Like a mall on Christmas Eve, the complex was buzzing: people hurrying about with great urgency were every where. Some in jerseys and cleats warming up on the fields, bouncing in the dugouts, huddling with their coaches or just leaning on a fence. Each face was set with a mix of eagerness, determination and anxiety. On the bleachers the guises of the fans were masked- nearly to entirety- by the warmest blankets an April carload could carry. This clear full-moon lit night was surprisingly and bitterly cold following a beautiful summer-like day. Bustling with energy both from the players and the full moon, the games finally began.
Watching Nicholas in perpetual motion and always with the fear of a foul ball finding his little head, I sometimes have a hard time keeping track of Mitchel. I don't know why. He sure stands out in a crowd of peers: size 15 feet does that to a boy. Yet again, I find my self in that familiar and semi-panicking search; where's my son?
On my tip-toe, crouching down, crooking my neck in ways I never realized were possible, thinking on several occasions that I see him, but it was just hopeful wishing. Then I know. There he is. THAT is my son. Again, all is right with the world. I doesn't matter what he's doing or not doing. Playing first base or sitting on the bench for the inning, covered from head to toe in his catcher's gear or swinging away at the plate-none of that matters just as long as I can see him. It never fails: he catches my eye and I reap a Mitchel smile. Life is good. I just love him-because of who he is; not because of what he does.
I Samuel 1:27 For this boy I prayed, and the LORD has given me my petition which I asked of Him.