My family has something of a long history as fans of baseball. It began with my grandmother who, as a lifelong Baptist, was somewhat cautious about worldly possessions. But, she freely admitted that she loved her television set because it brought the game of the week into her house every Saturday afternoon. She would sit in her rocking chair in front of the set, yell at the umpire, and urge her “boys” on. You were welcome to visit, but you weren’t to expect much conversation.

One of her sons-in-law had his closest brush with fame in New York City when visiting there as a young man. As the story goes, while crossing a street one day, if he had not quickly jumped back on the curb, he would have been run down by a roadster with Babe Ruth at the wheel. He always claimed that a jury would have figured out a way to blame him before convicting the Babe.

Growing up, I idolized Mickey Mantle. I now know that he led less than a sterling life, but when I was a kid, I didn’t know. I just knew that he was an amazing ballplayer. I saw him once in the parking lot of a golf course. I stood there, frozen, watching him put his clubs in the trunk of his Lincoln. He didn’t see me and I didn’t approach him. Sometimes, heroes look better at a distance.

I once shook hands with Gaylord Perry at the old baseball field in Arlington. His hands were the size of Easter hams. Famous as a pitcher always suspected of anointing balls with oil, grease, spit, or anything else that would make the pitch do a dance on the way to the plate, his huge mitt swallowed my normal-sized one. I figured that, if he could make my hand disappear, he wouldn’t have a problem hiding a little ointment.

I write all this because several of our church members are also baseball fans. I know this because they have told me. I also write these pleasant words because, whether God is a baseball fan or not, sometimes we need to be reminded, as Paul writes to Timothy about “God, who richly provides us with everything for our enjoyment,” (I Tim. 6:17). It’s okay if you don’t enjoy baseball, or even these stories. Just remember to enjoy some things in life. After all, God gave them to us so that we would.

Blessings, Sam

The traffic was heavy and slow enough that I noticed the pair of shoes that were laying in the middle of the street. A pair of men’s black dress shoes, they were new enough to make me wonder how they had arrived at that abandoned state.

Perhaps someone was moving from one home to another. In the hurry to make the transition, the closet’s contents had been stuffed in a plastic bag and tossed in the back of a pickup. It had taken at least a thoughtful pause to place the good shoes on top to keep them from being scratched, but the first good bump in the road sent those shoes sailing into the street, far away from home.

Or, someone was down to his last dollar. Looking for some way to pay the rent or buy some groceries, he gathered the best he had to take to the second-hand store, hoping that treasures could be traded for necessities. I don’t want to think about that sinking feeling in the pit of the stomach when he discovered that his future had fallen to the wayside.

Maybe the shoes were just too tight. Every step brought pain, a reminder that what had begun as a journey of comfort and durability had ended in a slow slog of endurance. In a fit of freedom, the owner ripped off the shoes and tossed them out the window. Littering aside, to imagine that someone might have the courage to seize the moment, to say, “enough of this!” makes me smile at the thought of feet set free.

All of us have known people who have been tossed aside like a pair of shoes in the road – far from home, hopeless, longing to be set free. Some of us were those people. What we wanted was someone to slow down long enough to look at us, to hear our cry for help. What we found was Jesus. His eye, his ear, his hand rescued us when we were lost and forgotten along life’s way. He is what we needed. He is what we can offer. We can see that if we’ll just slow down long enough to look.

Blessings, Sam