I didn’t see her all day until we got to the ballpark at 7:30 last night. She came with a friend on the team, so I didn’t see her after work.
“Let’s go ladies, start throwing, get loose.”
I’m a loudmouth on a baseball or softball field. Maybe the most annoying assistant coach in the city.
Always yapping, encouraging, jacking around.
“Hey dad, what position am I playing tonight?”
“You’re pitching.”
“No. Are you serious?”
“Yeah, you’re on the hill.”
“Stop, I can’t pitch. Who is pitching for real?”
“You.”
We went back and forth like this for a few minutes until I got firm and direct with her.
“Listen, your team needs you. Step up, quit being scared and let’s warm up your arm.”
She was afraid of walking too many girls, not getting enough outs, and having the whole place watch her while she took the mound.
I’m not going to make this about her, it’s about me and you. But she killed it. Struck two out in the first inning, struggled in the second but then in the final inning struck out two more.
The Dodgers won, the girls had a blast, and she did something brave.
On the way home, over the pop music that was blaring, I said to all of our kids, “You should each do one thing that terrifies you every day.”
I could see her little smile in the far back, she knew exactly what I was saying.
But our son, said, “why dad, why would we do that?”
The perfect invitation for me to tell them the same story I’m telling you.
We’ve been tricked into thinking the easy, safe, predictable route is the best. It may be a good route, but I’d argue it’s not the best.
Standing on the mound with our knees shaking a bit feels more uncertain. Eyes watching to see if you’ll stumble or shine.
The route calling you out of hiding and into doing something meaningful. Something terrifying.
The route that calls fear a liar but gives you the courage to take the deep breath and windup your delivery towards home plate.
Do one thing that terrifies you today. I think you’ll be glad you did.
