My grandson is, without a doubt, a superstar.  At the age of two he could hit a home run and now at the age of eight he's a well hailed champion on the baseball field. He draws attention the minute he steps up to the plate. His confidence is apparent, his talent unrivaled. That is, until last night.

For the first time in his illustrious six years on the diamond, he found himself out-maneuvered. Every hit deep into the outfield brought an out to his team instead of a home run. The opposing team was older, bigger, more skilled. Catching his pop flies to the outfield meant swiftly and gracefully moving into position, eying the path of the ball and closing the mitt around it. No sweat. The champion hitter swiftly became the team's greatest liability.  

It occurred to me as I watched the opposing team ruin our hopes with a miserable shut out (15-0) that time is a powerfully active ingredient in change. The opposing team of nine year olds were having a literal field day with the eight year old competition. What a difference a year makes. Skill, mobility, strategy, height--they had it all. We had babies quickly learning a valuable life lesson. 

Although I can't prove it, it's my theory that the game was set up. Our team was selected from the best of the best. They had never tasted personal defeat until last night. The first night of the league tournament was a humbling experience for each one of those boys. The rules had changed. While they might have individually each carried their former teams to victory--there were no heroes on the field last night.  The personal crowns were tossed to the dust of defeat.

Change often brings personal shock. We have to open our eyes to possibilities we've never encountered before. We might fail in the midst of change, but we will always learn something from the process. God created us to encounter changes often in life, and to learn as we go. It doesn't mean that we failed if the results are different than we anticipated. It means we grew in some way.

Tonight, when my grandson stepped up to the plate something was different. The crowd held their breath, rather than cheering valiantly. No one knew what to expect. He looked toward the bleachers with a hint of uncertainty, feeling the pressure of the previous day's defeat. In that moment the only thing he had left was his personal best. Isn't that all we can ever hope to bring before God? It's the only thing He needs. We never know for certain what the outcome will be when we step up to the plate, nevertheless, we find a place where what have to give can only succeed if God decides it will. That's where faith  and action intersect. 

Faith stepped up to the plate tonight, not self confidence. Hope kicked at the dirt on the mound, but faith started swinging. I watched him grip up on the bat--two runners on base, two outs. A record of defeat licking at his heels. No guarantees. The ball cracked hard against the bat and he took off toward first base, gaining momentum; calculating the ability of the opposition to field the ball as he pushed forward with all his might. He slowed coming into second base, pegging the position of the ball. You could almost feel him doing the math in his head as he slowed behind the last runner, careful to pace out the victory that was within his reach. 

A home run with two runners batted in! The crowd on their feet cheering and shouting "MVP! MVP!"  The crown, for a moment lost to the lessons of humility, has been restored.  Change occurred that night as the team slunk away from the field miserably defeated, but the victory that resulted was sweet and honest and full of faith. That's what change does-- it purifies and  enhances our walk with God. It leaves us mystified in the beginning, but when we step up  to the plate, we're never the same again. We are that new creation, the one designed by God and created through faith.   

 Therefore if any man be in Christ, he is a new creature: old things are passed away; behold, all things are become new. 2 Corinthians 5: 17