Life is Like a Game of Baseball

I might be dating myself here with the younger generations but who remembers using clothes pins to attach playing cards on the spokes of their bicycles? Can you hear that sound in your head? (For those of you who can’t, check out this YouTube link to hear it.) That right there, my friends, was the sound that made us feel like the cool kids. With that sound coming from my bike, I sat a little taller on that bike as I rode up and down the street.

Thinking about that reminded me of when we first learned how to ride a bike without training wheels. As kids we were excited but I dare most of us were also nervous. Once we were on the bike, we probably begged whoever was helping us to not let us go. We needed them there. We were scared and didn’t think we could do it on our own. I know I felt that way. Once we started peddling some of that fear began to dissipate. We felt the wind in our face and we felt invincible. Then all of a sudden we realized the person behind us was no longer there. We were riding all on our own! We didn’t need them!

How many times do we take this attitude in life, especially in the realm of telling God, “I don’t need Your help anymore. I’ve got this!” Yet life and our relationship with Christ isn’t like riding a bike. It’s more like a game of chess or baseball because there is always more to learn.

I played both chess and baseball in my life. I’ve played Tee-ball when I was around five years old, middle school summer league, and high school baseball. Let me tell you this, there’s a ton of difference between them. In Tee-ball, I remember coming into home plate and the catcher had the ball. What did I do? I ran around in circles trying to escape the tag from the catcher. I made it home without being tagged and caused two very dizzy kids in the process. For those who don’t know the rules of baseball, I would’ve been called ‘out’ long before I made it to home plate because I ran way outside the baseline.

I didn’t play much baseball again until the summer between middle school and high school. What if I treated baseball like I treated riding my bike and told my coach, “I’ve got this,” because I thought I didn’t need his advice or instruction? That would have a huge problem! I would have been looking for a tee to hit the ball from but instead there would have been someone pitching the ball. What about the concept of balls and strikes that come when you have a pitcher? I also wouldn’t have learned the mental part of the game that tells you what to do in any given situation, such as who to throw the ball to if you’re in the outfield and there are runners on base. There would have been so many things I would not have had a clue about. Instead by listening to my coach, he taught me what I needed to know so I play the game, the right way. 

As Christians, I think we live more like we’re riding a bike than playing baseball. You see, many of us rely on God through the hardships (such as learning how to ride that bike). However, once things get easier, we tend to say to God, “I’ve got this,” and try to run our own lives. But when the hardships creep back in, we go running to God again because we know we can’t handle life on our own. I believe it’s a cycle that happens to many Christians. I know it happens in my own life. When I get to the end of my rope, I come crawling back to God, battered and bruised. He gives me strength and comfort, and I rely on Him to get me through (which He always does). Once things get easy I tend to call back to God from my preverbal bike, “I’ve got this, Lord!” We all know what happens next. I learn the hard way that I ‘don’t got this’ and come back to the One who does, God.

Our lives need to mirror baseball. Each day we need to listen to our Coach (God) in life. We need to ask for His guidance in what we should do, how we should handle situations that arise during the day, and be listening for His leading. He might have something specific He wants us to do. God is always there and ready to help us. We just need to reach out and ask! 

Keeping the perspective,
Lauren