Living in wine country, I am blessed with the option of driving to work along a trail of wineries. If I leave early enough I am able to catch the day bloom, chrome like, with coils of light needlin…
Source: Stress = Wine
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The Baseball
This is the last night you’ll shimmy under cars,
Scrape your arms to grab a foul ball, or
Wear the imprint of gravel on your legs when
You race to the concession stand for the free treat.
You will no longer split the thin sheet of bubble gum, or
Hope for a Boston Red Sox trading card on the inside wrapper
It is the last night you’ll jump at the sound of a cracked bat
Hear the clap of a ball as it lands in a leather mitt, or
Linger among the swelling wave of voices from the crowd
Rising from the mist of hamburger grease and cigarette smoke
This is the last night you’ll stand at the top of the bleachers
And spit sunflower seed shells over the side of the railing
You don’t know it yet but this is the last night
You will ever spit in front of anyone again
But the boy in front of you, the one who spent a whole afternoon and
Three rolls of masking tape to make a ball for your whiffle bat,
The boy who now offers you half his pack of M&Ms
Because he remembers that you like sweet after salty—
He sees the girl you don’t yet recognize
The girl who will leave her glove on the top shelf of her closet
The girl who will ask her mother to buy her a skirt and
A purse to hold lip gloss, perfume, and a plastic comb
You don’t know this yet, but it is the baseball you’ll miss most.
The grass streaked, gray from dust and spit, and
So worn its red stitching is frayed—
That baseball
The one bitten by a bat again and again, polished
In musk oil and leather until it feels like suede—
That baseball
What you’ll miss most is the weight of it in your hand
~Sheila LaSalle
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Leaning In to Jesus
My sister in-law was at the end of her 21 month long journey with lung cancer. One by one we each reminded her that she’d fought long and hard and that it was okay to now let it go. But she hung on. The literature that a Hospice volunteer presented said that often people are waiting for something, for some sort of closure. I talked with a few of the other caregivers on her “team” and none of us could think of what sort of closure she might need. That is, until I realized I’d been thinking of her as a patient rather than the woman I’d known for almost thirty years.
She was in middle school when I met her and she quickly became the babysitter for my thirteen month old daughter. She took excellent care of my daughter and after she placed her in her crib each night, she cleaned my apartment. One evening my class let out early and I surprised Jen who was busy scrubbing the kitchen sink. Instead of leaving early herself, she insisted on finishing the job. “I started it, I need to finish.” Years later, she maintained that spirit of finishing what she’d begun. There were times when she would forego visits with friends because she was in the middle of a home project and wanted to finish it. She set goals and she completed them. Why should now, suffering through her final days at Hospice, be any different?
I realized, this wasn’t about unfinished business in terms of a relationship; it wasn’t about giving in; it wasn’t about letting go of her battle with cancer. It was about finishing what she’d begun.
During her last few hours, I encouraged her as I would a marathon runner nearing the finish line. You’re almost there! You can do this! Lean in to Jesus! Passing into the arms of Jesus became her final goal. And when she reached completion, her passing was more of a peaceful leaning in verses a struggle to remain.
How many times have we struggled alone, to fix a relationship, to forgive someone, to assuage our guilt or our grief? How many times have we struggled alone to be happy? Relying on our will and our intellect to complete the task. How much easier it would be if we also leaned in?
We too need to lean in to the arms of Christ. Lean into His love, lean into the hope, and when our hearts are racked with grief, we need to lean into His compassion and bright joy.
When Christ said, Follow me, I doubt he meant for us to tag along at a distance. Rather, I believe He meant Walk with me, Be with me, Cling to me, Bring all you are to me and I will make you whole.
lifewithsaints 