The Best Part of the Day

One thing about being a seasoned citizen is that I now take time to think about things I never paid much attention to when I was young. Youthful times are filled with so many different experiences, distractions, and day-to-day happenings the idea to dwell on any specific thought with depth of analysis is too time consuming and bland. Usually, one is too busy and pre-occupied with daily routine duties and predetermined responsibilities. By the time awareness sets in, one is usually conscripted to school, studies, homework and after-school chores. When free time is available, contemplation is way down on the list of preferred activities. With adulthood comes a myriad of additional responsibilities and the pace of daily living, at times, is a blur. Often exhausted at the end of the day, one seeks restful sleep rather than cognitive review. As tired as we are, however, we automatically savor certain moments from the day just ending. Doing so, begets the question: What is the best part of the day? What number from the allotted 1440 minutes serves to ease the mind, comfort the soul, and energize the spirit?

Regardless of age, status, gender, or circumstance each of us have moments that define our days. Take your own personal inventory and enjoy the review of those special parts of a day that bring satisfaction, comfort, accomplishment, peace of mind, and prayerful thanks. For me, each second is the best part of the day. I view each day as a gift with intention to enjoy and savor every part thereof.

Near the top of my list are the moments in the wee small hours of the morning, when the night is wrapped around us like a warm comforter. Familiar sounds of appliances tease the silence and provide a background for those who share moonlit starry skies and sleep less soundly. Numerous times during the year, the sound of rain against window panes and roofs gives one a feeling of tranquility and encourages reflection. When skies are clear there are the moments of sunrise and sunset—dawn and dusk. Looking at the beginning or ending of a day with a cup of coffee or tea; at the breakfast table or on the porch swing is a gift within a gift.

Maybe the best part of the day is saying night prayers or reading bedtime stories with your children, delivering a hug and goodnight kiss to loved ones. The best part of the day can be at work with colleagues and co-workers; interacting with groups or savoring aloneness. Sometimes there are several best parts of the day--separated moments and connected moments. During the week, the best part of the day comes at different times: prayerful contemplation, noisy gatherings, family activities, romantic interludes, public, private, and all occasions in between. The best part of the day can be watching a favorite TV show or sporting event relaxing in your favorite chair or comfortable on your couch potato sofa. The best part of the day can also be listening to a ballgame on a delicious summer afternoon while working in the yard, or the soundtrack of warm spring nights on a glider inside a screened porch or patio. What is the best part of the day? (Your Answer Here.)

The best part of the day is largely dependent on one’s personal attitude, philosophy, and perspective. How vigorous does one pursue the potential of each day? To what degree does one dispense their energy, effort, goodness, and kindness in order to harvest the bounty of each day? Each day comes from the factory like a banquet—a bounty brimming with promise, opportunity, and a chance to do better. The best part of the day—the dessert of our efforts is achieved through individual and collective offerings of faith, hope, and charity.

The best part of the day can be what you want it to be. The way one uses the gift of each day—86,400 seconds, 1440 minutes, or 24 hours will determine the quality of the “Best Part of the Day.”

To Belong

Throughout life, we invest considerable time and effort to belong. From little on, the need to belong becomes an essential ingredient of our personality and affects the way we think, behave, and interact with others. Belonging brings comfort and connection, belonging serves to identify and validate so much of whom and what we are. As we mature, the degree of “belong” is consciously sought, controlled, managed, and independently selected and decided. At various stages of our life, we employ symbols and signs noting our belong status: certificates, jewelry, attire, titles, words, identification labels--the litany is quite extensive. We celebrate special occasions when belonging is bestowed: birthdays, anniversaries, Baptism, Confirmation, engagement, marriage, graduation, induction, promotion, elections and a myriad of award ceremonies. To emphasize the importance of such events sacred words are read from Holy Books, psalms and hymns are sung, and age-old traditions and protocol are followed. Belonging gives strength, faith, courage, and hope to the human spirit.

As a child, we take belonging for granted. Initially, we have no say in the matter. One day, we become aware that we are part of a family. Each day we spend the majority of time interacting with each other inside familiar surroundings firming up rank, position, status, and prominence. As we become older, the “belonging” process takes on added importance and we deliberately develop strategies, methods, and thought processes necessary to maintain our emotional connection to whatever we have attached our feelings. We make special effort, expend copious energy, and elevate our interest in order to meet the level or degree of belonging depending on circumstance, life-stage, or purpose. With belonging, one must accept responsibility, duty, obligation, commitment, and a sundry of ancillary liability: emotional, social, and personal. But regardless of the challenges faced, the payoff that belonging brings to the individual is well worth the price paid.

