ANGELS IN THE OUTFIELD

365 Days of Thanksliving — Day 163

It’s always a treat for an old fart like me to be asked to cheer on our youth at their games and concerts. While I can’t magically appear at every single event (much to my calendar's relief), I do relish the chance to dispense a few well-placed hoots and hollers from the bleachers. This afternoon was no exception.

Now, before you start whispering that Pastor J is finally losing his marbles because he’s already covered this subject—rest assured, my cognitive faculties are mostly intact. This one is entirely different. The setting just happened to be the same. Deal with it. Okay… let’s play ball!

The Mt. Lake / Comfrey boys Jr. High baseball team took to the diamond for their last home game of the season this afternoon. Even better, they played right here in our little town, saving us locals the "hardship" of a long commute. It was a genuine nail-biter for a while. Despite gale-force winds so fierce I caught myself scanning the sky for a flying house, a wicked witch, and a little dog named Toto, the hometown crew miraculously pulled off the 'W' in the end: 9-5.

Woot! Woot! Great job, boys. We might just need to celebrate your victory with pizza tomorrow night. (Let’s be honest, I highly doubt any of them are actually reading this. If they are, there are absolutely bonus points in it for them. Maybe even a coveted gold star on their Confirmation report. Bribery? Perhaps. Effective? We'll see.)

As I was saying, the weather was utterly atrocious. I kid you not, it was blowing a consistent 30 MPH, with gusts flirting with the 40s. Hats off to those boys for playing through it—and I mean that literally, as half their caps spent the game cartwheeling across the grass. The brims might have helped with the setting sun, which was glaring directly into the opposing outfielders’ retinas with laser-like precision.

Between the aggressive winds and the blinding sun, it was like we had literal “angels in the outfield” tonight, conveniently steering the ball right toward whichever poor kid was currently squinting at the sky in total panic. But the brutal natural elements weren’t the only forces rendering aid to our boys today. There was also—just perhaps—the young man sitting next to me.

For the longest time, I just assumed he was one of the dads. He was the right age, and he seemed to know half the roster by name. He was cheering for everyone: “Good pitch! Great catch! Awesome slide!” His relentless positivity was infectious, managing to crack a smile on my wind-whipped face.

Eventually, being the irrepressible motor-mouth that I am, I swiveled around and asked which of the dirt-covered athletes belonged to him. He smiled and replied, “Nope, not a dad; I’m just a church youth leader for a few of the boys.”

Just a…. Let me stop you right there. There’s no such thing as just a.

“That’s totally awesome,” I replied. “What congregation?” He mentioned he serves over at the Alliance church in Mountain Lake. He isn't paid staff. He doesn't have a fancy title. He’s “just a guy” who has been pouring his free time into a youth group for the last five years.

Those kids out there might not have shared his DNA, but you never would have known it by the way he was cheering. In fact, he told me his own son is a year younger and plays in an entirely different league.

I never actually caught his name, but we shot the breeze about church, youth ministry, and baseball for a solid two innings. The whole time, I couldn't help but marvel: How incredibly cool is it that an unpaid, volunteer leader doesn’t just clock out after Wednesday night youth group? He actually invests in “his kids” out there on the dirt and grass of real life.

To me, that is the literal definition of Christian love—showing up when and where it matters most. To those boys, he’s the real angel in the outfield, cheering them on in the much bigger, messier game of life.

Tonight, I’m thankful for this nameless young man, and for everyone like him who shows up, yells themselves hoarse with encouragement, and actively demonstrates the love of God.

Not all leaders get a paycheck, but the good ones pay massive dividends into the lives of the people they care about. Someday, when those middle schoolers are all grown up, they’re going to look back and remember the guy who just showed up and exemplified Christ.

Father, thank you for the men and women who take the grace You’ve given them and freely pass it out in the bleachers. Bless those who serve in the quiet, unpaid ways, and bless those who are on the receiving end—may they absorb that love and one day become a blessing to someone else.