Hitting a Home Run

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When I was a kid, Mom always had a bat and ball at-the-ready and loved to watch us play baseball. My younger brother joined Little League, and we all cheered from splintered wooden bleachers on the sidelines.

Later, two of our own 4 sons took to baseball while the rest of us cheered from sleek aluminum bleachers. Lars was fortunate enough to have a dedicated coach who poured monumental effort into his team and frequently took the boys to local batting cages, paying for all of them to practice their hitting.

The owner of the batting cages lived in our neighborhood and did well financially with his venture. Then, in the 1990’s, his marriage and family unraveled, he sold the house he and his wife had built, and the batting cages were permanently padlocked.

This week I was back in my old stomping grounds for an annual physical. The doctor had upgraded his office by moving to a different one, so I Mapquested directions. Amazingly, his new office was in a large medical building constructed on the very spot where the batting cages had once been.

As I walked up the sidewalk, I noticed one of the concrete slabs had an emblem pressed into it. It was a yard-wide impression of a baseball and a couple of bats, no doubt a throw-back to the batting cages formerly on the site. When I got to the check-in desk, I asked the ladies if they knew anything about the insignia on the sidewalk. “What insignia?” one said.

“I saw it,” another said, “but have no idea.” I told them what I knew, but they were unimpressed.

Knowledge of places, events, and people seems to get buried under years the way ancient ruins get buried under debris. Despite efforts to keep memories fresh as with the sidewalk “message,” the press of everyday events keeps most of us focused on the here and now. After all, our heads can only hold so many facts at once.

For example, I’ve been taxing my brain in an effort to remember the name of the neighbor who owned the batting cages, but it’s buried in mental debris like so much else, and I can’t find it.

Inadequate recall or just not knowing in the first place (like the doctor’s office ladies) prompted me to think of God’s ability to keep track of everything without so much as a file cabinet. He’s never had the problem of mental debris. There’s only one thing he makes a point to forget: our confessed sins. At least that’s how Scripture tells it.

But I don’t think he really forgets. He just stops counting sins against us and quits reminding us of them. And that’s good enough for me. It’s even better than a grand slam home run.

“This is what the Lord says: “I—yes, I alone—will blot out your sins for my own sake and will never think of them again.” (Isaiah 43:25)

Grey Matter(s)

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Psychologists can study American culture just by looking at bumper stickers, short and snappy statements that tell society’s story. Yesterday I saw a new one: “THERE ARE NO GREY AREAS.”

Many of us wish for that, life lived in the clear distinctions of black and white, but reality teaches us most of what we encounter is in grey zones. By grey I’m not implying there’s indecision or wishy-washy-ness, just too many possibilities.

Whenever we’re trying to make a decision and think, “Boy oh boy, I’m just not sure,” we’re in a grey zone. Thoughts like “Absolutely!” or “No way!” qualify as black or white, and we’re accepting of those. But why is it so difficult to live in the grey? Why did the bumper sticker truck driver not want any of it?

Maybe it’s because we become frustrated with unsolved problems and don’t like to be in doubt about anything. That feels “off,” like a mystery novel unresolved by the last page. Even Scripture has verses that are colored grey. When we hear that biblical scholars have debated for decades about specific passages, we know those particular verses have been written in shades of grey.

Surely, though, God has grey-tinged purposes for us. A period of wrestling with difficult dilemmas stretches our ability to problem-solve (i.e. making good use of our grey matter). Grey zone struggles are also fertile ground for opinion changes. As we puzzle through problems, a period of time in the grey zone might be just the thing to change an unwise choice to a wise one.

Grey areas also offer the benefit of wiggle room, a good place to debate opposing opinions. If a discussion isn’t limited to the extremes of black or white, there’s a good chance opposite views can land somewhere in the middle, in the grey zone.

As we try to cope with times of grey in our lives, once in a while we do need the relief of clear-cut black or white. Thankfully the Lord is willing to provide that, and despite a bit of biblical grey, most of what’s written on those pages is delineated in crystal clear black and white.

Front and center is his brightly colored love for all of us, which probably isn’t either black or white. It’s probably sparkling with every color in the rainbow. But one thing we know for sure: it isn’t grey.

As for the truck with the bumper sticker about no grey areas? It was grey.

“How blessed are the people who… walk in the light of [the Lord’s] countenance.” (Psalm 89:15)

Against All Odds

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When I was a single career girl in 1968, I owned a red hard-top convertible Corvette and lived in an apartment with 3 friends on the near-north side of Chicago. Although it wasn’t a dangerous neighborhood, when walking home from distant parking spots we kept our eyes open.

One Sunday afternoon I arrived home briefly and just needed to run inside to pick up a few things before driving off again. Incredibly, there was an empty parking space right in front of our building. With the car so close, I figured I could safely leave the top down during my quick in-and-out.

But when I came back 10 minutes later, my Corvette was gone. It was difficult to believe someone had stolen it in so short a time in broad daylight, but they had. I filed a police report, but the officer said, “A Corvette? They’re chopped up within minutes. You’ll never see it again.”

Lo and behold, 4 days later, the police found it! The convertible top was still down, and it was parked in front of a gun factory with a “Now Hiring” sign out front. The police wouldn’t have noticed it except for the screwdriver sticking out of its ignition hole. The officers hid, waited for the driver, and nabbed him when he tried to get in the car.

I got my Corvette back with only minor damage and classified it as direct intervention from God. Because of his arrangement of circumstances, the impossible had happened.

Last month, the impossible happened again. This time it was Louisa’s 16 year old Honda Accord. She parked it outside her Chicago apartment after returning from work, and when she went back to it, it was gone. Wondering if she’d forgotten exactly where she’d parked, she asked friends to drive her up and down the streets, just to be sure. But it was nowhere.

She filed a police report, but the officer said, “They steal them for parts. We’ll probably find the empty shell abandoned under the el tracks in a day or two.”

Lo and behold, a week later Louisa got a call saying her car had been found, parked illegally in front of a fire plug. Police had it towed to an impound and told her where to pick it up.

“Is it damaged?” she said.

“We didn’t check.”

Incredibly, it was in perfect condition, even the ignition. Although the car’s contents were disheveled, nothing was missing except a five dollar bill. When Louisa called me with the good news she said, “It was God for sure.”

I agree.

Sometimes we feel distant from the Lord, as if he’s not hearing our prayers and has no concern for our needs. At other times we can’t get over his startling activity on our behalf. The trick is to think back to those times of his dramatic involvement during the moments when he seems distant.

True then?

True now.

“Let us draw near to God with a sincere heart and with the full assurance that faith brings…” (Hebrews 10:22)