Over a lifetime, think about the expenditure of time, energy and effort one spends to belong: clubs, organizations, teams, groups, cliques, fraternities, sororities, unions, guilds, etc. In pairs, small groups, or large denominations we strive to make our involvement noticed and elevate our status of worth, importance and impact. Belonging gives us an opportunity to demonstrate a variety of skill, ability, and talent. A chance to showcase our competence, leadership, camaraderie, intelligence and experience. Depending upon the situation, one can instill, inspire, model and mentor others and expand the cohesive bond and reward of belonging. We move easily from one group to another: formal or informal, social or business, religious or secular, educational or recreational, public or private. Belonging can be gender specific or mixed, geriatric or youthful, adolescent or adult. Humans know how to effectively multi-task belonging. Our need to belong may focus on a single person or a group. Gratification may take the form of celebrity, recognition or acknowledgement whenever one is in the limelight. Sanction of one’s belonging may be conveyed privately from eyes of loved ones closest to the heart. The value to our spirit is the knowing we matter we’re appreciated, needed, cherished and loved. Belonging gives one purpose, a reason to get up in the morning. Inwardly our spirit soars; outwardly we smile proudly. We are not alone—we belong! What an incredible feeling! The connection knowing one belongs may be a gentle touch, a knowing look, a warm embrace or casually held hands. Verification of one’s belonging may be written on certificates, licenses, deeds, or notebook paper. The belonging may be handwritten on greeting cards or personal notes, phone calls, text messages, answering machines, emails, or delivered personally expressed with varying degrees of passion and persuasion. Regardless of delivery system, the end result is the same; one has been chosen to share in another’s life. Duration and longevity are first cousins of belonging. Whatever circumstances allow—belonging should be nurtured, appreciated and acknowledged. Just because a number of miles separate front doors, does not mean one cannot savor belonging. Feelings and thoughts of belonging nourish the spirit, fills the heart with gladness and makes music for the senses. Think back on all the days of your life. Remember the moments when you first realized you belonged: family, classmates, colleagues, coworkers, neighbors, and friends. Think about yesterday, today and tomorrow—savor the moments, treasure the memories, and open your heart to belongings yet to come.

Koch’s Choice

March, 2010

The Magic Box

First impressions stay with you for a long time especially when you’re a little kid and your world consists of a 650 square foot garage flat apartment and fenced back yard of the landlord. Without question, experiences during the first 5 years of one’s life are limited. For me, aside from the weekly trek to church or neighborhood grocery stores with Mom, adventures were limited by imagination and mobility. Then, one day you find yourself on the bus to Chicago ’s Loop for bargains. Primarily, this trip would focus on shoes from Sears. Oxfords were the style of the day and the price advertised in newspaper ads was incentive enough for Mom to bundle me up for a ride northward on the Shoreline Bus.

Chicago’s Loop, in February of 1946, was loaded with “on-sale” goods. Store windows displayed a sundry of wares. We scurried along State Street and arrived at our destination among hundreds of shoppers. Mom pushed the revolving door entrance and we moved through the turnstile-like opening onto the main floor. Once inside, glass display cases, shelves of items, and a smorgasbord of merchandise filled my eyes. Mom was on a mission as she guided me along to a wall with moving panels. Other shoppers waited looking up above the door at a row of numbers—one of which would light up only momentarily. Every few seconds, a bell would sound followed by a lighted arrow—pointing either up or down. Immediately the sliding panels opened and people stepped out of a small room. One person dressed in a uniform stayed in the small room with the next group of people who had entered.

With the next bell and arrow, it was our turn. Mom ushered me just inside the sliding doors near the front. The uniformed lady waved a wand-like stick in front of the people, turned a handled wheel and immediately the panels came together and closed the little room. She moved a lever and I felt the room moving upward. My stomach was a little late following the rest of my body but it caught up before the room stopped at the illuminated number above the door.

