Why do we need to “trust in God” to play baseball? Part II

The other night I was in the parking lot catching up with another coach. He was telling me about a former player of mine (average to below average skill sets, great kid and family). One day this player approached his new coach and said, “You don’t like me very much do you.”
“Tommy, I love you. You are a wonderful kid.”
“We’ll I don’t play on the infield very much … ever.”
“Tommy, do I need to explain why you don’t play in the infield.”
The player succumbed to his plight. This coach then explained to me, “Not everyone is meant to play infield. As it is I pray every time it’s hit to right field.”
Little League dugouts are like foxholes; there are no atheists in them. What do we do when Tommy is on our team, can’t catch the routine fly ball, and was built without a baseball compass?
We pray. Trusting in God requires that we trust what he’s taught; “ask and ye shall receive, seek and ye shall find it, knock and it shall be opened unto you.” So often as managers we think we can control the game.

Like foxholes, there are no atheists in a Little League dugout.

A few weeks ago we held the first official games of the season for our Caps division. Up to this point there has been no scoreboard, ball four’s brought in a coach to pitch, and the umpire was a manager standing behind the mound. Today, hands were off, umpires were behind the plate, ball four’s quickly loaded the bases and the scoreboard sealed your fate.
The result was a bunch of helpless adults silently praying for the baseball gods to show favor on Tommy in right field. But, what happens when their team’s prayer is answered? Does that mean God rejected yours? Who does God love more today: The Smelly Sox or The Green Monsters?
Jesus taught,
“What man is there of you, whom if his son ask bread, will he give him a stone?”
“Or if he ask a fish, will he give him a serpent?”
“If ye then, being evil, know how to give good gifts unto your children, how much more shall your Father which is in heaven give good things to them that ask him?”
I know how this goes, “if his son asks for an Easton Ghost X (MSRP $350), will he give him an Easton S150 (MSRP $35)?”

So if we buy the S150 for our kid are we bad parents? Do we love our kid less than the kids who role up with the top of the market bat?
How does God do it? Have you ever prayed for fish and God gave you a serpent? How do you explain that?
When I was a senior in High School I earned the starting cornerback position on a top ranked high school team (Miracle? Yes, a story for later). In the fourth game of the season we were matched up against a top seed in the league. With two minutes left in the fourth quarter we were on the 1-yard line to put the game away— fumble. The other team retrieved it and returned it to their 25 yard-line. No worries, we have two-minutes to keep them out of the end zone — 75 yards away.
After a couple plays they decide to spread us out and line me up with their best receiver. I was no match for him. I tried to get the safety’s attention but it was too late. The ball was snapped. I turned and ran with him as fast as I could down the sideline but I was beat. The ball was slightly under thrown. I didn’t get my shoulders turned so my only hope was to strip it from his hands as we came down together — he caught the ball. We were away and it was their homecoming. The crowd went nuts. Fortunately we fell out of bounds at the two-yard line. With a little over a minute on the clock we stuffed their first run attempt — no one was more excited than I was. I check the clock to see how many more of these we have to do before time runs out. They line up again, this time they shift everyone over to my side. Not only was I lined up with their #1 again, but they ran play action — I bit on the fake and then scrambled to recover — he was wide open in the corner for the game winning touch down. Though I was five yards away I still dove, as if I could stop time–I buried my face-mask in the grass trying to disappear. There was no where to go as 5,000 purple clad fans reveled in my failure.
We lost 13-12. My world was over. I left the field in full uniform. With tears easily flowing I pathetically rode the 40-minute bus ride home with helmet and shoulder pads still buckled tight — hoping that any second I would be transported back in time to alter my fate. For years I’ve lived these plays over and over again in my head trying as hard as I could to convince Juliet not to kill herself, but no matter how I played it, Juliet always dies and Carlsbad always wins.

Watch for yourselves . . .

As a boy I had always dreamed of being a Varsity football player. Now there was no going back, this tragedy was the culmination of my boyhood prayers — and it looked nothing like the loaf of bread or fillet of fish I ordered. I didn’t want it anymore — I’d be fine if they took it all away.
When I got home much later that night (Midnight) my entire family was up drinking Martinelli’s. I was humiliated and confused. Then my Dad handed me a glass and explained the paradox — “you’ve gotta to learn to celebrate the bad times, for the good times make up for themselves.” Though I thought I had committed the unforgivable, I lived to see the next day. My future wife still wanted to marry me, my employer still hired me, and I was accepted into the school of my choice. What I thought/interpreted as a stone was really a giant loaf of bread that would sustain me throughout my life. I asked, I sought, but it took years before I knocked on the right door so that the mystery could be opened. This was the best moment of my football career. It was the great opposition required to help me appreciate the reality of my situation. You can’t be the goat, if you’re not on the field. We won out the rest of our games that season and tied with the purple team as league champions. Our only other loss was in the semi’s to the eventual CIF Champions. I was awarded All-Second Team honors in my first and only season playing corner back. Our offensive coordinator told me at the end of the season, “I’d never seen anyone do more with less athletic ability than you.” I’m grateful for my stones.

“I’d never seen anyone do more, with less athletic ability than you.”

According to the Little League pledge when it looks like God’s given us stones we “trust in God” that we need stones more than bread. Trusting in God requires paradox — we need both good and bad to be successful. Happiness is not an undefeated season, but a compound of wins and losses, strikeouts and hits. Sometimes the answers to our prayers come as stones and serpents, because they teach us how to appreciate the loaves and fishes.

So it is with Tommy, when our prayer is answered and he makes the play out in right field the scoreboard seems to fade away and for a moment everyone wins. For the batter God delivers a stone. For Tommy he gets a loaf of bread — and God is the Father of them all.