Field of Dreams
When Was It Written
I love baseball. Always have, always will. And now I get to pass that passion on to my son, Graham. This spring he played on a "real team" as he says for the first time. This article is just about the joy I get watching a little boy I love play a game I love. - Kevin Wood
Who Wrote It
Kevin Wood, Pastor
FIELD OF DREAMS
I remember the very first time I ever saw the bright green grass of a baseball field. I remember the smell of popcorn, the taste of hot dogs, and the pride of placing my hand across my chest for the national anthem. My dad took my two older brothers and me to Candlestick Park to see the San Francisco Giants play the Atlanta Braves. My favorite player, Willie McCovey, was at first base for the Giants. I’d spent hours imitating Willie McCovey in backyard wiffle ball games, hitting home runs and trotting around the brown paper sacks we used as bases. He hit 522 homers, almost as many as Mickey Mantle. I sat in my dad’s lap with a smile smeared across my face, and a little ketchup, too. That ballpark was a magical place, a cathedral of color and life. And there I sat with my dad, my brothers, and Willie. It was a field of dreams. I was 4 years old.
This past week I had that same feeling of magic and wonder at another field. I walked hand in hand with my own 4 year old son to his very first baseball practice. I saw the green grass. I smelled no popcorn, only a little dusty air from the cars in the parking lot. There was no national anthem either, just the sound of parents calling out their kids’ names saying “pay attention”. And there out on the field was my pal, my buddy, my hero. No, not Willie McCovey – it was Graham Wood, or as I call him when we play ball together, “Lefty”. “Lefty” was standing in line with his teammates waiting to take his first crack at hitting off a tee. The coach put him on the wrong side of the tee by putting him on the right side. When Graham finally got to the right side – the left side - he reared back and made contact. The ball went about forty feet and rolled somewhere between shortstop and third base. Graham ran as fast as his little feet would carry him, his new black cleats chewing up the dirt for the first time. Then he stood on first base, looked back at me, and smiled. He was proud of himself, very proud. And so was I.
Now if you’re reading this saying, “Are we moving towards a ‘spiritual truth’ here, or is this just a story about a dad enjoying his son’s first baseball practice?” Well, maybe that is the spiritual truth. Maybe the pride I feel in watching Graham enjoy playing ball is exactly what God wants me to feel. Because when I see my 4 year old son playing, I think about being 4 years old myself, and how innocent and fresh life was at that time. Life before some of my biggest mistakes. Life before some of my most regrettable failures. Life before I really knew what sin was and how it could just wreak havoc in my life. You know, it’s amazing that God always call us “his children” in the Bible, never “his adults”. Maybe even when we’re 40, God still sees us like we were 4. Because everything was so easy being four years old. Like that day at Candlestick Park – spending nine innings with my dad as we watched my boyhood hero. It was nothing but a son and his father enjoying life together. Or like this past Thursday – spending an hour watching my son, and him watching me to see if I’m watching him – nothing but a father and his son enjoying life together. So how long has it been since you spent time with the Father and simply enjoyed life together? For me it was Thursday evening… watching my son play ball… feeling the Father’s pleasure… on a field of dreams.
Attaboy Lefty! Knock the Cover off the Ball!
Kevin