Yesterday I wrote that Paul "Pressed for the mark."  He was running a race.  Eyes on the mark, the goal.  Letting nothing distract him.  Paul was racing against time.

I am not an athlete.  I never was, nor had any desire to be.  But somehow I had a bunch of kids who were.  All kinds of All-State and All-Americans.  It had to be handed down on Ken's side.  All that  it meant to me was exhaustion from sitting on benches to support my kids.  I wasn't even a fan.  I just endured it.  I never learned the rules of any of the games.  I truly don't like sports.  But I liked my kids.

The worst was baseball.  Double headers, hot summers, hard benches.   Not to mention sweat.  Who in the world likes to sweat?  I don't get it.  Scott started throwing things as soon as he could get a grip.   When he was small we had to take him off the baseball field many a time because he would get so mad.  (He had a temper)  He believed that the other guys weren't trying hard enough.  He just didn't understand why everyone couldn't do what he could do.  "They need to try harder," he would say.

God gives us different talents.   Scott finally learned that encouraging his team was much more effective than getting mad over things that they couldn't do.  He learned, made it to OU, got drafted, ruined his knees and shoulder and now stays in the game by umpiring girl's softball.  He loves baseball.  I don't get it, but admire his tenacity and longevity.  His knees are shot, but he still squats behind the plate giving those little girls the benefit of every doubt.  Encouraging them when they mess up.  Throwing parents off the field who berate their children.  In constant pain, happy as a bug.  He starts every game with, "God bless you, have a good game." You can still do that in Oklahoma.  He would do it anyway.

Proverbs 20:11 "Even a child is known by his doings, whether his work be pure, and whether it be right."  Ken's mother used to say, "A child's play is his work.  Let them play."