There are a bijillion things to talk about today (not the least of which is James Dobson’s big announcement – maybe tomorrow?) but yesterday was Noah’s 12th birthday. His baseball team (the one my husband coaches) competed in the Cal Ripken PA State Tournament this weekend, one of 10 teams.They ended up 2-2, which may not seem like success to you, but to those of us who have been following the 11 year-old Titans, 2-2 is sweet victory.
Every year, on their birthdays, I sit and tell my kids the stories of their births. I teased Noah yesterday that he was not really 12 until 6:36 pm, at which moment he found himself on the pitcher’s mound. I was tempted to ask the plate umpire to call time and sit in the announcer’s booth and tell EVERYONE how it all transpired, but I didn’t want to interrupt Noah’s pitching rhythm (nor publicly admit how much weight I’d gained in that pregnancy). He ended up hitting a homerun the next time he was up, and the whole crowd sang, “Happy Birthday” as he rounded the bases.
It is hard for me to believe how quickly my children are growing. Noah was 12lbs. 4oz. at birth (no, that is not a typo) and as I watched my son play baseball yesterday, I remembered the first time he was placed in my arms. The doctor said, “Kowabunga!” when she saw his size and the staff all made a big deal over him. Yesterday, people (his Mom included) made a big deal about his hit.
On the ride home, I felt checked. On his 12th birthday, I wanted to be sure that Noah knows that he is valuable just because he is. His value has nothing to do with how big and strong he is, how well he plays something or how quick witted he is – even though all of those things are true. He is intrinsically valuable, a child of the God of the Universe, and each breath he takes (and I was there for the first) is proof of the grace God has lavished on him.
It is incredibly difficult not to measure one another based on performance. People cannot really provide love without condition because we are all imperfect. But everyday, because of the way He loves me, God gives me a little taste of how I ought to love others. The more I let His love roll around on my tongue and digest it into my system, the more I discover the joy of loving others just because. Even when they strike out.
1 comment:
Wendy,
Give Noah another birthday hug and tell the story again. Our children always give me a,"Ah, Dad. . ." when I tell them, but I know they like it.
And remind him to relish every home run and every day he gets to play baseball. Everyone from Robin Roberts to Mike Schmidt to Jimmie Rollins will stop playing some day. You either make the choice yourself, or someone else decides for you. Enjoy the game for the game. I still remember my home runs, there were so few. There are some things in baseball; a smooth double play, an outfielder throwing out a runner, a triple play (I helped in one), a perfectly executed hit and run or squeeze, and a home run; that capture the game and show me a small glimpse of heaven.
Noah, happy birthday and many more bombs to come I hope.
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