Tuesday, May 4, 2010
I love baseball. Growing up in a baseball town I could hardly escape the excitement that the spring season would bring. The sea of cardinal red under a clear, blue sky is still an enchanting sight to me. As a child, I remember climbing the long ramps of the old stadium and getting more and more excited as further and further up we'd go - all the way to the nose-bleed section. It was the best seat in the house to me. I was at a baseball game, and I'd eat up every minute. But there was one thing that we would always do upon entry to the stadium. We'd get a score card. My father would stop after taking just a few steps inside and buy a 2-dollar piece of paper. I never really noticed or cared what it was when I was little, it just became a "tradition".
As a teenager I thought it rather comical that my dad would not only buy that score card but religiously mark each strike, foul, hit, run and play in each and every inning. It was his way of enjoying baseball to its fullest. As we would all be standing, shouting, and cheering for our team, dad would stand to see the play he needed to record and go on completing his records. He never shouted or jumped up and down. He'd stretch his legs at the seventh inning and even sing along with tune we'd all belt out with pride. But his joy was in the mechanics of the game. As I was swept into a magical world of baseball bliss, he'd be in his world of intricate detail. And they meshed well.
I recently had an epiphany. I've become the holder of my own life's score card. Every hit, I have marked down, every run that seems to plow me over, every strike that haunts me, every foul that hasn't gone my way, I've got proof. It's all stored in that secret file where I've been keeping score. I haven't left it to my Father, no. I'm keeping a record of it all.
It does not surprise or astound me that once again my own father would paint a lovely picture of what my Heavenly Father is to me. He is the keeper of the score card. The intricate plan that He has for me is never left undone. Each inning of my life is recorded, each tear stored. He can handle it just fine. No hit goes unnoticed, no foul play against me ignored. He's got the record and knows the outcome of this whole thing. I've taken that for granted.
So today I have relinquished that card. The record keeping of how many times someone's wronged me, spoken falsely of, or even hurt me openly - I'll let Him keep score. The hits and misses, the victories and failures all left in His care. For I have now realized that like it or not, intentionally or unintentionally, I am on the score card of someone else's life. And if we all leave it in His care and trust that He will bring His plan to fruition in our lives, we are left to enjoy the game, as He keeps an elaborate record of the goings-on of our lives.