The Ultimate Home Run Hitter

The Infamous Softball

Philippians 4:13 International Standard Version
"I can do all things through him who strengthens me."

A forty-year old softball leans on my fireplace mantel. Its softened leather hide peels back, revealing the ball's woven guts. It has looked this way since I received it in the 1970s. However, minutes before I became its owner, it was brand new and blemish free.

When I first encountered the softball, I was about four feet tall and wore a gray t-shirt with a red number stenciled on my back that matched my red shorts. I leaned over homeplate, twitched my bat, and waited for an  underhanded slow pitch I could punch into the outfield.

For a ten-year old, I had excellent upper arm strength, so I often played outfield because of my strong throwing arm. However, most coaches in the league knew me because of my ability to wallop balls into the outfield for home runs.

I wasn't a fast base runner, so if I were to score, I needed to make sure I hit the ball far enough away from the infield to give me time. This strategy worked. Whenever coaches saw me approach the plate, they automatically waved their girls back, so they'd have a better chance to run in to catch my fly balls.

This summer evening was no different.

I waited for pitches to fall in my favorite location just outside the plate and shoulder high. I loved to hit balls that fell in this "sweet spot," so I was selective. 

Pitches there hung high and, if hit, the balls carried as far as the wind would take them. I allowed a couple pitches to pass by me before I was rewarded for my patience. One headed directly into the zone I loved. Here was my chance; I put every ounce of energy into that swing. I could tell by the sound the ball made when it left my bat I had hit a solid home run.

The ball field sat atop a hill behind an elementary school. As I ran to first base, I watched the ball sail on the fly over the hill, landing near the bottom. It rolled down the incline to the school's boundaries. Outfielders carefully chased behind it. They didn't want to fall down the hill. 

I rounded toward second; I couldn't believe my eyes. I saw a couple girls climb over a fence into the backyard of one of the houses that bordered the school. Somehow the ball found a hole in the fence and rolled into the yard.

As I turned toward third, my coach, who was my dad, waved me home; I ran as fast as I could. I had a brief glance of a stunned opposing coach squinting to see his girls as they finally picked up the ball and carried it up the hill. I wondered why they carried the ball and didn't try to throw me out.

When I reached home, I stood there, panting, waiting for the ball to return to us.

When the opposing team's coach brought the ball to the ump, they both looked at me in awe.

"I've never seen anything like this," the coach mumbled as he shook his head in disbelief. The ump took the ball from the coach's hand and showed it to me. I had split the leather off the ball. String dangled from it.

I have thought about this ball many years and have decided it's a metaphor for my life that God blessed me with. 

God let me knock the cover off that ball for a reminder to myself that with God's help, I can do anything I set my mind to.

God is a mover and shaker. He's the ultimate "home run hitter". He's the one who causes miracles to happen. 

I only have to embrace His promises to me and claim them as my own.

One day, I hope to humbly stand before God. 

I wonder if He'll scratch His head, shake it, and sigh, "Lorraine, I haven't seen anyone like you before!"
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
Lord, Thank you for making me a unique creation. Help me step up to the plate and not only embrace the promises you have made me, but to hit home runs as I work on them for your glory.