Dear Baseball,

I seriously adore you. You give me an escape. When I watch you, life makes sense. You are incredibly complicated, but thanks to some gracious boys that have mastered your ways, I get you.

Your stability means a lot to me. With all the change in the past year, you are my constant. You are the same in Springfield as you are in Nashville; you are the same at Pleasant Plains that you are at Taylor. You are the same beautiful game.

Now, let’s be real. You, baseball, bring me some stress. Your game is not always won by who the better team is, but that is just one of the many ways you reflect real life. Sometimes one error changes the course of a game; sometimes one run changes the game. In the real world, sometimes one choice changes the course of a life; sometimes one opportunity changes a life.

Another way you reflect life is in the way you are such an independent game, with each catch and each hit relying on a single person, but a dependent game at the same time. The pitcher could not do what he does without the catcher. The first baseman couldn’t get the out on a hit to deep left field, nor could the center fielder get to a bunt in time to throw out the runner like the third baseman can. It’s the same in life. I could not get through this life without a support system behind me.

I also find it quite hilarious how you never allow anyone to get too cocky. EVERYONE makes errors. EVERYONE strikes out (well the pitchers that don’t bat won’t strike out, but how often do you see a perfectly pitched game?). We have all failed. Like it says in Romans 3:23-24, “For all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God, and all are justified freely by His grace through the redemption that came by Christ Jesus.” EVERYONE is a hot mess, but EVERYONE is incomprehensibly blessed by God’s grace.

And another thing, baseball. It’s pretty clear that most of your fans are males. That’s fabulous and all, but there needs to be an understanding that a girl can love baseball too. I cannot even count the amount of times I have been asked why I am at a game.

“Who are you here to watch?” they’ll say.

The team. To watch a baseball game, you have to watch more than one person: shocking, I know.

“Who are you here for?” they’ll say.

Me. I need baseball. It is an escape.

“Do you have a brother or something?” they’ll say.

In Christ, yes. Which is what I adore most about Taylor baseball. I am able to see how baseball can be a ministry.

“So do you know anyone on the team?” they’ll say

Well, yes, I do. But even if I didn’t, would it really matter?

“You really aren’t like talking to any of them?” they’ll say.

Yes, actually, I do speak to some of them, but no, I’m not talking to any of them.

See what I go through? All because I love you, baseball. Some of them will stare, for games and games, until they finally work up the nerve to ask. A few say something right away. Can’t we all just watch the game? I love that you are here watching your son or your boyfriend, or the boy you want to be your boyfriend, but I’m just here to watch the game I love. And to those who are just there watching one person, please, please please shush your mouth. Bleachers are not a coffee shop. I don’t need to know all the details of your life, but because everyone else at the game realizes that they aren’t in a coffee shop, your voice travels much farther than needed.

Baseball, you are the best.

Love,

LeighAnn