With each stop, the sliding doors opened and a scene of displayed merchandise filled my field of vision: house wares, vacuums, drapes, clothes, appliances. Each time the doors closed, my stomach jumped as the little room moved upwards. About the fourth stop, the doors opened and I saw Toyland. For a few brief seconds, red wagons, ice skates, sleds, Erector Sets, Lincoln Logs, some type of bowling game, all kinds of tractors and trucks. This was the floor I wanted to be on! I thought: Let’s get off here! No such luck. One more floor and my senses were filled with the sight and smell of leather shoes, rubber boots, galoshes, and clothing. On carpeted floors we walked to the shoe department took a seat and waited for a salesman. While the shoe guy measured my foot and Mom talked about brown oxfords, my mind and imagination was one floor below, thinking about all the goodies I saw a few moments before. At that moment I didn’t care about shoes. All I wanted was to ride the magic box to Toy City and check out all the neat stuff! Instead, I received a pair of brown oxfords with an extra pair of shoelaces. Mom and I rode the magic box downward, but as luck would have it, no one wanted Toy Land so we rode straight to the lobby. By the time we got outside back on State Street it was snowing like crazy. We walked a good distance to where the bus stop was located and waited until the bus arrived. This particular bus had a single seat up front next to the driver. It was vacant and I asked Mom if I could ride in it. The bus driver smiled, Mom nodded, and I climbed into the seat. Holding my new shoes, watching the bus’ windshield wipers clean away snowflakes, I imagined myself back in the magic box each time opening the doors to a new adventure land... The ride back home was neat. Like a copilot, I kept an eye on the road, and occasionally glanced at the captain behind the wheel. I felt like a celebrity at the front of a parade!

The bus driver let us off on 119th Street and Lincoln Avenue . Our garage flat was located three houses from the corner—1924 -1/2, so the snowflakes only had a few minutes to locate our nose and eyelashes. Holding tightly the package from Sears Roebuck I navigated the snow-covered sidewalk without slipping once. Back home, warm and cared for, I looked out the window and watched it snow. Thinking about my new shoes, the ride home and most of all—the magic box.

New Year's Promise

Each New Year we decide to make resolutions. Such commitments are supposed to serve as guideposts or directional indicators to keep us on course throughout the upcoming twelve months. Usually, by the end of February, many of our resolutions have been discarded or, at best, adhered to only intermittently. This year, there will be no resolutions: no listing of goals or grandiose statements of intentions. Instead, the list of resolutions will be replaced by a single promise. The promise is made by me—to me. Keeping this promise will not require special equipment, structured schedules, carefully selected items, or expensive accessories. The promise has nothing to do with reducing unwanted body fat, breaking of bad habits, or arduous exercise workouts. Rendering this promise involves no financial expenditure. The promise will not improve the body but will most certainly improve the spirit. There are no limitations as to the number of times this promise is fulfilled, or upon the number of individuals it is bestowed. There are no pronouncements, support groups, or public accounting as to effectiveness. The benefits of this New Year’s Promise may never be known; and yet, may be so obvious that everyone is awestruck by the results. Here is my New Year’s Promise: “Whenever I encounter something that makes me think of people I know and love, I will pray for them.” This promise “trigger” may be a certain song, an image, a thought, or a memory of one who has touched my life--living or deceased. It may be a gift once received, a photograph, a card or a letter; an email, or their voice on the phone: whatever the source, whatever the circumstance, my promise is to take a few brief moments and offer a prayer for God’s blessing on their behalf. We value so many things in life; we sometimes forget those who helped us along the way. How many times do we wistfully recall moments to remember shared with family, classmates, co-workers, colleagues and friends? In an instant we can offer prayerful thanks for their kindnesses, thoughtfulness, and caring manner. Many who helped us have moved away and their doorsteps are separated from ours by many miles. Without interrupting their lives we can say a prayer for whatever intention we attached to our personal intercession. Within the privacy of our heart, workplace, home or car we can nourish the spirit and strengthen the soul of those we hold most dear. As we go about our daily routine, without any outward sign we can convey prayerful words of comfort, solace, peace and love. Or, we can send individual personal thoughts directly to that person’s heart. New Year’s is always a time to celebrate the newest allotment of days: party up a storm, wear funny hats, activate noisemakers, dance amid confetti, streamers and colorful balloons while displaying behaviors influenced by drinks and concoctions which accelerate frivolity and good times. As the New Year begins, and voices sing the familiar words to Auld Lang Syne, we can keep our New Year promise. How many people throughout your lifetime have shared treasured moments with you that deserve a few seconds of remembrance? Of prayerful gratitude and appreciation?

Should you choose to compile a conventional list of resolutions find room for the promise. By this time next year, along with desired weight loss, cessation of harmful habits, and toned anatomy, you will have conveyed prayerful intercession to those you cherish and love. If Heaven is kind, those who cherish you in their life will in turn, prayerfully remember you. That’s the promise for the New Year.

