Red Stitching

Tonight as I watch the boys from the Triple A team take the field, I see easy, fluid movements: throwing, catching, hitting. The ease of the glove, the knowledge of what to do with the ball when it comes to them. The movement to back up another position, to play a hitter deep, to watch for the bunt. Movements so easy now because they have been practiced and executed thousands of times before, movements that now seem second nature to each man on the field.

Maybe it began with that first game of catch in the backyard. Maybe it began with the smell of the leather glove or the feel of the white cowhide ball, with that bright red stitching. But somewhere it began. The love of baseball.

Pitching and catching with dad became playing on a Little League team: uniforms, bats, cleats and snowcones after the game. Some boys enjoyed the days of Little League and left it at that, but those deeply in love with the game couldn't let it stop there.

The games once or twice a week became weekend tournaments played in cities far from home. The games became try-outs for the high school team, the practices, the games, the playoffs and maybe even the sweetness of a championship. There may have been interest from the big leagues even then -- but maybe it came later as they played college ball. Scouts in the stands, letters of interest from an organization. Where would it lead?

Now, tonight, as they take the field under the lights in this ballpark that is their current home, they do again the things that they know best. And maybe with tonight's game the door may open to that which they have been dreaming of since that first day of wearing the glove and throwing the ball -- the chance to show to everyone what they have learned so well and loved so much.

Wooly Mammoth on the Grill

As Father's Day rolls around again, the discussion comes to food and I announce that I will grill. Now, on Mother's Day, the goal is to keep mom out of the kitchen -- to keep her from any type of food preparation at all, actually. But, on Father's Day the same does not hold true.

I discussed my intended menu with my wife and she (lovingly) suggests that I don't even need to grill the meat in question, I could cook it in the oven.

Wait a minute! In the oven? It is important for everyone to understand why men choose to cook outdoors on the grill.

Way back when our ancestors were barely surviving, the men would spend the day hunting the food that was essential to the very survival of the clan. They would track beasts all day, plan the perfect attack and then spring into action -- the poor beast was no match for their prowess and their pointed spears.

Now, with supermarkets and butcher shops, what is the modern day man to do? Most men don't spend the day with other guys patiently tracking down the "kill of the day" and grunting with pleasure when it is brought down and divided for all to share. Today, we walk into the market, look at what is ready to cook, pay for it and take it home to put on the grill.

But, it is in that act of starting the fire (alas, the ignition of the propane!) and the sizzling of the meat on the grill, that we feel again, in a small way, that we have provided for the clan. That the children will not go hungry, that our wife will look at us with pride and brag to the other wives about her husband's latest "kill" that was prepared for the family.

Yes, as the smoke rises from the grill, deep inside of me, I feel as if I have survived another harrowing day in this world and we will go to bed with full stomachs and a feeling of contentment in all that has come our way.

Touching the Past

The mother of a friend passed away and now the house has to be cleaned out. This is no ordinary project because the mother was a writer, poet and collector. Today the friend asked us to come and look through some of the remaining books to see if there were some things that we wanted for ourselves.

I found some books on writing and nice older copy of Roget's Thesaurus and I picked up some older paperback copies of Tolkien's Lord of the Rings trilogy as well as a nice copy of The Hobbit. I opened The Hobbit and noticed an old letter postmarked Oxford, England. I thought the envelope would make a great souvenir and almost just tucked it back into the book. Then, I realized that I should pull the letter out just in case it was something important.

I scanned the note and almost passed out! It was a note signed by J.R.R. Tolkien! The ecstasy and the agony! I knew I had to hand it over but I was soooooo reluctant .... I held onto it for a minute and then showed the rightful owner the treasure that she had. She thanked me for the note, kept it (and the copy of The Hobbit) and I left with my other books and trinkets.

I am still trying to understand why this little brush with history was so moving to me ... I guess because I really admire Tolkien's work and have a lot of respect for his gift as a writer. I was connected to him just for a minute ... it was sweet.

The Age of Plastic

We live in the age of plastic. Not as in credit card plastic, not as in an eon of world history, but in that nearly everything I just put into the dishwasher is made of plastic.

