Catching up

School started last week, I was away for Labor Day, and my laptop is battling a virus. So I'm behind. Sometimes life just interrupts.

There is nothing like a road trip to cement relationships. I traveled w/ a bunch of friends this weekend all to play five games of softball. The best part was the conversations, the jokes in the hotel, the times spent at dinner. The sports were secondary--to me, anyway.

But I do have one story to tell. Fundamentally it's a story of fear, or the voice of fear at least.

I've not played softball in over two years. And I wasn't really any good back then. Some of us went out to hit batting practice Friday night. I swung and completely missed the first several pitches. Total whiffs. I was not exactly feeling confident. But then I started making contact. That was good, at least I wouldn't embarrass myself batting.

But the other element of softball is defense. I usually play catcher. It's perfect, really, because in softball the catcher is rarely depended upon to make plays. Except in scenarios like this:

There is nobody out and the bases are loaded. All the infielders are chattering about who will throw where on a ground ball. The guys at the corners are both throwing home first. Truthfully, I'm almost hoping that the batter just hits a line drive, clears the bases, and gets it over with.

He doesn't.

He hits a sharp grounder a couple feet inside first base--a place that nearly eliminates any chance of a double play. Pat fields the ball and fires it at my face. My right toes find the back of the plate and I stretch out to catch the ball. So I stare at this softball travelling rapidly towards me.

Focus brings clarity. If not clarity it at least brings inner silence--or something approaching it.

While I'm watching the ball the voice in my head says four little words:

Don't

drop

the

ball.