Each time the subject of “promise” comes up I always remember the closing lines from what has become my favorite poem by Robert Frost: Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening. He closes with these words: “The woods are lovely, dark and deep, but I have promises to keep; and miles to go before I sleep. And miles to go before I sleep.”

Like the traveler in Frost’s poem, each of us has promises to keep; and miles to go before we sleep. Welcome, 2010! Happy New Year, everyone!

Father of the Carpenter

Long, ago, more than 90 generations in the past, the world struggled with power money and greed much as it does to this day. And, like today, most of those early inhabitants were occupied with the daily task of providing food, shelter, and trying to make ends meet. What money they earned was taxed by the governing power and whatever remained was used to maintain one’s standard of living. The story which follows reflects conditions known at that time. Historically, there is limited information about day-to-day activities of individuals who lived in New Testament times. Many were fishermen, farmers, bee keepers, barbers, hair-dressers, merchants, seamstresses, wine-makers, and gardeners. Some were slaves. Others tended livestock, poultry, herded sheep, or operated grain mills. A small percentage of gifted citizens were artists, sculptors, writers, and musicians. Many worked as government employees as census takers, tax collectors, accountants, and a sundry of political jobs.. A number of the population was craftsmen: shipbuilders, blacksmiths, metalworkers, and carpenters. These individuals took raw materials of nature and transformed them into necessary, useful items for both workplace and home. The focus of this story is a woodworker.

He was known as Joseph, son of Jacob. Although born in Bethlehem , no one knew

exactly when he had arrived in Nazareth , but he had been there for a number of years. Perhaps Galilee was a favorable place to ply his trade, and family financial circumstances necessitated a earning a living. A polite, quiet, righteous man, Joseph went about his work with dispatch and efficiency. By trade, Joseph was a tekton –a mechanic of sorts, but in particular, a carpenter. Most of the houses in town showcased his craftsmanship: tables, chairs, bed frames and cabinets of various sizes and design were testament to his skill. No one could remember when he did not live alone.

He was well into his maturity when he announced his intention to marry a young woman from Nazareth . Years later, learned men would write about circumstances surrounding his engagement, marriage, and birth of a son, but at the time, it went almost unnoticed. Joseph was a God-fearing servant. He was most troubled when it became known to him that young woman he betrothed was with child. He quietly made plans to separate himself from her. However, when Joseph was informed by an angel as he slept to be not afraid and take Mary as his wife, for that which is conceived in her, is of the Holy Spirit; Joseph, did as the angel of the Lord commanded him, and took unto him his wife.

A few months later, a decree issued by Caesar Agustus, required Joseph and his expectant wife go to Bethlehem to be counted in the census. Arriving in the town of his birth, Joseph found no room for them in the inn. How troubling it must have been for this holy man at the time of his wife to give birth. What were his thoughts about the coming of shepherds, and the wise men? Whatever wonderings anxieties and uncertainties Joseph faced, he never spoke about them. The historical record is silent.

After the birth of Jesus, Joseph was told by an angel to flee into Egypt to escape the jealousy and wickedness of a ruling tyrant. Once again, Joseph waited until directed by angels to return to Palestine , eventually settling again in Nazareth . With sublime simplicity and obedience, Joseph returned to his trade and supported himself and his family by skillfully crafting useful objects from wood. He spent time teaching his young son the skills of his trade not fully understanding all which would be asked of the boy named Jesus. As a devout, pious man, he observed that which was commanded by the Law, living out his life in an uneventful manner. He was to die before Jesus began his public ministry.

How many people alive today would have followed the example set by Joseph? So many individuals seek prominence, celebrity, and display a flamboyant lifestyle: too many misuse their abilities, talent, and skills. Rampant in today’s society is the “Me-me-me” mind set. Selfishness seems to be the norm rather than the exception. Those who are privileged to be called “teacher” are fortunate indeed. When one thinks about it, we are all teachers.. We learn from each other. When the final accounting of our days is recorded, what will our “permanent record” record reveal? Will it be one of faithful servant: compassionate, understanding, obedient, and charitable goodness? Will the performance of our duties serve as a guide for others who follow?

The father of the carpenter would have it no other way. He understood that those who build and those who teach, use many methods and materials. He understood, too, that when the lesson is well designed and presented, the strength, purpose and beauty of one’s lifetime endure. Although historical information is limited, remembrance of the father of the carpenter and is vibrant and strong over 90 generations later.

Again, the question: What will a review and remembrance of our “permanent record” reveal
to those whose lives we touched?

