Grace

Wiffle Ball was a daily occurrence in my backyard growing up, and players arrived before 4:00 regardless of what school they attended. Skill levels varied, but no one was superior to Grace. She moved to the neighborhood from California mid way through her fourth grade year and established herself as a superstar within a week. There was not a pitcher who could get a ball past her, nor fielder who could catch the missiles she launched. More than all of that, she was the nicest person I’d ever met.

I remember one particularly ferocious game when our team was enormously grateful to have Grace on our team. It was a Sunday afternoon, which meant the winners had the much sought after bragging rights for Monday morning homeroom. The score was tied as the evening light faded and threat of being called in for dinner grew.  Because of a fielding error, we were able to get a player on base. The next two batters did not fare as well, to which one team member responded: “Don’t worry, Grace bats last.”

Just the words provided comfort to us all. Knowing no matter what we were or were not able to achieve Grace would bat last provided a sense that all would be well. She did not seem to mind the pressure. In fact, when she heard the comment she spread her arms wide, tilted her head back and closed her eyes and smiled as if to say: “Bring it on!”

I didn’t know it at the time, but we were all being given a profound theological lesson that day. More than any sermon or well-designed Sunday school class, waiting for Grace to bat taught us all we needed to know. Yes, we were a part of a team. Yes, we would each have to stand at the plate, take our turn, and do the best we could. More important than all of that, however, was the fact that Grace was going to bat last. She would take whatever we were able to achieve (or not) and make it all right. It was remarkable to be sure, but what was even more impressive was the fact that she did so with no thought of herself. It was just who she was, it was just what she did, and we were all the better for it.

I often think of Grace. To know she was behind me, ready, able and willing to hit “clean up” would make all the difference as I approached the home plates of today. Sometimes I wish she was still on my team. Maybe she is.

(Written with apologies and/or gratitude to Annie Lamont)