I suck at baseball.
Perhaps it’s because my hand-eye coordination is terrible. Maybe it’s because of the crippling fear that a small hard object will be hurdling at me at 70 miles per hour and I somehow must catch it with my hand. Or maybe it’s because of the pressure of expectation that I, an American boy, should have it in my blood to be good at this game.
Regardless, it was baseball ministry day. And I was less than thrilled.
Most of our ministry in Nicaragua has been door to door evangelism, with occasional presentations of the Gospel with skits and music and testimonies. These kinds of ministry days I love. I’m totally comfortable standing in front of a group, telling a story or sharing my heart, and being able to share the love of Jesus with them through prayer and personal connections. In doing the Lord’s work, this is what I know I’m good at.
But on baseball ministry day, our main goal was to do one thing: play baseball. And coming from the guy whose history with sports included picking lots of grass, kicking soccer balls into my own team’s goal, and crying when the other team stole the ball from me, I knew this day was going to be a long one.
It was mid-afternoon, and our team was finishing lunch and packing up to head out to the local baseball stadium. We had a very successful morning of door to door evangelism to a nearby village, but this afternoon was set aside as a ministry to another village through a friendly game of baseball. We were instructed that only the men could play, as was per the cultural norm here. This was less comforting, considering that I was only one of seven men on my squad who could play, which meant I would likely be expected to play. Woo.
We arrived at this baseball stadium, and I was pleasantly surprised to see a Little League team on the field. Praise the Lord – children’s ministry through baseball would be so fun, and so easy! I was about to break out into a full out praise dance, until I looked a little to the right and saw our opponents: a large group of tall, lean Nicaraguans that came prepared with matching uniforms. These guys looked like they were ready to play some serious ball, and maybe kill someone later. I had a red bandana tied around my head, which I guess made me look like Rambo, but that’s about as intimidating as I got.
We got out of the truck, and were instructed by the local pastor in charge of the event to first present a short Gospel presentation to the crowd. As we began worshipping, a small group of kids started playing games with a couple of us at the back of the group. I was attempting to listen to my teammate as he shared his testimony, but I soon had two or three young kids blowing bubbles behind me, and one kid who kept wanting to ride on my back, so I slipped away and began to entertain them. Before I knew it, the presentation was over, and it was time to form teams for the ball game.
“We only need six guys”, I heard one of my teammates shout out. Not all of us would need to play.
“Praises,” I thought, as I quickly snatched up the kid beside me and plopped him on my shoulders to look busy.
“Jonathan, you playing?”
I pointed to the kid on my shoulders, as if to say “Oh whoops! I’m tied up at the moment!”. They laughed. I breathed a sigh of relief. I knew if I joined this game, I would no doubt lose an eye by the wicked arm of any guy from the Nica team.
Soon the game began, and my female teammates and I watched from behind the fence. At first, I was content to play with the kids and watch the game from the sidelines. But after I realized that letting one child ride on my shoulders meant EVERY child would want to ride on my shoulders, I started to regret my decision. Maybe I wasn’t as bad at baseball as I thought I was? Maybe I could’ve hid in deep left field, and pretend like I’m still totally in the game, but never have to catch a ball? Cheering for the other guys on my team was fun, but I started to wish I had been more confident in myself to just jump in and join the team. I wasn’t sure what purpose God had for me here, but I started to wonder if maybe chickening out of the baseball game meant I missed it.
And then in walked Peter.
