"You Got This!"....A Lesson On The Mound

It was in the middle of the 3rd inning.  Cameron was playing 1st base.  The starting pitcher was being pulled, and Cameron was told to take the mound.  As a mother, my heart always skips a beat when he's pitching.  It's a hard position.  It takes tenacity, determination, and requires ownership of the outcome of the game at times.

There he is...all four feet and three inches.  He gains a couple inches as he steps up to the mound. His White Sox hat pulled tight over his head, his oversized jersey tucked in, and the laces of the ball curled around his fingers, hiding in the leather glove.  I stand behind the fence and watch.

Pitch after pitch.  Batter after batter.  Tough game.  I see him take a deep breath and throw another ball.  Another batter walked.  Here comes a pitch down the middle of the plate. A strike out.  I cheer.  The bases are still loaded. I step back as I watch another batter take to the plate.  Full count.  One more pitch can either end the inning, or bring in a run.  The pitch is released from his sturdy fingers, it's high, and the player trots to first. The number on the scoreboard increases by one for the Away Team.

My son walks toward the mound trying to calm himself down.  I see him from a distance, his precious face scrunches, and all I can do is hope he pulls it together.  I can't do anything.  But Matt can.  He's out there on the field.  He's the pitching coach, and he gives Cameron a second before walking towards the mound. 

And I watch.

Husband and son in a holy moment. Eye to eye.

The son regroups, and faces the next batter.

As I tucked Cameron in bed, he tells me this:  "Mom, I was trying to control myself and I couldn't.  It was like I was being controlled by something else."

"So, how did you overcome your emotions and calm yourself down?"

"Daddy came out and he spoke truth into me, just like God does for us.  Daddy told me, 'You got this.  It's two outs.  You can do this.  Don't give up.'  It was like God sent him out to me to speak truth into my life."

I fold the blankets over his shoulders, put my hand on his brown hair, kiss his forehead, and tell him: "You're right.  Don't forget that moment.  Don't forget Truth."

I turn toward the light of the hallway, and close the door behind me, grateful for my moment of Truth.