I was terrible at baseball
When I was younger.
My dad
On the other hand
Was a pitcher
On his high school team.
And so
In his endless optimism
As a new father,
He really tried
To pass along
His knowledge
And skill
And desire to play
To his first born daughter
AKA me.

His optimism soon shifted;
Bestowed upon my little brother
Who was born
Two years after me.
So I was off the hook.
Or so I thought.

I’m not sure
If it was my idea
Because I wanted to be
Included in their fun;
Or my dad’s idea
Because of his determination
To successfully teach me.
But either way
Many of my memories
As a youth
Involved him trying
To teach me
Various aspects
Of baseball.
He taught me how to throw
How to catch
How to bat.
I didn’t do it well
But he taught me.
And yet
I remained terrible at it.
And worse,
I remained indifferent
Toward the game he loved so much.

And I do recall
On more than one occasion
That he would raise his voice
More than a little bit
Possibly from frustration
(Definitely from frustration)
When he gave me directions.

His coaching sounded like:
“Watch the ball ALL the way to the bat!”
“Bend your KNEES more!”
“Try to swing a little LOWER!”

Perhaps the reason
His voice grew louder
Was because
He thought
That the problem might be
That my hearing was impaired.
And not
Because I simply lacked
The desire and ability
To do as he was directing.

But whatever the reason
(Definitely the latter)
He kept trying
To teach me.
To be my coach.

When we grew up
All 4 of my siblings
Were better than me
At baseball.
But for whatever reason –
I suspected it was punishment
For some unknown deed
I had committed –
My dad wanted all of us
Even me
To play baseball
For his birthday
Or Father’s Day.
And so I would go
With the same
Desire and ability
As I did when I was younger.

But even though I was older,
And I had not improved
In the slightest –
In fact
I was probably worse –
Things were different.
Because my coach was different.
Maybe it was because
He knew that I was not there
Because of my love of the game,
Despite his best efforts.

But rather,
I was there
Because of my love for him.

And his coaching changed.
It was quieter now
Full of patience
And encouragement.

Now it sounded like:

“Good try, Babes!”
“That was really good!”
And
“Maybe you could wear tennis shoes
next time instead of flip flops.”
(Indifference dies hard sometimes.)

The time we spent playing baseball
Became less about
How I was playing the game
And more about
How he felt about me – his daughter.
And that made all the difference
In how I wanted to show up
And love him back.

And maybe he realized by then
That I was a grown-up
Which meant
If I hated it enough
I might not come back
On his next birthday
Because I had agency.

And I found myself
Reflecting on this experience
Of my baseball coach.
My daddy.

Because I recently
Heard a question
That was something like:
“How did you imagine
The character of God
When you were younger?
And over time
How has it shifted?”

And I immediately
Remembered how
As a kid,
I thought God must be
Frustrated with me
All the time.
Because I was frustrated with me.
Why couldn’t I
Do this perfectly?
Or at least
Do it well sometimes?
But as I’ve grown
Closer to Him
I’ve come to know
That He is infinitely patient.
That He is a God of second chances
And 70×7 chances. (1)

And because of my dad,
Who I miss every day,
I came to know
That God’s main focus
Has not been
About how I’m playing the game
AKA Life.
And it hasn’t been
About my ability or desire either.
But rather, it has always been about His love for me.

So the time I spent with God
Became less about
How I’m playing the game
And more about
How He feels about me – His daughter.
And that has made all the difference
In how I want to show up
And love Him back.

(1) Matthew 18:22