Let me backtrack here. About a week before this, my team was sent to a small village to give a Gospel presentation to a group of men recovering from with addictions. When we arrived, I stepped out to meet each one of these men who had come to hear from us. The last man I met was Peter. And for some reason, Peter stood out to me. Maybe it was the joy in his smile when he introduced himself? Maybe it was because his name was easy to remember? Or maybe it was the Holy Spirit prompting me to pray for him? I kept my eye on him throughout the presentation, planning to talk more with him once we finished. But after our message, I went to pray for a couple of others near me, and he disappeared. began to lament to my friend that I didn’t get to talk to Peter, and she mentioned that she too felt God highlighting him. A couple of minutes later, I discovered Peter was just around the corner, so my friend and I quickly ran over to pray for him. In my broken Spanish, I tried to explain to him that he was a very special person, and that both my friend and I felt he was someone near to God’s heart. He was touched and encouraged by this, and we quickly said our goodbyes as we jumped back on our truck to drive away. On the ride home, I wondered why God was highlighting him if we never were going to see him again; I deduced this must have just been a seed planting moment, or an opportunity for me to keep him in my prayers.
But as it turned out, God wasn’t done with Peter yet.
He approached me with the biggest grin on his face. I turned around, and smiled big as I embraced him. “It’s so good to see you”, I told him. “Grace be to God”, he responded. He was excited to see me too. He then started speaking to me rapidly in a hushed voice, which I couldn’t interpret. I kept telling him that I didn’t understand, but every time I told him I wanted to find an interpreter, he kept trying again to explain what he was saying. Finally, I found my Spanish-speaking teammate who interpreted for me, and I understood that he was asking for money. He had a couple of financial binds he was in, and was asking for my help. I told him that I didn’t have money to give him, but that God is the best provider, and we could pray with him that God would provide for his needs. And so, we prayed together, and I encouraged him to trust in the Lord’s faithfulness to provide, which he received gratefully.
As we finished praying, I started to wonder what God’s purpose was in bringing Peter back to me. By the sound of his talk – “Grace be to God” and “God is good” – it seemed he was a Christian. “Maybe this is an opportunity to encourage him”, I thought. So, I quickly grabbed my friend, the one who had prayed for Peter with me the week before, and brought her into the conversation. She was excited to see him too, and sensed that God had something planned here.
I thought it’d be interesting to hear about his faith, so I asked. “What is your relationship with Jesus like?”
His face went sour. He explained that he once had a relationship with Jesus, but now felt that he was living in sin. So we asked him more about why he left his faith. He went deeper, sharing that he had received Jesus while in prison, and had attempted to restart his life on the right path once he was released, but he soon after fell back into old addictions to drugs and alcohol. He knew the Bible well, and he believed that Jesus could save him from his circumstances, but he wasn’t sure anymore that he wanted Him to.
The three of us – myself, my friend, and my interpreter friend – were kind of dumbfounded. This man so clearly had been placed on our hearts by God, and was miraculously brought to us again by God, and here he was asking for help.
“Do you realize that it’s no accident that God brought you here today?” we asked.
He nodded. “God definitely brought me here.”
And so, we told Peter that God was clearly pursuing him. That God loved him even in his sin and shame. That God could heal his past and begin in him a brand-new life with Jesus.
We explained to him that God sends the Holy Spirit to live inside of us when we accept Jesus into our lives, and He is able to keep us from the sin that entangles us. We also continued to share that God wanted Peter so much, He divinely orchestrated this second meeting so he could hear this message.
Peter was not unfamiliar with these things. After all, he had accepted Jesus before. But in this moment, God was not just asking Peter to hear the Gospel message once again. God was offering Peter a second chance. A fresh start. A new beginning.
And finally, we asked him if he’d like that.
He said yes.
And so, we prayed with our brother Peter that God would give him a newly restored life in Jesus. And right there, in the middle of a baseball game, Peter got just that.
As it turned out, His purpose for this day at the baseball field wasn’t that our team win the big game. This day, God wanted His lost son Peter to come running home to His arms. And for that reason, I felt honored that God wanted me there for that. I was glad that God knew I sucked at baseball.
Soon after Peter went home, the game concluded. Our team lost 5-9. But as we drove off into the evening, I smiled, knowing it didn’t matter.
It was never really about the baseball game anyway.
“For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith—and this is not from yourselves, it is the gift of God—not by works, so that no one can boast.” Ephesians 2:8-9