Things That Have Passed Into History

Americans have a voracious and insatiable appetite for all things modern: technology, fads, clothes, gadgets--everything and anything that fulfills our wants and needs. As time moves forward; days fly by and decades seem but a brief pause at the speed of life. New replaces old, improvement begets obsolescence, and creative inventiveness fills windows in the “I Want That!” store.

A pensive glance in the rear-view mirror of seasons past provides a varied litany of items that have passed into history—illustrating the brief shelf life of our conveniences. Now it is time for you to dust off your memory, clean the lenses of your retrospective rose-colored spectacles and fondly remember a more simple, less sophisticated, and blissful naïveté we affectionately refer to as “the good ‘ol days.” Do you remember?

Pay phones, dial telephones, phone booths (a.k.a. Superman’s dressing room), TV antennas—rooftop and rabbit ears, reel to reel tape recorders, Kodakrome, Brownie box cameras, VCR’s, VHS and BETA video tape, cassette and 8-track tape, UHF/VHF,
studded snow tires, seat covers for automobiles, Polaroid cameras, black & white television, reel push lawn mowers, typewriters, mimeographs and ditto machines,
carbon paper, erasable typing paper, Bell & Howell 8mm & Revere 16 mm film projectors, 8mm home movies, chrome bumpers and trim on automobiles, phonograph records: 78, 45 and 33-1/3 rpm, carousel slide projectors and slides, incandescent light bulbs, flash bulb cameras, magic cubes, lava lamps, vacuum tube electronic devices: radios, television, amplifiers; wringer washing machines, wooden step ladders and extension ladders, ink wells, ink pens, desk blotters, Dictaphones, shorthand transcription, CB radios, Ham radios, steam locomotives, inner tubes, automobile seat covers, hub caps, automobile vent windows, Sears catalog, Montgomery Ward catalog, telephone books with understandable Yellow Pages, fountain service at drugstores and dime stores; deposit bottles worth 2 cents, glass soda pop bottles, bottle caps that needed an opener, “church key” can openers for beer, steel cans for soda, beer and everything canned, coal-fired home furnaces, coal bins, coal chutes, wristwatches that required winding, Christmas tree icicles, bubble lights, family dinner hour, comic books, Walkmans, Pac Man, radio shows—kids and adults: adventure, mystery, comedy, soaps, quiz, sports and entertainment; Watkins salve for First Aid, Merthyolate, Cabbage Patch Kids, brand names: Rinso, Duz, Babo, Ipana, Gleem, White Rain, Toni Home Permanent, Dr. Lyons Tooth Powder, Halo Shampoo, Oldsmobile, DeSoto, Henry J., Kaiser/Frasier, Nash, Charles Antel’s Formula Number 9, Hair Arranger, Wildroot, Fearless Fosdick, Lil’ Abner, Dick Tracy, Sal Hepatica, Kellog’s Pep, Argo laundry starch, Melmac dinnerware, Shoppers’ World, E.J. Korvette, Topps, Shoppers’ Fair, Jupiter Stores, Woolworth’s & J.J. Newberrys, Goldblatts, Edward C. Minas, Rabin’s, Morrie Mages—your store for sports; schoolbags, tin school lunch boxes with thermos adorned with favorite heroes; home delivery: milk, bakery, poultry & produce, door-to-door salesmen: encyclopedias, vacuum cleaners, pot & pans; The Fuller Brush Man, a photographer with a pony, S&H Green Stamps, American Family Flakes, Perfect Plus nylons, clothes that had to be ironed after laundering; wooden clothes pins/clothes poles/and hanging laundry outside to dry, automobile tune-ups requiring plugs, points, and condenser. Home electrical panels that used screw-in fuses, neighborhood grocery stores that ran a “tab” for their regular customers, metal coat hangers, High top canvas sneakers, Buster Brown shoes, Red Goose shoes, Hula Hoops, Knickers, Bowling alley pinsetters, full service gas stations, jalopies and hot rods, TV trays, pole lamps, polyester suits, beehive hairdos, balloon tire bicycles, Drive-In movie theaters, Drive-In restaurants, Saturday matinee movies—double feature, cartoons, News of the day, Coming Attractions, and intermission games on stage. How’s the memory?

Here’s more: bobby socks, saddle shoes, blue suede shoes, penny loafers, crinoline petticoats, duck tail haircuts, slide rule, metal toys made in Japan, ironing boards and irons, pinball machines, men’s felt hats, Selective Service: military draft, lickable postage stamps, baby chicks and ducks at Easter time, party line telephones, telephone operators, phone numbers that included letters of the alphabet, street cars, street dances, pencil boxes, wooden produce crates from the A & P, metal cleats for shoes, wicker laundry baskets, Hollywood movies without swear words, burning autumn leaves, and most poignantly--family, loved ones and friends who touched our life.

