Ruminations

Important questions

I coach fast-pitch softball...pony-tail division...girls...13-18 years old.  It's great fun, the psychic income is high, and it keeps me running.  Thank you, Lord.

The most important question I ask every player to consider--a question that should get asked before every pitch--is, "If the ball comes to me, what am I going to do with it?"  Every player has to be ready for that.  They need to consider the question beforehand, so that their response is [almost] automatic.  If the ball comes to me, what am I going to do with it?  Throw to first.  Get the lead runner at third.  Go for the force at the plate.

I heard an Easter sermon at Market Square here in Old Town Alexandria that repeated that softball question, but with two word changes.  Pastor Tom asked the approximately 200 folks assembled at sunrise in the town square, "Since the gospel has just come at you, what are you going to do with it?"  Now that's a great question.  What am I going to do with it?  

First, will I catch it?  The gospel--that beautiful redemptive message--will I catch it?  We know it is virulent, and infects millions of our fellow creatures every year.  But will I catch it?  Or are my antibodies so strong, my defenses so formidable, that I will attempt to avoid any contamination?  Will I just let it go by--let the next guy pick it up--or watch it dribble through my legs or, worse yet, will I run from it?  If the gospel comes at me, what am I going to do?

And if I catch it, what will I do with it?  That's another great question.  Make no mistake: no one can catch the gospel ball and just hold on to it.  There are no "ball hogs" when it comes to the truth.  If we catch this message, it is going to go somewhere...somewhere beyond us.  The other players in our lives will see it.  We're going to feel it.  And we're going to do something with that hot potato called the good news.  We will not be able to "privatize" it, to hide it away just for ourselves.  This isn't some secret self-improvement project.  No way.  It doesn't work that way.  The gospel is a flow, not a stock.  It moves.   

There were some great players on the city diamond Easter Sunday.  Not their stats--their stats were pretty run-of-the -mill human being stats.  Sinners all.  No, it was their potential that's so promising.  They are on the field, going after the gospel ball.  There was also a good supply of new talent, too.  Plenty of opportunities to catch the good news. 

I believe many did.  I sure did.  Thank you, Lord.

Chris Joyce

   

Forever man

He checked the math a final time.  9,131.  That's what it came to--the number of days he had left to live. 

Actuarily, that was.  The insurance tables predicted he'd make it to age 85, given his current age, health, physical activity, and prior history (former smoker), plus whatever else they threw into their statistical black box that spit out the "85" terminal result.  It hovered there on the screen, reminding him of the first digital displays on a TI calculator.  The numbers just seemed to appear back then, seemingly out of nowhere.  The chips--actually, that was a single chip--would suddenly disgorge its solution, after some secret sauce processing that went on within that hard plastic shell.  That was...let's see...at least 30 years ago.  10,957 days before.  More time that he now had to go.  Actuarily.       

How many more days he had left on this earth actually was a different kettle of fish.  God knows.  "Kettle of fish"...now where had that come from?  He'd never seen a kettle, no less one filled with fish.  Where do these sayings come from?  Why do we adopt them so readily?

And why this focus on days?  Why was that the metric he zeroed in on with that laser-like focus?  Because it felt like the best unit of measure.  One day captured a full cycle.  Waking, eating, working, talking, communing, loving, praying, sleeping.  While the sun circumnavigated the globe.  Good science that!

Days.  Each day a gift.  He really believed that.  So he best count them.  No guarantee he'd wake tomorrow, despite that actuarial result.  Ergo, if he did, it was the gift of another day.  The challenge then became: what am I going to do with it?  This gift of a new day.  It kept him focused; motivated; hungry.  

So that explains the measure...days.  But what about the afterlife?  How was he supposed to get that factored in here?  It was a discontinuous function, right?  You live a life...let's say 31,000 days, plus or minus...then you die.  But that's not the end of the story.  That only closes out the first two and a half chapters.  

Why two and a half?  Well, let's take birth--his creation--as one.  Then there's his fall...every man falls, he knew that from experience. That was chapter two. Then there was redemption, but only half that chapter occurred in this life.  The redemption of the spirit, of the heart.  The redemption of the body came later.  After his 31,000 days, plus or minus.  

That was the next chapter...chapters?  Who knew.  But how was he to factor that into his thinking now?   He liked precision.  He liked knowing or, at least, pretending he knew so he could plan accordingly.

And there were real impacts to how he framed the question, and did the analysis.  Example: was he storing up enough treasure to last 9,131 days?  [note to self: the recent market meltdown had made that calculus a lot more challenging].  What about the rebound, his resurrection?  Should he be looking for some TIPS Bonds that went out a bit further?  How about the house?  The land?  What was he supposed to do with that stuff?  Should he keep it in the family, just in case Christ's return was in the near term?    

His head was starting to hurt.  This was all insoluble with the tools he had.  It was mind numbing.  He felt the weight but, incongruously, it was heavy on his leg.

Lucy moved when he suddenly awoke, freeing his trapped leg.  Lucy, his Australian Shepherd.  Startled.

It was a new day.  Thank you Lord.  Show me your will.  Your way.   

Chris Joyce