A Family First

My husband is passionate about baseball. He often talks about his college days and how he would run through a wall to catch a ball if he had to. I'm amazed at how he has found baseball to be a source of growth and inspiration in his life. It isn't surprising that our son has grown to love the game. He started out in tee ball, moved onto coach pitch, and finally Little League.

Over the years, we have watched our buddy go from having a fear of the ball to being asked to participate on a travel team with other eleven and twelve year old boys. At the beginning of the spring baseball season, I could see that he was overwhelmed. He was playing alongside some talented kids and he was a bit rusty after taking the Fall off to focus on his new educational adventure - homeschooling. After a few weeks and a lot of one-on-one work with my husband, my son was playing confidently. His batting average was right up there, and he found a new favorite position; first base.

My buddy's broken ulna

The biggest change I saw in him, though didn't have anything to do with the mechanics of baseball. His attitude was amazing while he cheered his teammates onto victory and even through defeat. He was a total team player, as he sat on the bench screaming for his friends to succeed. This was when I saw that his passion for baseball was more about the relationships he had on his team. The encourager that I have seen in him since he was a young boy was overwhelmingly evident, and as parents, our hearts were full.

The end of the spring baseball season was thrilling as our son was put on the All Star team and my husband happily coached. The team was part of a local tournament and was the precursor to the big tournament in the following weeks that is the road to the Little League World Series. During the third game of the first tournament, my son was up at the plate and ready to get a hit for the team. Instead, he took a hit and the pitch got him in the forearm. He immediately went down and his arm swelled. Unfortunately, that ball broke his arm (our family's first broken bone) and he couldn't play in the big tournament. Except nothing held him back from doing what he did remarkably well - cheer on his friends. He hardly seemed phased that he couldn't play and was totally content to be the team's support from the dug out. His screams and shouts helped them earn runner up, and put a lot of smiles on many parent's faces.

What a proud moment as a parent. Lord knows I don't take the credit. I make a lot of mistakes in my parental role, but boy am I thankful that good happens in spite of my errors.