An Intentional Faith

Desiring the Divine Conquest

I know that I've probably posted this poem before; it just seems to have an unusually strong grip on me.  It's one of the few pieces of poetry that I have memorized, and I return to it over and over.  Last night I was quoting it to myself again.  I think I will forever be struck by this as an example of the fact that throughout history we have all been struggling with the same emotions; I don't understand how this is possible, but it is.  Although the words are  antiquated, the sentiment comes through as clearly and with as much impact today as it would have in the 16th century. 

Take a minute to read it; if you've ever struggled with feeling helpless in your Christian walk, this should speak directly to you.  And if it does, reflect on the fact that you are not alone - you have centuries of saints walking beside you with the same desperation to be utterly conquered by the Divine.

BATTER my heart, three person'd God; for, you

As yet but knocke, breathe, shine, and seeke to mend;

That I may rise, and stand, o'erthrow mee,'and bend

Your force, to breake, blowe, burn and make me new.

I, like an usurpt towne, to'another due,

Labour to'admit you, but Oh, to no end,

Reason your viceroy in mee, mee should defend,

But is captiv'd, and proves weake or untrue.

Yet dearely'I love you,'and would be loved faine,

But am betroth'd unto your enemie:

Divorce mee,'untie, or breake that knot againe;

Take mee to you, imprison mee, for I

Except you'enthrall mee, never shall be free,

Nor ever chaste, except you ravish mee.

By John Donne

Baseball

It's the most wonderful time of the year.  At least that's my own version of it.  I'm not talking about Christmas, or New Year's Day, but rather of that lovely portion of the calendar year that bears the title "Baseball Season". 

If you had told me a few years ago that I would be sitting watching multiple baseball games a month in 2006, I would probably have jumped off a bridge in an effort to avoid that fate.  But when Amy got sick and ended up in the hospital right around the same time that the Yankees were in the World Series battling the Marlins, everything came together in a very unexpected way.  I found myself sitting with her in the hospital and, later, in our living room, watching baseball with every intention of learning to enjoy it.  All because both of us needed something to be happy about - something to find some joy in.   

But then perhaps it came naturally.

My great-grandmother, Lena, was a diehard Yankees fan.  She was born in 1900, so I suppose Amy and I can claim a subconcious return to family history as a good reason for our sudden obsession with the Bronx Bombers, though in truth the decision was influence more by a southpaw pitcher and his best friend than anything else.  The heritage plea just makes our random choice seem a bit more valid.

To say that we actually fell in love with the game of baseball first would be a bit of an exaggeration.  It's more accurate to say that we fell in love with the characters in the game before the statistics began to matter.  Now, however, by the halfway mark of each season we can quote batting averages for most of our starting lineup, know the number of runs scored by our favorite players (not just Yankees, either) and the ERA for at least a dozen pitchers in both leagues. 

My dad teases us that we only like the players that we think are hot, but we would counter it by pointing out that in no known universe would anyone classify star pitchers Randy Johnson, Roy Oswalt and John Smoltz as "hot" unless referring to their pitching expertise, and we pay as much attention to their numbers as to those of the excessively more attractive Johan Santana, Andy Pettite, Mark Mulder, and Mike Mussina.  We have been known to catcall certain players, but for their sakes I'll leave them nameless...what they (and you) don't know won't hurt them.

So this year when Spring Training started, the first thing I did was to buy tickets to a Yankees-Tigers game in Lakeland, and Amy and I drove the two and a half hours to sit in direct sunlight behind two men who between them raised the stock of the Miller Light company by several points that day, eat pizza that really didn't deserve the name, and watch our Yankees take the field.  And we loved it.  Every hot, sun-drenched, sunscreen-filled moment of it. 

For me, baseball represents entertainment and excitement and an opportunity to enjoy something that is ever changing, but it's more than that. 

When Amy got sick, and I realized how much I cared about her, and how much I couldn't bear to lose her, spending time watching baseball games with her, memorizing stats so we could discuss them, and learning the names of the children of men I'll never meet, became my way of expressing that.  It might be silly;  it might be a cop-out; it might be an outcropping of my hesitancy to express it in a more sentimental way.  But it is my way, and it is the reason I love baseball.

I don't believe I'll ever be able to watch a baseball game without thinking of my sister and that horrible year.  But I wouldn't trade that for anything.

I am currently trying to think of ways to warm up my fingers, which are fast becoming icicles in the frigid air of our office - we really have to find a happy medium between Arctic and Gobi Desert climates.

I've been wishing this week that my passion for my work was as great as my passion for my hobbies.  It's not that I don't enjoy my job, but I just don't thrive on it.  I know that I'm here for a purpose, and I know I've learned a lot from the experience, but my heart is somewhere else. 

I think it's best illustrated by the fact that last night when I got home (tired) from a really long day at work, I decided that I wanted to cook a full meal.  So my lovely mother agreed to help me and we made mashed potatoes, steamed broccoli, baked chicken with stuffing, cranberry sauce and a pumpkin pie.  It was Thanksgiving in the wrong week of November, I know, but I had a "hankering" and it just had to happen.  And while I was putting the meal together and cooking I was perfectly happy and could have kept on going for hours.  It's always that way when I cook.  I feel more completely awake and alert when I'm working in a kitchen than I do at any other time.  And I get more satisfaction out of a well-made meal, no matter how simple, than I do out of successfully coordinating a huge event.  Don't ask me why - it's simply the way I'm wired.  I find watching people enjoy a meal I made so completely fulfilling it's almost silly. 

Someday, I know, I'll see why I'm built this way.  Right now I just wish I had a way to share it with more people, but finances and the fact that I don't live alone are a bit of a hindrance.

I just wish I had the same excitement about my work.  I'm praying that God helps me to see what He is teaching me and helps me to see people as He sees them - through a heart of love and compassion.  I'm not too strong on compassion most days, nor on mercy, but I'm just trusting that God is creative enough to figure out how to start my heart in that direction. 

Well, it's happened again.  Proof that I'm human.  Yesterday I forgot to take care of a small item at work and as a result I inconvenienced some of our most faithful volunteers.  I feel terrible about it, though there isn't anything I can do to change it now.  I've given them my apologies in the most sincere way I could, and can only hope they'll forgive me for it. 

This morning I was praying before I got ready for work, and I used the phrase, "give me presence of mind."  I stopped after those words and thought for a minute about what that phrase means.  Usually it's meant to indicate a full awareness of a person's environment and a consciousness of surroundings.  But when I used it in prayer I realized that it was the wrong phrase - that what I really wanted the most was not to have "presence of mind", but to have His presence IN my mind. 

When I operate in my own "presence of mind", I'm left shaking my head over small forgetful moments like the one yesterday.  I find myself frustrated because simply being conscious of my current environment doesn't take care of the stress that goes along with it, and my human brain still has gaps in its operation.  No matter how hard I try, no matter how intently I focus, I am bound to lose my temper sometime or forget something that is small to me but strategic in someone else's life.  Having His presence in my mind means that all my experiences, all the things in my environment, every thought and every action of the day is filtered through His infinite store of wisdom and grace.  How amazing to think about what the result will be if I can learn to invite His presence in my mind every day.