I am old.

Or, at least, it seems that I am old. I feel old at times, older than I think I should at age 58. Too old to be chasing old dreams, still hoping that they might come true. Too old to expect different outcomes from repeated behaviors. Too old to think that people are going to be any way other than what they always have been. Not specific people, just people in general.

But how do you hang up your spikes when you feel like you’ve never really had a chance to get in the game?

I said earlier that baseball was an ideal metaphor for my life, and so it is. In particular, it is especially apt for my oft-thwarted, start-and-stop, sputtering ministerial career. At this point I feel much more like Roy Hobbs than Crash Davis: Crash, it would seem, did things right and got his chances; Roy, not so much.

But before going any further let me say that, also like Roy, a great deal of the shape and course of my life is due to my own foolish and now-regrettable choices. No one forced me to get a Masters Degree from Denver Seminary in Counseling; I could have gotten a Masters of Divinity for one more year of study. I made that choice, not anyone else.

I made the choice I did because, very unlike Roy, I didn’t believe in myself. I had convinced myself that I would never be able to learn Greek or Hebrew and so chose to try to do an end-run into ministry via an M.A. in Counseling. Only later did I learn that a high aptitude in math was strongly correlated with the ability to learn foreign languages; math has ever been my highest aptitude. In fairness, I did have a very strong attraction to and talent – gifting? – for psychology, but I could have gotten an M.Div. with a concentration in counseling. Some of my friends did; I didn’t believe I could.

Nor was I forced to earn my Doctor of Ministry degree from a school not accredited in the United States. Such a degree doesn’t carry a lot of weight, it seems, with the denominational powers that be when it comes to being considered for a position. But that’s their prerogative: they have their own stewardships and need to make the choices that are best for them. I made my decision based on my life situation and what was best for my family. I don’t hold anything against any institution that didn’t give me a second look.

Trinity was not (and is not) a degree mill, as some might imagine. There was considerable reading, hours and hours of lectures, and volumes of writing required for the degree; an internship was also part of the degree plan. A decade earlier, in my confused pre-Christian days, I had done a semester or two at Ivy Tech; Ivy Tech (basically a trade school) is regionally accredited while Trinity is not. Trinity is harder. A relative term, granted, but the point remains.

So I am where I am to some extent because of the choices I’ve made; the choices have turned around to make me. I can accept that, no problem.

But not all of my life can be attributed to my own choices. Many times others made the decisions that resulted in a door slammed in my face. Sometimes it easy to see how, in retrospect, their choice was what was best for me; at other times, it seems like a mistake or ignorance on their part has wound up being paid by me.

And that’s OK, too, for the most part: if I’m going to forgive myself my own stupidity, can I withhold the same from others? I don’t think so. There are other times, though, when the decisions made by others were not the result of ignorance or poor judgment but were instead motivated by sinful desires. Maybe it was a desire born of envy or fear, maybe it was due to mommy or daddy issues. It doesn’t matter what motivated them: the outcome was the same.

Still, OK: that’s 1 Pet 2.20b, if I’m not mistaken.

That leaves me, however, with that gnawing question: Crash or Roy?

But there are other baseball movies.

Concluded below . . .


2 Cor 1:13