I’ve been around baseball a very long time. I’ve watched my husband play in a league, cheered on our sons, served as team mom as Chuck coached, celebrated our grandsons through Little League, high school, travel ball, and one grandson who was selected to play for the Marysville Gold Sox, a wood bat collegiate league for two summers. Just this week, one of our grandsons, who coaches his own boys, is headed to State with his team of 10 years-olds. 

You could say that baseball has been woven through the fabric of our family’s life for decades and during those years I have learned to appreciate a few things about baseball, and life in general.  

These past few days were spent at a grandson’s 17U baseball tournament where I had time for some reflection. Some of you may consider a noisy sports complex a strange environment for deep thoughts. And I would agree since my deepest thinking generally occurs somewhere more serene, often while I am alone and immersed in nature.

But that’s the beauty of life, isn’t it? It can surprise you. Life is a great teacher, and I have found that any setting becomes a classroom if the student is willing to learn. Yes, even a baseball diamond.

 I have learned many lessons in my life. Some of them were enjoyable, some not so much, a few almost devastated me, but all were memorable as I believe the Lord used those circumstances to mold me into who I am today, using a lifetime of encounters, experiences, successes ─ and struggles.  

Especially the struggles.

Which brings me back to baseball and how we love to celebrate victories. We cheer loudly for the base hits, the strikes, the umpire’s good calls, the diving catches, and we leap to our feet wildly applauding for that walk-off hit. We smile as we film the team, their championship faces and the tournament cup. Parents and players alike celebrate the wins at the team dinner. Camaraderie is evident. The coaches are happy. We post the wins on social media. These are the highlights to remember for years to come. 

But yesterday looked different. 

I am choosing be raw and real. It was a miserably hot and humid day to play baseball in Dallas. Unrelenting heat beat down on the field all day. Two games, two losses. The first scoreboard glared 0─9. It was a veritable beating. The next game’s score was not as bad but one more loss made it brutal. No comebacks. No heroics. No celebration. Just the long ride home.

A reminder. Sometimes life hands you a game you’d rather forget.

The tournament ended in disappointment and let’s not pretend it didn’t hurt. It did. The pain may linger today. Losing hurts. Frustration is real and confidence can take a real hit (pardon the pun). One player may question his ability, another may be mad at himself, one may be embarrassed, another may wonder if he belongs on the team. There’s so much to process. It needs time.

Those are the battles that don’t show up on the scoreboard. Losing stirs a range of emotions that are a natural part of being human. Those feelings are real, and it’s okay to feel them and express them, but also let us (fan, player, parent and coach) acknowledge that great athletes aren’t really defined by their best game.

They’re revealed by how they respond to their hardest one. And isn’t it the truth that sometimes the struggle produces the biggest win?

The scoreboard records the outcome. Life records the lesson.

Sometimes we win and sometimes we learn. The scoreboard only tells us who won and who lost. It tells us what happened but not what is happening inside the players where character is formed. And character matters.

Neither does it acknowledge who offered encouragement instead of criticism. It doesn’t praise those in the dugout not playing who selflessly encourage their team mates. It doesn’t show the player who accepted responsibility and vowed to work harder at honing his skills. It can’t measure the player’s resilience, humility, persistence or courage. Those are the victories no scoreboard can record.

On the other hand, life is always teaching us if we are willing to learn. Sometimes the lessons are wrapped in victory, but often they arrive disguised in the agony of defeat. Either way, the important thing to remember is this. The door to the classroom of learning is always open regardless of the location.

Success is not always about winning. When we lose, perhaps the most helpful question to ask is “What did we learn?” Because character is not only built by successful outcomes. It’s shaped in moments we’d rather forget. It is so often forged during our most intense struggles.

Soon, these young men will pick up their gloves again. They’ll take up their positions on the field. They’ll step up to the plate, and they’ll swing their bat. Because they love the game.

And they will do it despite the hardships of yesterday because one game, or even one season, never defines a player. Just as one setback never defines a life.

Sometimes we win. Sometimes we learn from the experience. Every time we have the opportunity to grow. Baseball may be the name of the game, but life has always been the greater classroom. May we strive to play both with passion, humility, gratitude, perseverance and hearts that honor God.

Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord, not for human masters.
─Colossians 3:23

Photo Credit to a Baseball Mom