Yoder: Among the counted

By Kathy Yoder

Long ago in the dust of summer heat with the warm breeze blowing my bangs straight up in the air and knocking buzzing dragonflies off course. While even grasshoppers dove into standing water and birds carried little paper fans, I was lined up with the rest of the neighborhood kids as the life-and-death serious-faced team captains were choosing sides for baseball.

“I’ll take him. I’ll take him. I’ll take him.” I heard over and over again. Until the very end when there was only one person left standing there unchosen. Me.

“You can have her. No you take her.” And finally one of my brothers would say, “Come on. You can be on my team.”

It didn’t bother me that the same ritual played out most days during summer vacation. It didn’t matter that I was always chosen last. All that mattered is that I was on a team. I counted.

One time as I was getting ready to bat, the bases were loaded. There were two outs. The other team was ahead. One of my brothers whispered to me, “Bunt and run like crazy.”

He knew I couldn’t hit. Well, he knew I was a slow runner, too. But he had the hope that I could do better and his hope rubbed off on me. Think of a little mouse playing ball against a team of giant cats. The mouse stands up to his full height and puffs out his chest. He sees himself as equal to the cats. He has cat attitude even though he’s only a tiny mouse because the head cat whispers, “You can do it.” That was me.

I walked up to the plate. I got positioned like I was going to hit that ball with all my might. I saw the smirks on the opposing team’s faces. In their minds they’d already tagged me out and won the game. I was discounted. (There may have been a meow or two, or that could just be my imagination.)

The baseball was flying towards me at supersonic speed, or so it seemed. At any rate, it was coming too fast. I hesitated. Strike one. I looked at my bother. He gave me a look that said, “You can do it.” The second ball came just as fast. I knew I couldn’t make contact. I waited. Strike two.

Some of the opposing players were getting ready to leave the field. They were relaxed. To them, the game was over. Remember one of Yogi Berra’s famous quotes? “It ain’t over ‘til it’s over.”

The pitcher sarcastically threw an easy pitch. I bunted. The ball dropped somewhere in that in-between zone that was about equidistant between the catcher and the pitcher. Both positions ran for the ball and collided. In the meantime I ran like crazy. And miracles of miracles, I made it safely to first base.

There was joy on my brother’s face as the third base runner made it home. There was collective shock on the opposing team’s faces. Eventually I made it over home plate and we won the game.

“Ah, this is what it feels like,” I thought. “Crossing home.”

Did I go back to standing in the outfield watching butterfly ballets and blowing seed-filled dandelion fluff into the atmosphere? Yes. Did I strike out again? Sure. Was I chosen last for the team every time we played? Of course. Did I mind? Not at all. I did the best I could, I enjoyed myself, and I was part of a team. I counted.

In church on Sunday I watched as the usher walked down the aisle holding out his finger and pointing as he counted the people in the pews. My first thought was, “I’m among the counted.”

Are you among the counted? Sometimes in life we can feel overlooked. Like we don’t count. We don’t belong. Maybe we feel like we’re always chosen last for not only the team, but for everything. I imagine the thief on the cross felt that way. Everyone had given up on him. After all, he was a thief. He deserved to die, right? The guards, the spectators, the other thief already saw him as a dead man.

But remember who was hanging next to him? Jesus. What did Jesus see? He saw a person with a repentant heart.

“Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom,” the thief said to Jesus (Luke 23:42).

“Today you shall be with me in paradise,” Jesus told him (Luke 23:43).

It was as he was dying that the nameless thief on the cross learned how to live and became one of the counted. That was the day the thief crossed home plate for the first time and found his true home.

Make sure you’re one of the counted. And if you are, invite others to join you.

Kathy Yoder is a devotional writer and Christian author. She may be reached at kathyyoder4@gmail.com and Kathyyoder.com.