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Written by Jay Cookingham
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The
moment I discovered baseball, I was smitten, head over heels in
love. There are so many awesome parts of this game, but just
think about this. A major league pitcher can throw a baseball up to 95
miles per hour — some can chuck it even faster. At this speed it takes
about four-tenths of a second for the ball to travel the 60 feet, 6
inches from the pitcher's mound to home plate. The batter, with a round
bat, waits for the precise moment to swing at a round ball. While the
ball is being thrown, the batter must time the pitch and decide where
to swing. If the batter decides to swing, he must start when the ball
is approximately 25 to 30 feet in front of the plate. The ball will
arrive at the plate about 250 thousandths of a second later, about the
limit of human reaction time. A hitter has to make adjustments as the
ball is being delivered. A few thousandths of a second error in timing
or bat position can result in a foul ball, fly ball or a grounder. This
game is played at the very limits of our genetic reflexes (and way
beyond mine!).
The love for this game came to a turning point for me in my junior year
of high school. That year was one of backsliding for me, heavily into
partying; I was running hard away from the Lord. Then baseball season
came and I decided to try to make the varsity team. I totally cleaned
up my act and dove into training and workouts and when tryouts came, I
was ready. From the very first day I out hustled just about everyone,
the coach even had me run extra wind sprints against his "stars" to
push them harder. After practice these stars would come to me to
"encourage" me to quit, saying that I was just a show off and I would
never make the team anyway. The next day I would just run faster and
work harder just to prove them wrong.
On the last day before the first cut the coach called me into his
office. Nervously I entered his office expecting to hear the worse, but
to my surprise he started to praise the effort I was making on the ball
field. He told that he was proud of my hustle; it was the kind he
wanted his team to have and he thanked me for showing the example to
all the ballplayers. Man, I left his office strutin, I was so sure I
had busted myself on to that varsity squad. The next morning I went to
check out the cut list hanging on the window outside the coach's
office. There on the first line was my name; I had not made the varsity
squad. Devastated, mad and confused all at once, I went to empty out my
locker. Oh, I had made the JV team, but that was not good enough for
me. Although my friends tried to convince me not to, I just quit. I
never made the adjustment at the plate. The game had thrown me a
curveball, I swung and missed. Instead of digging in at the plate and
see what God had planned for me, I took myself out of the game. It was
a decision that affected me spiritually, I still had some at bats left,
and instead I opted for the parking lot. I went back to my partying
ways, I did play summer league ball but it wasn't the same.
The disappointment I felt moved me to quit, but only because I allowed
it to do so. Baseball at the time was the Father's "appointment" for
me. It had helped me to clean up my act and focus on more positive
values. He was like a third base coach flashing me the signs but
instead of taking the pitch, I swung away, struck out and went my own
way. That was the summer I almost my playing career permanently (See
AJ's story, #6 August 2001). When I returned to my senses and repented,
God put me back into the started lineup. Now, I'm going for a Cal
Ripkin Jr. type record (he holds the record for most consecutive games
played). I'm digging in against some really tough pitchers and paying
close attention to the third base coach. Like the game of baseball, the
game of life will humble you. How I pick myself up from being dusted
(falling down from a pitch high and tight) or from being struck out,
reflects on my "at bat". I think the following story illustrates this
point.
One of the most memorable at bats for me as a young ballplayer didn't
result in a base hit. It was late in the game and we were being
dominated by the opposing pitcher. I came up with the bases loaded and
quickly fell behind in the count 0 and 2. Having already struck out my
previous three times at bat, I dug in to prevent my fourth. I managed
to foul off several balls, almost hitting one out (a home run) down the
right field line, and worked the count to full, 3 and 2. Then on a
nasty pitch in the dirt, I swung and missed. Walking back to the bench
I received many "gimmie fives" (high fives weren't invented yet). Why?
I battled and made the pitcher work extra hard that at bat. Our next
batter hit a clean single up the middle off a now arm weary hurler and
we won the game. My coach called it a "quality at bat" and a key to our
victory. Real success comes in the number of quality of "at bats" we
get in, how we respond to the strikeouts and setbacks in life. Will we
give up or go wait in the on deck circle, rubbing pine tar on our bat
just dying to take
our hacks.
Paul called struggles "momentary light afflictions" (Hmmm, He
never sat through a Met Loss did he?).
"For our light affliction, which is but for a moment, worketh for us
far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory." - 2 Corinthians
4:17.
The average lifespan of a major league baseball is 1- 7 pitches, that's
it. They are loss to game by foul balls, scuff marks, homeruns or a
souvenir handed to a fan. When Paul says his afflictions are light, he
does not mean a walk in the park. He means that compared to what is
coming they are as nothing. Like the lifespan of a baseball, our
disappointments, our strikeouts, however painful, are soon "out of
play" in our lives.
The gain is far greater, more eternal, according to Paul.
"Eye has not seen nor ear heard what God has prepared for those who
love him."
- 1 Corinthians 2:9.
Just like the adjustments a batter makes at the plate, we need to make
adjustments with our vision and perspective. Hardship and trials will
not have the last say in my life as long as my eyes remain on the
Father.
"You gotta be a man to play baseball for a living, but you gotta have a
lot of little boy in you too."
Roy Campanella
Blessings, Jay
A father of seven,
Jay Cookingham has been happily married to his wife Christine for 22
years. Although trained as a graphic designer, Jay has been writing
poetry, short stories and articles for as long as he can remember. A
featured columnist at Fatherville.com
, Christianwriters.com
,ibelieve.com
,and
Crossmap.com ,
he also writes a weekly e-mail newsletter for fathers. His "Seven
Promises from Your Husband" was featured on the Ken Canfield's radio
program Today's Father
. Recently published in the God's Way series for Fathers, the
series for Teachers and Christmas.godswaybooks.com , He
is currently writing his first book on the subject of fathering.
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