I've sat down to write out a brilliant post or two over the last week. Only problem is the brilliant never actually came out. When my husband said to me, "You haven't written a post in a while..." last night, I knew I had to stop and give it some thought.
Usually when I can't write, there's something consuming me.
You may think it's my mom's health that's got my mind in other places, but it's not. It's baseball. Baseball. Sometimes it's not the big things that consume our minds but the little things.
This is something I haven't blogged about yet, partly because it's all so raw and weird and intangible. The other reasons why I haven't written about it is that it's something that most people don't understand or agree with.
We were a part of something amazing, and some of that had nothing to do with what happened on the field. Living 50 miles away from your family is just far enough that you're on your own, and we were delighted when we found a second family through baseball. We weren't all perfect, but we loved and trusted each other. There was comfort in silence, laughter in victory, love through tears. Until the main player (David) didn't want to play along anymore.
Last season, David started in... I don't wanna play baseball anymore. Well, one can imagine the shock to my baseball-lovin' system, a girl who grew up in the red dirt with a Coca-Cola wax cup from the concession stand. For months we tried to figure out exactly what was going on in David's little head. Is he burnt out? Are his hormones out of balance (still haven't ruled that one out, by the way... 10 year old boys are interesting to say the least)? Is he restless to try something new? Has he really just decided he hates baseball? It's hard to know... it's hard as a parent to decipher what comes from their little mouths and translate it into logical adult speak. When I tried to talk to him about it, he would only get defensive and cry. A 10 year old boy should not be crying about baseball. So we decided to take a break, but not a complete one.
We told our travel team that David would not be playing with them this spring but at our local park instead. A part of me was relieved... the financial stress of traveling was suspended, there would be more down-time at home, and more Sundays when we couldn't use baseball as an excuse to not make it to church. But then there was this other part of me... this part that was so sad, literally brokenhearted. The families that had become my home away from home, the boys I had grown to love, the whole experience - it was all changed.
It's been tough. It's been hard to break away from a coach my son has played for since he was five and hitting off a tee. It's hard to start practice with a new set of folks and children you've never met before. Even harder still is watching your son's eyes open up to what he walked away from, what he didn't realize he had, what he thought he was sick of. He told me that he regrets his choice, and I told him that's what life is all about. Sometimes, we make choices, and things don't turn out the way we want them to.
So here we are. I have met some incredible ladies, some of the moms on the team, but other than that, no one in this family is having much fun. David is bored. Scott and I are frustrated. Madalyn misses her little-sister friends. And I am dealing with a plethora of other issues as I volunteered to take on team mom responsibilities.
I've typed all of this post to remind myself of this: this, too, shall pass. Somehow, I've let these little insignificant issues wiggle into my heart and cause me way too much anxiety and stress than they're worth. Way too much. In two months, this season of baseball will be over. Fourteen games. I have to let this go... I have to remind myself that none of this will matter in 20 years. None of it at all.
Lord... than You for loving me... all of me, even these weird little parts of me! Help me to turn over all my stresses to you. Not just the ones that make sense to the world, but anything that causes me internal angst. Help me to know that You care about all of me, not just the pieces of me that that the world values... amen.