1 Friday Favorite: It happened.

So here's the deal. At the end, despite Tom Hanks's famous declaration, there absolutely, positively was crying in baseball. Even by big, huge, manly men. 

But first, there was sitting calmly. Quickly followed by NOPE, I gotta switch to standing now. I went from hands clasped in prayer under my chin to arms crossed trying to hold myself still, from pacing behind the 1st base dugout to I CANNOT MOVE one inch from this spot lest the whole thing falls apart. 

There was head in my hands in frustration and hands on my head in awe. There was breathing in and out and almost passing out. Seriously, I saw stars and everything. And then, blessedly, there was the crack of the bat and a whispered, "please, please, please" and a catch in the outfield.

Next? 

Mayhem.

There was screaming. Shouting. Laughing. Hugging. High fiving. Jumping up and down. There were mamas burying our faces in each others necks as we laugh/sobbed. When I finally looked up from the pile of us, I realized that I had no recollection of how the last out had occurred even though I saw it happen with my own two eyes. So I scanned my muddled brain and thought, "Well, it seems like maybe it worked out. We're still screaming and laughing and crying, so I guess somebody caught the ball?" 

What I'm telling you is that I lost my whole entire mind for a good 2.5 minutes.

The next day there was spontaneous giggling as I stood in line at the pizza joint to pick up dinner. There was a rush of tears as I sat in the McDonald's drive thru. (Clearly, there was no cooking.) There was a lot of just walking around with a goofy smile on my face like I was some kind of nutjob. There was Drew leaving the house the next morning and calling me within two minutes from the car. I answered, "What? What did you forget?" And he said, "I just want to tell you that my best friends and I won the State Championship yesterday." Then he hung up. 

In the end, it wasn't about wearing a lucky t-shirt. It wasn't about where we sat or where we stood. No matter how meticulous we were about them, it wasn't about any of the other baseball superstitions we relied on to help us get through seven innings. It was about a bunch of kids who've worked their butts off since February and who've dreamed a very big dream. And, also, it was the unfathomable, unrelenting kindness of a gracious God. So in the past few days, after all the screaming and shouting and giggling, for me there has been a constant, repetitive, over and over, whispering, "Thank you, God. Thank you, God. Thank you, God. Thank you so much."

Should I be moving on now? I mean it's just baseball. 

Nope. I will not. The world is full of so much pain. So much division. So much darkness. So much evil. So when God sees fit to hand out some pure joy? No matter how. No matter where. This girl is going to grab it with both hands and hold on to it for as long as she can. 

Listen. If you thought I wasn't going to weave some Jesus into this State Championship situation, you must be new here. ;-)

On Sunday as I drove home from church whispering another thank you, I pictured the mamas of the boys on the Lake Braddock team who our boys defeated on Friday and on the Herndon team who they defeated on Saturday - both, by the slimmest of margins. And I thought of the fact that those mamas love their boys as much as we love ours. And that those mamas believed that their boys worked as hard as we know ours did. And that they wanted this moment for their boys as much as we did for ours. And many of them prayed just as hard as we did. But their sons didn't get to run screaming out of the dugout like straight-fools on Saturday afternoon. Those mamas didn't get to hug and jump and cry in each other's arms, shouting, "They did it! They did it! Can you believe it?! They did it!" 

And the thing about it is that I don't know why. Yet again, I'm reminded of the mystery of the world and the mystery of my God. We are quick to remind ourselves that we don't know why bad things happen. Why earthquakes destroy populations. Why children die of cancer. Why evil snakes its way into an elementary school on a random Tuesday in May.

Just as surely, I don't know why good things happen. I don't know why some diseases are cured. I don't know why my college kid escaped a car accident unscathed. I don't know why my children's annual doctor's appointments are routine and boring. And though a victory in baseball is nothing to compare to those miracles, I don't know why my boy and his friends and his coaches and my friends and I found ourselves piling on top of each other, screaming our lungs out, and basking in the glory of a State Championship win. 

Of course, I can say that our boys worked hard. I can say that they supported each other and built each other up. I can say that there are numerous young men on this team that are incredibly gifted at this sport. Still, as much as I believe in our kids, I don't know that I could line them up next to kids from the other teams and say they deserved it more than the others. I just can't. I certainly can't say that my pleas were more important to God than a mama wearing a different color tshirt, cheering for a different team on the other side of the field. In the end, there is as much mystery in a prayer answered as there is in all the unanswered prayers I've uttered in my lifetime.

All I know for sure is that in that moment, on that day, the Lord was good to us. He was so very, very kind in the grandest, most gracious way. And I just have to accept that without trying to figure it out.

The thing I know to be true is that there will be a time when it will feel like He didn't hear me and it will feel like He isn't kind. In our family, I have watched a son walk off a basketball court on the losing side of a State Championship game. And there wasn't shouting and giggling and hugging. There wasn't awe and wonder and grand celebration. 

I know for a fact that I will be on the losing side in countless instances in life going forward. And so will my kids and so will their friends - time and time and time again. There will be a time when the score will not be greater on our side. The kid for whom I'm cheering might not make the play. The boy I love the most might not see his dream come true. And for a bit, it will feel like God ignored me and chose someone else.

On those days, I will have to remember that despite my circumstances, God has always remained the same. He is good. His plans are good. He is for us. Always.

So, just for today and for as long as I can, I will live fully in this kindness. And I'll encourage my kid to live in it as fiercely and intently as he can. Because a time will come when the kindness of God will seem elusive. And maybe on those days we'll take a minute to remind each other of the day His favor shone as blindingly as the sun. We'll remember that when the sun disappears behind the clouds, it's not really gone and that in the same way, the Lord is never really far away either. He will show up again. We just have to keep waiting and looking for Him.

Today I am grateful for the way He showed up this weekend. So I suppose I'll stop trying to figure out why He was so gracious. Today I'm shrugging my shoulders, shaking my head in wonder, giggling like a fool and saying, "Thank you. Thank you. Thank you, Lord. You have been good to us."

Have a great weekend, friends. We're off to Richmond for the first baseball tournament of the summer. Ain't no rest for the weary.

Most photos courtesy of the very talented and kind, Chong Chung.