Kid on the End of the Bench

I played baseball in high school for one year. I was a late bloomer, really, but I could run crazy fast. At tryouts, I didn’t do great, but I kept my attitude positive and encouraged as many as I could. When it came time for the portion of the tryout where they timed players’ ability to run the 90 feet between bases, there was only one player who ran it faster than me (by .1 second). The same player  was the only one faster in the full home-run time (also by .1 second). They gave me a spot on the team, but I was a filler position, pinch running or pinch hitting at most. I was *thrilled*. I mainly spent my time hanging on chain link and shouting encouragements, coaching bases, relaying instructions, enjoying full practices. Later on, the coach gave me a framed poem called “The Kid on the End of the Bench”, listed here.

I still have the poem in a chest at home. I think about it when I feel awkward, unfit, or under-qualified for something. I realize that I don’t care; I’m God’s man, fearfully and wonderfully made. He’s got work for me to do at my best, either by word or by example. It isn’t easy, but I’m part of a great team.

Advertisement

~ by pmswaim on May 1, 2011.