Home Plate
ONE
You’ve got one life, You’ve got one glove, You’ve got one game , You’ve got one love, You’ve got one chance, You’re just one man. So, play this game as hard as you can! —Baseball-isms—
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Home Plate
by Debbie Allen
The bleacher-bound crowds of a Colorado Springs, Little-League baseball field sprang to their feet, waving hands and shouting ecstatically after a pop fly ball to right field rocketed back down into the grass. The ten-year-old boy on second base now rounded third and headed down the home stretch! “Come on, Brendan…you can do it!” his Mom and Grandma yelled out simultaneously.
All eyes danced between the outfielder who just lobbed the ball-in-play towards the pitcher and the catcher standing ready to receive it at Homeplate. Slamming his fist into the heart of his dusty mitt to mark the target, a disappointed catcher, instead, watched the ball sail over his head and rebound off of the chain link backstop. Hurling his mask from his face, the catcher frantically, spotted the ball rolling in the midst of a cloud of settling dust. Scooping it up into his mitt, he sprinted back towards home in a grand effort to protect the plate.
“Focus! Dig in, buddy…dig in and you’ll make it!” Brendan’s Dad coached him from the sidelines, above the noise levels of the crowd.
As I watched Brendan’s deep-blue eyes darting back and forth across scarlet, cheeks; I knew his legs were sprinting as fast as his heart must’ve been beating in that moment. A bleacher-full of us held our breath; as we watched Brendan lunge into the dirt, feet-first, and slide in towards home plate! The umpire scrambled to side-step the dust storm coming his way; and the dedicated catcher, nearly airborne by now; thrust his mitt at Brendan’s cleats in an attempt to tag him out. What looked like a sure collision course signified only one thing to the cringing, moms and grandmas in the stands. Blood, broken bones, or both! All the dads held fast to the no-pain-no-gain theories of their own childhoods. Brendan’s record slide came to a screeching halt; at about the same time the catcher crashed to the ground; with both arm and mitt extended fully towards him. From the stands it appeared the call could’ve gone either way. Both players lay motionless in the dirt for a split second. Then the umpire stepped forward, waving his hands in both directions across home plate. “S-A-F-E!!” his voice thundered across the ball field. One of Brendan’s cleats rested securely on the beveled edge of the plate. The tip of the catcher’s glove, however, lacked about a half inch of making any contact with Brendan’s shoe.
This dramatic run home is still one of my favorite memories from my oldest, grandson’s baseball playing days. Though it’s been more than fifteen years ago, the snapshot you see posted above, still hangs front and center in my mind; on Grammie’s designated ‘Wall of Fame.’ It hangs there because…well, because all my grandchildren have made it to this wall! But this particular moment in Brendan’s life reflects to my heart something much bigger than he ever intended it to.
Before I elaborate any further, let me also draw your gaze to another Little League ballgame I encountered. A couple of years ago, I viewed a You Tube video that captured my heart right away. It was a USA Today Sports broadcast of a three-year-old ball player running from third base to home plate. His coach told him to sprint home…but he had his own ideas about how to get there. The video shows this little boy, on his own, running in slow-motion for home plate. At one point, the coach (who was his Dad), steps beside him to urge him on and give him a little push down the home stretch. To the coach’s dismay, his player pushed him aside and resumed his own version of the slo-mo run. The crowds egged him on all the way; with their laughter and encouraging commentary. Home plate finally in his sights, this little guy plunged, head-first, down on home plate (still in slo-mo), and hugged the bag as if basking in the glory of his scoring run!
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“A three-year-old is going to act like a three-year-old…but the rest of us had better not. This is true in Baseball and in real Life.”
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The differences between these two baseball games are too numerous to count. Each of the boy’s stories ranged from being voted onto Grammie’s exclusive, “Wall of Fame,” to being inducted into this world’s renowned, You Tube library. Both team players scored a name for themselves in the annals of Little League; and both players succeeded at capturing the hearts of many in their moment of glory. However, each player’s story also bears a very different tale for the soul to ponder. You see…One of the boys ran for his coach; and the other one didn’t.
In other words, a three-year-old is going to act like a three-year-old…but the rest of us had better not. This is true in Baseball and in Life. It’s also true in the physical world as well as the spiritual world. In the Game of Real Life, God the Father, is our Coach. For our own good, we need to choose to be dedicated to the Coach…the One whose wisdom, expertise, and unique performance strategies, far exceed our own on the playing field at every level. After all, we are only dedicated to the Coach coaching us, to the extent that our life and our hearts are devoted to His Words; and our actions reflect His Knowledge and Teachings on the playing field. Nothing is more important than hearing the Coach’s Voice and listening to His Instructions as we journey towards Home Plate. But, just as important as arriving at Home Plate…is how you get there. Choosing to run in a manner like this signifies the level of intensity with which you choose to run in the game.
At ten-years-old, my Grandson wisely chose to reach home plate, yielding to the words of his coach/Dad to guide him home, safe. The three-year-old player disregarded the sounds of his coach/Dad’s advice, heeded his own style of getting home safe, and soaked up all the glory and attention that drifted his way. And if that wasn’t enough, this little leaguer ended up in a personal interview (with his Mom) on TV, ever-branded as a hero for playing the greatest game on earth, his own way.
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“None are so empty as those who are full of themselves.”
—-Benjamin Whichote—
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The Greatest Game on Earth that any of us will ever play…is the Game of Life. Reaching home plate can be our greatest victory…but how we run there may speak of our greatest battle. As we interact with other players on the field of Life, make our hits, mourn our misses, and run the baselines that mark out the journey toward Home Plate; what will those in the stands watching us, remember about the way we played our game? Will we be one of those who ran for The Coach…or the one who ran with his own ideas? Slo-mo…or fast-forward? Self-glory…or God’s Glory?
ONE LOVE
You’ve got one Love… You’ve got one Goal, You’re chosen for one Game… Your life’s made Whole, You’ve got one Chance…You’re just one Man. So run for Home as hard as you can!
—by D. Allen—(Baseball-ism revised)
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PRAYER:
MY FATHER, PLEASE HEAR ME…or more importantly, I pray that I hear YOU. In this game called Life, we play for real. My desire is to be found faithful at listening intently, for the sounds of Your Voice; as I run with all my heart, on the playing fields You set before me. Enable me, Father… to run in such a way that I’m a credit to the words You’ve guided me with throughout the game. No greater Coach exists in life. Keep us from playing like a three-year-old, yielding to our own common sense and grabbing for all the glory we can get now…instead of straining to reach for the extraordinary You intended for us to reflect.
May every step we take in this Game of Life advance Your Glory and Your Wisdom; as Your Words continue to fuel our strides and empower our running toward the Home Plate! In Jesus Name…AMEN
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