When We Get Handed The Ball: Another Lesson On The Mound

There is no wonder that many of my life lessons come in the form of a 4'3" boy in front of me.  He lives life fully, uninhibited.

Tonight was one of those nights...
It's the fourth inning out of six, and the starting pitcher has reached his maximum pitches after throwing a marvelous game thus far.  There are runners at 1st and 2nd base.  The manager walks to the mound, talks to the pitcher, and looks up at my boy.  My boy walks to the mound and is given the ball.  At this level due to the number of stolen bases, the pitching position and the catching position are essential.  I know one wild pitch and those runners are coming home.
My mother's heart becomes nervous, the popcorn is quickly gone, and I sit there tapping my foot, cheering for him on every pitch.  "Come on, Buddy!" is on repeat in my mind and out my mouth.  
He pitches a great inning, and then another great inning, and then it's the bottom of the 6th.  This is it.

I rewind to two days ago when the scene was painted so drastically different.  He was so discouraged.  The "dis" had taken over his confidence and belief, and covered the "courage" part with lies and ugliness.  His heart was heavy, and when he shared with me that day my heart became heavy.  We prayed that night that the Lord would give him courage and strength to not be afraid and to not be down on himself.  

So, here I sit.  The score is 4-3.  This is the home team's last chance. With the game literally in his hands, the ball is given to my son to close out the game.  I know what he's capable of.  I know I believe in him.  I know he can do this.  And I wonder if he believes the same.  The fence separates me from him, and I can only cheer and pray.  The first batter comes up.  Strike out.  The second batter approaches the plate.  Strike out.  The third batter confidently taps his bat on the plate and winds up for a swing.  One.  Two. The third pitch is released from his right hand, the batter taps the ball with his bat and it dribbles fair, the catcher grabs it, and throws it to first with the final out.  1-2-3. Game Over! 

Elation ensues. The eyes of my child are vibrant, and alive, and the team jumps up and down in excitement.  The "dis" is long gone now, and all he had is courage to take the ball and finish the game.

It would have been easier and safer for him to tell his coach, "No, I think you better have someone else pitch."  Instead, he said, "I can do this."  And he did.  Sometimes in life we get handed the ball, and what happens with the seams in our hand is determined by the level of courage we're willing to muster and the risk we're willing to take.