Little league baseball can be a brutal sport, especially for nine-and ten-year-olds who compete in national tournaments. It was the area Little League championship game. The stands were packed with families of each of the players. One young man brought his mother and father, both grandparents, and three uncles and aunts to watch him play.
The bottom of the seventh-inning was a nail-biter. The other team was ahead by one run, the bases were loaded, two outs, and the little boy with the large family was up to bat. If he made an out, the game would be over and his team would lose. If he walked or hit the ball, he would be the hero of the game. He swung at the first pitch and missed.
“Strike one!” the umpire yelled.
The families from the other team cheered, but his family cheered even louder. “It’s okay, Carl. No problem. You almost hit the ball! Now clobber the next pitch!”
“Strike two!” the umpire yelled after the next pitch.
Pandemonium broke out. Both teams and their families were yelling back and forth at each other. Carl’s family and team was encouraging him; the players and families of the other team were taunting. It was so loud no one could even hear themselves think.
Wrinkles appeared on the nine-year-old’s forehead as he waited for the next pitch. As the ball left the pitcher’s hand, it became very quiet. The ball sped towards Carl. It seemed like it took forever to cross the plate, but cross the plate it did, and Carl swung with all his might.
“Strike Three—You’re OUT!”
Not only was Carl out, the game was over. And he was the cause of the loss.
The winning team went crazy, their families swarmed onto the field, and everyone was dancing, laughing, cheering and celebrating. Except Carl’s team. As Carl’s team walked off the field, dejected, they mingled with their families and headed back to their cars in silence.
Except for Carl. Carl was still standing at home plate, devastated, alone, his head down in disgrace.Suddenly someone yelled, “Ok, Carl, play ball!” Startled, Carl looked up to see his family spread out over the field. Grandpa was pitching, Dad was catching, mom was at first base, Uncle David at second, and the rest of the family had covered the other positions.
“Come on Carl, pick up the bat. Grandpa’s pitching.”
Bewildered, Carl slowly picked up the bat and swung at Grandpa’s first pitch. He missed, and he missed the next six pitches as well. But on the seventh pitch, determined to get a hit, Carl smacked the ball to left field. His aunt ran, picked up the ball in plenty of time, but the first baseman, Mom, must have lost the ball in the sun, because it went right through her hands into the dugout. “Run!” everyone yelled.
As Carl was running to second, the first baseman recovered the ball and threw it. Amazingly, Uncle David was blinded by the sun as well. “Keep running!” yelled someone, and Carl headed for third, where the throw went at least two feet over the head of the third baseman. “Keep running, Carl!” and Carl raced for home, running as hard as he had ever run. The ball was thrown with deadly accuracy as the catcher, Dad, blocking home plate, waited to tag him out, but just as Carl reached home plate, the ball bounced in and out of the catcher’s mitt, and Carl was safe!
Before he knew what happened, Carl found himself being carried around on Uncle Dave’s shoulders while the rest of the family crowded around cheering Carl’s name.
One person who was watching this amazing event commented to a friend, “I watched a little boy fall victim to a conspiracy of grace!”
Carl, the loser—the one who struck out, failed his team, disappointed his family—went from loser to hero. Carl, who would have been left with that awful memory of failure, was instead given a memory of grace, love and acceptance. He heard God’s Love song.
Just like a certain woman at the well. Just like the disciples, or the lame or the blind or those with leprosy. And God continues to sing that same song to you and I today.
Through people who show us a conspiracy of grace. Through family members who hold us in our darkest hours. Through scripture and sunsets. Through prayers and petitions on our behalf. God continues to sing His love song to you and to me. “It’s alright. I’m here…and I love you more than you will ever know. I’ve forgiven you already through the blood of my sacrifice, so whatever it is, confess it and let’s move on. I want to make you whole and happy and free. I want you truly know Love at its’ deepest level. I want you to know Me.”
All that’s left to do now, is respond.
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