to the side of the pitcher, so he can see the whole field. He’s ready for anything.
Coach doesn’t teach the Shortstop. He’s a copycat…He has already watched Coach and gets into position.
Shortstop has more experience than the rest.
He’s quicker on his feet, he stays ahead of the game, anticipating instead of reacting.
Keep a close eye on this one. He should be playing in a whole different league. But to look good and to feel tough, he hangs with the small fries.
But the Coach knows and sees. It’s His field.
Finally, coach gets the 3rd baseman ready to play.
The pitcher is in position. The catcher sees it all. Batter up.
At first, I’m the baseman. But I’m also the catcher. Then I’m the batter.
At first, it’s coach-pitch, where Coach controls the speed, the placement, the plays. But then it’s kid-pitch, where we’re learning to do this thing on our own. Then suddenly there’s a full-speed fastball coming at you.
At first, I’m a little tike, still awkward, clumsy, and clueless. But because I’ve watched Coach, listened to Him, learned His ways, I know what’s going on in this game. Remember He’s been rooting for me since day 1. He’s given me feedback and is showing me how to be a better player.
Yet still, He’s a mystery, an endless well of wisdom and grace, and every day of practice is better than the last.
But now it’s game time.
I see these bases as phases of my life.
1st base. College. A short, quick couple of years. Hustled to graduate, ran it on my own. Ran through the base, but I ran too far. Lost in outfield. Remember, I’m new at this, life on my own, doing my own thing. All too quickly I’m isolated, depressed, wandering in right field…Where’s Coach?
Good ole’ Coach guided me back to 1st. “Stand close to the base, but be ready to run. Eye on the ball,” He said.
2nd base. School is ending, real life is setting in. I’m blessed with a job doing exactly what I wanted, but never knew existed. I’m using my exercise science degree working with kids. I’m changing lives. I’m graduating a year and a half early. Minimal debt. Found a church. Made some friends. Man, this life stuff is easy. Cool, what’s next?
I thought I had it all figured out. Depression was behind me. Dependence on the Lord had taken root. This is comfort, I thought.
I tune back in—the game is still on. Next play.
Curveball. “Stttttrrrrriiiiiikkkkkeeeee ONE!” the umpire yells. He is all the negativity that constantly surrounds us in life.
But the ump only yells after a play ends.
He doesn’t see what Coach sees. His perspective is limited from his unchanging position, crouched down low to the ground, never moving more than a couple of feet from his zone. Next play comes around and again, he is silent. Keep playing, folks.
I’m glancing at the pitch from 2nd base when I see Coach at 3rd, waving for me to steal. “Now,” He motions. Fear washes over me—instantly I’m paralyzed.
The Shortstop will get there first.
I’ll be trapped in a pickle.
Tagged by the baseman.
“You’re OUT!” is all I hear.
But I adjust my gaze back to Coach. He nods. “Now.”
Running faster than my legs can move, I move right past the Shortstop, never breaking eye contact with Coach. He and I are locked in.
Shortstop. He’s certainly cunning and malicious. Instilling fear is his favorite tactic. He tried to cut me off, trip me, make me turn around and run back to 2nd. He’s my Enemy. But he doesn’t see what Coach sees.
These few feet feel like an eternity. They are both hard & beautiful. It’s the kind of play you see in slow-motion. The kind that I’ve trained hard for. The kind that gives you blisters on your feet, cuts on your face, & bruises all over your body, but you don’t stop for anything.
You push past the pain because you can feel it—something big is coming. This is your big break. For a moment, you know what it feels like to trust fully in Jesus. It’s almost as if you are flying.
When I stepped off 2nd and headed for 3rd, Jesus whispered, “The World Race.” I wanted to turn back when I saw Shortstop, but Jesus’ call was louder. Bolder. A promise of MORE.
This 3rd play was when He showed me the beauty of living simply—Michael, my boyfriend of many years, and I are debt-free, in love with adventure, and passionately pursuing Jesus. We got rid of all of our worldly distractions, literally. Eliminated thousands of material items and pared down our things to just a few boxes each. We decided to start building a Tiny House together for our future marriage. With a beautifully orchestrated proposal, he got down on one knee and asked me to be his wife. I’m engaged to the man I’ve known since I was 6, my favorite person, and the one whom my soul loves. And Jesus knew what our engagement would look like; He’s got something incredible in mind.
Y’all. So much has happened these past few months. This phase has happened all so quickly, but it was in the Lord’s timing.
And it has been BEAUTIFUL.
But I almost forgot something…
We’re only at 3rd base. Coach is so proud. I trusted Him and He’s cheering, “Way to go, champ!”
I could walk away from the game right now feeling like I’ve already won the Gold.
Funny thing is, I have. His name is Jesus.
But Coach turns my head just a little and points to Home plate.
Bases are loaded. There’s no running back once I take off.
Our homerun hitter is up.
Pitcher winds up.
Coach nods. “Get ready.”
The game has just begun. The next play is coming.
It’s called the World Race.