Life’s Field of Dreams

I love baseball—not just the game itself—but what it symbolizes and the impact it has had on my life. Baseball is more than nine players between the lines trying to out best an opponent. Baseball is emotion, dedication and commitment. The game is an individual challenge fused to a team’s effort to achieve victory. Baseball provides kids of all ages with dreams. Regardless of one’s talent, ability or skill, the “WELCOME” mat is always on display at home plate.

What boy hasn’t fantasized about hitting one out in the bottom of the ninth to snatch triumph from certain defeat? What kid hasn’t pictured himself making a leaping game-saving catch against the outfield wall, or spearing a sizzling liner just as it tries to leave the infield? What tousled-haired slugger hasn’t dreamed of stepping up to the plate with the game on the line, the roar of crowd in his ears, with the winning run on base? The pint-sized all-star faces an opposing pitcher who throws baseballs that shatter the sound barrier. Our hero, narrows his eyes to razor-sharp focus, tightens his grip on the bat, and coils his muscles like tightly wound clock springs.

The pitcher sends the horsehide sphere spinning toward the plate. In the blink of an eye, the diminutive DiMaggio sights, senses, and signals his body that this fast ball is destined for outer space. The sound of swinging bat colliding with thrown ball fills the stadium with an exhilarating CRACK! Like a true Major Leaguer, the little guy hesitates a brief moment before beginning his homerun trot around the bases. He displays no outward evidence of his feat, but inside his heart is bursting with pride. He acknowledges his accomplishment by tipping his cap to an imaginary crowd as he returns to the dugout where teammates wait to greet their champion.

How many times have boys played the greatest baseball game of all time in their hearts? Soaring like an invincible Olympian, against outfield walls, hearing a welcomed thud as the glove interrupts the flight of a would-be homerun—turning it into an instantaneous, rally-ending out?

What other game provides a kid with such diversity of greatness? Why else do young boys clear vacant lots, mark off bases, tape coverless baseball, mend cracked bats, and fill sandlots with their spirit? Why do thousands of youngsters compete each year to earn the privilege of wearing a Little League uniform—to be part of the team? It’s because the game of baseball offers each youngster a chance to perform on the Field of Dreams. Baseball encourages dreams. It stimulates the imagination, exercises the mind, touches the heart, and leaves an indelible mark on the spirit. Baseball is more than just a game. Baseball is a metaphor of life.

There are players everywhere, with various levels of ability, talent and skill. Some make it all the way to the Majors; a few, to the Hall of Fame. Most, however, exhibit their limited talents in sandlots and local stadiums. The important thing about baseball is not the level of achievement, or, if you make it to the big leagues, but the quality of play. Each individual brings to his or her field of dreams; a specialness unmatched in the world. As in life, we’re granted a certain number of times at bat. Our chances for success are limited and the opportunity to advance life’s teammates—even more so. There are times when we are called upon to sacrifice ourselves for the good of the team. Once in a while, we are given the green light—to swing away—to do whatever we can for others. And, there are times, in spite of our most valiant effots, we are not successful—and fail to make a difference. And, sometimes, we make errors.

A productive life, like baseball, demands personal dedication, preparation, commitment and energy to meet unforeseen challenges. At times, we’re on the defensive, perhaps beyond our range, trying to keep opposing forces from victory. Even so, we are held responsible for our actions, and expected to do our best. Life’s Manager has done everything to prepare us for the game. By Word and example, He taught what must be done to win—to achieve victory—to make it safely home.

In spite of our fragilities, He readily forgives errors and overlooks our shortcomings. He keeps all the statistics and always knows the score. His coaching staff does their best to keep us alert, in the game, and watchful. Occasionally, we lose our concentration, resulting in miscue and injury. When we get down, He’s there to renew our spirit and strengthen our Will to win.

When He decides we’ve played enough “innings,” he takes us out of the line-up. Hopefully, when that day comes, our scorecard will reflect our best efforts, and fellow teammates will applaud our performance—and long remember our contribution.

We are all alike when it comes to baseball. Regardless of what position we play, what role we fill on the team, or what place we’re assigned in the line-up; each of us wants to make it home safely—and hear our manager say: “Well done! You’ve been a credit to the team and gave a good account of yourself during your time on the Field of Dreams.” May we all be granted “extra innings”.