“Enjoying the game?” asked the man sitting next to me.
I glanced over and recognized him immediately.
“Oh, hi Jesus,” I said. “How long have you been sitting here?”
“Since the start of the game” he said with a smile.
“You mean you’ve been here for three innings and I haven’t noticed you?”
“That’s about right,” he said.
I guess I’ve been too focused on the game,” I shrugged.
“Guess again,” he replied.
“Well, and I’m distracted and annoyed by these four girls sitting right in front of me,” I whispered. “They’re really obnoxious and don’t seem to be paying much attention to the game. And they all wear sunglasses on top of their heads like they’re some kind of fashion model or something.”
“Why are you annoyed?” asked Jesus.
“I guess I wanted to be able to relax, to have some peace and quiet and maybe a little serenity in my life.”
“You don’t go to a ball game if you’re looking for serenity,” laughed Jesus. “You go to a library or to the symphony, or …” his voice tailed off.
“Or what?”
“Or you come to me.”
“To you?”
“Come to me, all who are weary and heavy burdened, and I will give you rest – remember that?” Jesus asked.
“Matthew eleven,” I said.
“Right. Peace isn’t something you find at a ballfield. In fact, it’s not something that you can always find in nature either. Peace – real peace – is found only in me.”
“Doesn’t it help to be able to just chill?” I said. “Mary and Martha come to mind. Martha was frantic because she was trying to prepare a meal for you, and Mary was just relaxing.”
“Mary was sitting at my feet, listening to every word I spoke.”
“Oh,” I said.
“Listen. I’ll tell you a secret. See that guy standing in the aisle over behind third base?”
“The one with a kid on his shoulder and another kid tugging on his pant leg?”
“Yep, that’s the one. His name is Mitch. Mitch works for a road construction crew. He mans a jack hammer. He also has four kids, volunteers weekly downtown at the soup kitchen, and teaches Sunday School And you know what?”
“What?” I responded.
“Mitch is the most serene person at the game tonight.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Not kidding. He comes to me daily and unloads his burdens and gets recharged. But mostly he comes to listen and to get centered.”
“You know, I really need to do that too.”
“Yes, I know. Now, let’s talk about Abby, Dori, Melissa, and Emily.”
“Who?”
“The four ‘annoying girls’ sitting in front of us. You said they don’t really seem to be into the game.”
“Right.”
“You’re judging them, you know.”
“Am I?”
“You’re wanting them to be as into the game as you are. You want them to be sensitive to your need for peace and quiet.”
“Well, yes, I guess so.”
“But maybe they are at a different place in life than you are.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, for starters, Abby’s mother died from breast cancer about a year ago.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. That’s got to be hard for her.”
“It has been, but she has a strong faith and that has been a great help to her.”
“I’ll try to be more understanding,” I said.
“Wait, I’m not done. Let me tell you about Dori. Dori’s father lost his job six months ago. Her mother is on disability, and they’re buried under a mountain of debt. They just lost their house and may have to move soon.”
“Ouch, that’s got to be stressful.”
“It is. Dori’s parents have developed a solid faith through all of this, though, and they will come through it okay.”
“You’re teaching me that I shouldn’t judge others because I don’t know what they are going through.”
“No, I’m teaching you that you shouldn’t judge others because you are not the judge.”
“Okay.”
“Now, Emily has her own problems. She has a cleft palate that gives her a speech impediment, and she gets viciously teased at school. She has an inferiority complex and is battling depression.”
“Wow, depression at that young age?” My heart was feeling remorse for the way I had let myself be annoyed with these girls.
“She, too, will be fine. Her adversity now will give her a sensitivity to special needs children, and that will serve her well later in life.”
“Whew. So, in spite of these problems, these kids will survive okay.”
“Not in spite of, but perhaps because of,” said Jesus softly. “Then there’s Melissa.”
“What about Melissa?” I asked.
“She has leukemia, diagnosed a week ago.”
“Oh no!” I cried. “I was hoping she would turn out okay, too.”
“Oh, she will,” said Jesus.
I was relieved. “So these four may all end up being old ladies together, going to baseball games for the social aspect,” I mused.
Jesus smiled. “I said Melissa will turn out okay. I didn’t say she would live. She’ll come home to me in about a year.”
I sat there for a minute, taking this all in. I wanted to find some way to help, some way to rectify the situations.
“Jesus, is there anything I can do to help, like buy them lemonades or soda pop or ice cream or something like that?”
“Well, they’re already drinking lemonades or sodas (hey, you do know, don’t you, that down here in the South we call it soda, not pop?) and two of them are on diets and wouldn’t want to be tempted by ice cream. Now, my favorite thing to eat in a stadium is a Runza.”
“What’s a Runza? I’ll go get four of them. Back in a couple.” I stood up to head toward the food court.
Jesus said, “Stop. You won’t find runzas anywhere but Nebraska, and the place where you can find them is Memorial Stadium in Lincoln. They are served hot and will warm your innards in a heartbeat.”
“That sounds good,” I said, watching the team on the field execute a nice double play. “D’ja see that play?” I asked Jesus, turning my head. He was gone. Vanished. Kind of like how the lion Aslan, in C.S. Lewis’s “Chronicles of Narnia,” comes and goes as he wants.
“But darn it all, Jesus, you never gave me a straight answer on what I can do to help these girls.” Hey, what if I just said hi to them after the game as we’re exiting the park. In fact, I could time my leaving with when they decide to leave, and I’ll casually walk out with them. Even if it’s only to say, “Hello, did you enjoy the game,” it might put a smile on their faces that someone out there is nice.
That thought warmed my heart, and I knew it was on the right path. But then I thought: Maybe that would seem creepy to girls these days, being approached by a complete stranger.
At that moment, someone hit a home run, and we all stood to cheer. Even the four girls in front of me cheered. The pair of sunglasses that was on top of the head of one of the girls went flying backward. It landed on the concrete floor of my row. I reached over, picked it up, and said, “Miss, I believe these are yours. They don’t appear to be scratched.”
“Thank you, sir,” she gushed.
“Welcome,” I said, and that was the end of that.
An inning later, they team mascot was shooting free t-shirts from a hand-held, cannon-type thing, and with a not very graceful jump, I managed to catch one! I had my own souvenir shirt! I checked the label and, indeed, it was ‘L’ and was just my size.
One of the girls turned around and congratulated me on a “spectacular catch,” as she worded it. I handed her the shirt. “Here, you can have this. I have plenty of team tees at home.”
“Are you sure?” she asked meekly.
“Yep, it’s yours.”
“Oh thank you, thank you, mister. I’ll use it as my nightie. It’s just the right size for me.”
The game resumed and nothing else happened. Even though the sunglasses thing and the tee-shirt thing weren’t meant to calm down the girls, they in fact did start watching the game more. I was impressed with their thanks, their gratefulness. They seem genuine, like they have learned how to respond to other generations. Maybe it’s time for me to start paying attention to other generations too.