In my living room, right in front of me, is a beautiful photograph of a line of elephants, led by a gigantic bull elephant. It was a gift. It’s always a wonderful surprise when you receive a gift that is perfect, that someone really knows & understands who you are.

Anyway. At the end of the Bull Elephant Day service at the Bridge, the invitation was, as always, to be present to the gifts we’ve been given by our Creator. Especially each other. This invitation was given by my dad, who taught me (in an excruciatingly painful way) that we don’t always get another day, another conversation, another game, another sunset, another moment.

So I’m thinking about you & me and him.

We had a baseball game last night. It was a Big Game. So Monday we practiced with the intensity a Big Game requires, and yesterday I was thinking about what to do, who to play, where to play them, situations, and on and on. Then I remembered Sunday morning & my dad. He missed so much of his life, was often distracted thinking about this game he loved, this game we loved. We spent a lot of time together, and lost a lot of time together, because of this game. There are times when you’re alone together, when you are unbearably lonely inches from another, right?

I coach baseball for the connections: with my life, the game, the players, other coaches, and my dad. What a tragedy if the thing I use to connect disconnects me from all of it. What if I woke up today with a win last night saying, “surely God was in this place and I was unaware?” Then what? That win wouldn’t mean much, wouldn’t matter at all. And then, conversely, if we lost in the middle of 3 hours of engaged sacred activity and interactions, respecting & celebrating our many many gifts (not least of which is the amazing gift that we are able to play at all), what a wonderful loss!

My pregame talk (On another note, can you imagine how much and how often I talk???? The combination of preacher and coach has to be a very dangerous thing;) with the team consisted of de-emphasizing the “big” part, and instead, holding the “game” half with grateful hands. I looked them all in their bright faces. As the season began, they asked if they could paint their faces with anti-glare eye black. There was a time I would’ve said no, but I’ve learned a lot, and now to see the wildly creative ways they express themselves is one of my favorite parts of every game. So I looked in each of their wide eyes and soaked in their company, totally present.

Then last night after the game, tired and spent, I met (over Zoom) a lovely couple from Texas I’ll marry in a few weeks. both of my boys came home from different places – Elisha from basketball games and Samuel from fishing. We all sat in my and the Angel’s bedroom watching videos of the game, seeing photos of hooked fish, and hearing shockingly detailed stories of everything. Then, too late, I kissed my wife and immediately fell asleep.

It was an awesome day.

And to think, I might’ve missed it all. I might’ve paid so much attention to a final score that I missed all of the important stuff. That’s why the word “remember” is found a million times in the Bible, because the God who made us knows we’ll forget anything and everything. I’ll surely forget that we won (that is the only word that would have been different in this post if we hadn’t – “I’ll surely forget that we lost…”) but I won’t forget those fish, the buckets, the painted faces, and that smooch. And I won’t forget the Living, Loving God who generously gives all of those amazing gifts.