Of course at this stage, with little ones around slam-dunking dinner plates into the kitchen sink, plastic keeps us from replacing everything every other day.

In retrospect the age of plastic will probably be short-lived (though each day is an eternity). We’ll soon move into the age of mixed plastic and ceramic. And who knows, someday we may be able to set the table entirely with china and stemware.

The age of plastic has its own joys: first steps, feeding oneself (not a pretty sight!), first words, and enthusiastic discoveries of life and the world.

Maybe by the age of ceramic some of this joy and wonder will be gone, but I suspect that new discoveries will be part of every age.

So, for now, we enjoy what we have – serving guests with plastic tumblers, loading our vintage plastic-ware into the dishwasher and enjoying the little lives that make it all possible (should I say necessary?).

I love you kids.

Treasure Chests

Routinely we think of pirates has having treasure chests. Jewels and gold buried and later to be found with the aid of a map marked with an “X” -- I think pirates were not well educated.

Last evening I was watching “Little Women” with my wife and daughter. You may know this great traditional story but I knew almost nothing about it. Anyway, there is a sad time in the story (not to give anything away) and one of the daughters discovers the “treasure chest” of her younger sister. In the chest are articles and stories made up by the girls and preserved by the one sister.

It struck me that though I am not a pirate I have five “treasure chests”. My wife and my four children into whom I have the opportunity and responsibility to "store treasure": People who understand and can possess the riches of a relationship with Christ. People who understand and possess the riches of their family and heritage. People who can understand and possess the riches of their siblings.

These are my treasure chests. I must deposit the treasures. I must cultivate my relationship with them so that they will respect me and love me ... so that they will allow me to share gems and jewels with them and they will treasure it enough to keep it with them forever.

Are my children open to me “depositing gems” into their lives? Have I so injured them (physically or emotionally) that they cannot receive what I desire to give them? Have I caused them to be closed forever to what I know I should do? Will they have any treasures to pass on to their own children? Will they simply be empty chests, devoid of family, heritage, memories and godliness? Worse, will they be filled with the rust of bitterness, hatred and resentment caused by my not doing the things that I must do? What resources am I giving to them?

And the treasure chest of my wife -- I must not overlook the treasures that I impart to her. Do I communicate love and worth to her? Does she hear only criticism? See only unapproving looks? Do I say things that will encourage her? Build her up? Things that impart treasure to her? What "riches" do I impart to her that she can share with others?

Time will tell about the contents of these chests -- the things other people see in their lives, the things that they can share with others. No pirates here ...

Finding Time

Recently I was sharing a devotional thought from Matthew 26 (Jesus being anointed with oil just prior to the Triumphal Entry) ... looking toward Holy Week I was making the application of giving a precious gift -- a gift of great extravagance -- that could be a picture of God's extravagant gift of salvation to us.

I belive that God impressed on my heart this thought, "Give me a whole day. A day spent in worship by reading My word, praying and singing." I thought that seemed like a great idea -- until I tried to figure out which day! Have you ever tried to set aside an entire day just to give as a gift to God? I haven't found one yet, but I don't want to give up trying. I'll let you know how it goes.

Wrestling with the Necessities

I am slowly reading through Tozer's book, "The Pursuit of God". I am always wrestling between taking time to read and refresh myself and just doing the next thing that I need to do for work. Since spiritual refreshment is supposed to be part of my job, I shouldn't wrestle with taking the time to immerse myself in the Scriptures or in great books that will nourish my soul.

So, here are some other short quotes from Tozer, "If we would find God amid all the religious externals, then we must first determine to find Him, and then proceed in the way of simplicity ... The man who has God for his treasure has all things in One."

Tozer goes on to write that in the beginning God gave man a world of useful and pleasant things for his delight. But now, with the introduction of sin, " ... those very gifts of God (are) a potential source of ruin to the soul ... Within the human heart "things" have taken over ... God's gifts now take the place of God."

Very thoughtful and powerful words as I think about the things I have and the places they occupy in my life.

The Children of the Burning Heart

To have found God and still to pursue Him is the soul's paradox of love, scorned indeed by the too easily satisfied religionist, but justified in happy experience by the children of the burning heart.

-A. W. Tozer, The Pursuit of God