Kenny
played third base. He was a big kid at 14 . Probably about 5’ 10”
and 160 lbs. He was growing a slight trace of hair on his upper lip,
but he was still just a kid.
His
Dad was an alcoholic. Mostly when he showed up for the little league
games, Kenny wished he could crawl under third base and hide. His
dad would get louder the more he drank, which I guess really isn’t
all that much of a surprise. As the coach, I mostly prayed that his
dad wouldn’t show up very often...that prayer was answered.
I
remember my years in little league, high school, American Legion and
even on into college. My dad tried to be at every game he could. I
was as proud to have him there as he was to watch me play. Kenny
would get increasingly agitated and angry whenever his dad came to a
game. It was hard to know what to do as his coach. It’s one thing
to tell a kid to ignore a loudmouth in the stands or on the other
team, but what do you say when the loudmouth is the kid’s dad?
Kenny
would get embarrassed. So would I.
Still,
as I said, he only came to a couple of the games that year, so for
the most part it wasn’t as big a deal as it could have been.
The
“big deal” came later. It was about half way through the season
when Chris, our Boy’s Club director asked me into her office. She
had a report on the kids who had paid their team dues. Kenny hadn’t
paid yet.
“He
has to pay sometime soon,” she said. I knew Chris well enough to
know that if there was any other way to handle this, she would have
already checked it out.
“He’s
the only one left. You better talk with him.”
“Oh
joy!” I thought to myself.
I asked
Kenny to stay after practice the next day so I could talk to him
about our “situation”.
He was kinda
fidgety while we talked, but said that it shouldn’t be a problem.
His dad got their monthly welfare check in a week. If the club could
just wait until then, everything would be alright. So I went to
Chris and explained the plan. She was fine with it. Things went on
as normal. The day before the end of the month, I reminded Kenny
about the arrangement and he nodded in understanding. At the end of
practice the next day, I caught him as he was leaving.
“Hey
Kenny, do you have that money for me?”
He
looked to the ground and kicked the infield dirt a little, “No.
Dad left the house as soon as he got his check, I haven’t seen him
since.”
“Don’t
worry about it,” I said. “Just tell him you really need it when you see
him, or the district office says you can’t finish out the season.
A couple more days is nothing. O.K.?”
He
nodded his head, but didn’t lift his eyes to mine. I had a real
uneasy feeling about things. I went into Chris’ office when I got
back to the club to talk to her.
“Is
there any type of scholarship program for situations like this?” I
asked
“Not
really. You can take it out of your athletic budget if you want. If
his parent will come in and talk about it we can work out a payment
plan, but I know Kenny’s dad, I doubt he’ll come in.”
I knew
she was right.
“What
if someone pays it on his behalf. Is that alright?”
“Sure,”
said Chris, “But if you happen to know that someone who would pay,
tell them not to make a habit of such things, because in the long run
it really isn’t always the best answer.”
She
looked me square in the eyes with a small smile on her lips.
I
understood.
The
next morning, the sun was bright and I was thinking ahead to the game
in the afternoon. The bicycle I rode to work sped me down the
alleyways and sidewalks past the Diversey and Clybourne intersection
and on to the front doors of the club. I had come early, hoping to
have some time to plan for some of the open gym activities for the
next day. As I was fiddling with the keys to the door I saw Kenny
coming down the sidewalk carrying a brown grocery bag in his hand.
He had a very forced look on his face.
“Here,
this is for you,” he said sternly.
“What
is it?” I opened the sack and looked inside. It was his uniform,
clean and neatly folded. He spun away from me, but I caught his arm
and pulled him back. There were big tears in his eyes that he began
to angrily brush away with clenched fists. His once firm jaw,
started tremble.
He fought to
pull way from me, but I held him tight.
“What
happened Kenny? What happened to the money?”
“My
Dad spent it already. He went out and spent all of it on booze last
night. It was his birthday. I hate him.”
His
whole body was shaking now as he began to cry openly. I pulled him
inside the doorway because I knew that it would worsen the moment if
any of his friends saw him like this. I wanted to say, “I hate
your dad too.” The honest truth is, that was what I felt, but I
knew those words wouldn’t help. Kenny’s dad was still his dad
and whatever I felt about him wasn’t going to change that. He
would still go home to the same house tonight. For a moment I
stumbled around not knowing what to say, (I seem to have that trouble
a lot in life) but finally I managed these words,
“I’m
upset with your dad too Kenny. You have to remember though, there
are some things in life that we don’t understand. I don’t get
why your dad has this problem, but my sense is that the only thing
that will ever change him is God. We need to pray for him don’t you
think?”
His
eyes looked up to mine, a mix of anger, hurt and embarrassment. It
reminded of a little child who had just fallen on the sidewalk and
skinned their knees running to their mother for comfort.
“The
other thing I wanted to tell you was this,” I said, handing him
back his uniform, “Someone came into Chris’ office yesterday and
donated some money to the baseball team for scholarships. She said
we could use it for your team dues.”
It is
truly something to see when a very measurable weight is lifted off of
another person’s shoulders. Kenny’s face changed completely. I
really can’t describe it.
Looking
back on that moment. I guess what I was watching was the literal
effect of grace in another’s life. No, it wasn’t necessarily a
spiritual experience for Kenny. Yet, you could say that very
definitely his spirit was lifted. In some way his sense that someone
cared for him was heightened.
He dried his eyes.
He lifted his shoulders up and stood
straight with deep relief evident in his whole body.
A solemn, but hopeful smile spread across his entire face.
Like I said,
maybe it wasn’t a spiritual experience for Kenny, but in hindsight
it has been for me.
That
moment will be a visual image all my days of what “grace” looks
like on a person’s face.
A gift of undeserved favor.
The
difference it can make in your outlook; in your appearance.
I wonder if we realize the spiritual implications of this concept.
I think sometimes that we in the church have taken away grace as our
bridge to heaven and somehow replaced it with a badge that we all can
earn in some way. Grace isn’t grace if you have to earn it. I am
not a great theologian, and don’t pretend to be, but earning any
aspect of our salvation just doesn’t jive with my best
understanding of what Jesus was saying when he taught us about grace.
When we truly understand that there isn’t, wasn’t and never will
be a way to earn God’s love for us, most of us will be a lot better
off than we were beforehand.
Somebody loves me.
Somebody cares so
much for me that He gave His life for me...as undeserving as I may be.
There was no bargaining involved. He didn’t try to sneak out of
it.
He saw my face that day in Gethsemane.
He looked past my eyes and into my heart.
Then He looked Death in the eye and didn’t blink. It was Death that looked
away first....
...and because of that I am the beneficiary of something I
really have a hard time trying to explain sometimes, and have been recipient of, more times than I can number.
I do know
this...it sure feels good! In fact it has changed my life, and I would count it a privilege to share that gift with you. :)
