Friday, 10 July 2009

• Tickets!!!

  I received a very special package in the mail yesterday.

  Tickets to a game between the Red Sox (yaaay!) and the Yankees (boooooo!).

  As I opened the package, my hands were shaking, and my breathing got quicker as I got closer to one of the most exciting moments of my life.

  I've been a Red Sox fan since, oh, about 1998, and for longer than that, I've absolutely despised the Yankees.

  This game will signify the culmination (so far) of everything that I love and hate about baseball - the best sport in the history of the world.

  How many people get to see a game like this - at Fenway Park, one of the most historic parks in the game?

  As I held the blessed pieces of paper in my hand, I actually got a light-headed sensation. I gazed upon my prizes - not the best seats in history at a price I would rather not have paid, but the fact remains: I'm going to see a game between the most heated rivals in baseball (one being my favorite team) - in friendly territory!

  I put the tickets back into the FedEx envelope and took them carefully downstairs to my room, before stowing them in a place where I'd be sure never to lose them.

  Eying my bed, and trying to decide whether to watch a movie to put myself to sleep, I noticed something lying on the mattress - my blue, compact English Standard Version Bible.

  And it hit me.

  I don't get lightheaded when I pick one up. I don't get an adrenaline rush when I read what's typed on that truly-blessed paper.

  I own about six of them, in different translations, and I find them everywhere.

  If I were to lose one of them, I'd have no idea, and I'd hardly care, because I have several more where that came from.

  Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why?

  I was ashamed of the reverence I had shown a few slips of paper that entitle me to see some guys throwing a ball around and hitting it with a stick.

  No one's eternal future hangs on a Red Sox game. No one will be saved because Alex Rodriguez strikes out another four times. David Ortiz heroics will never compare to the heroics of icons like the apostle Paul, who suffered, not a meniscus sprain, not a broken leg, not booing from hostile fans - but faced persecution, sickness and death.

  Tickets. Big deal. Of course, I'm still going to the game. Of course, I'm going to enjoy the experience, and cheer my heart out for my team.

  But I'm blessed to live in a land, not where you can pay exorbitant prices to see a game, but where you have the freedom to own SIX different Bibles.

  I'm blessed to live after someone translated the ultimate Love Letter into a language where I can understand it - I don't need a Japanese-to-English translator like Daisuke Matsuzaka does.

  I don't need a priest to tell me whether I hit the mark or missed, as an umpire would call a fair or foul ball.

  I'm not competing in a race to heaven - no need to slide into third base.

  Gas to get to Boston: $100. Red Sox Tickets in bad seats: $150. God's word to man: Priceless.

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