School Devotions.

He talked about coyotes and the Big Dipper.

First, he told us how the animal kingdom has a very distinct pattern and regularity to it. 

He said that coyotes will always take the same trail at the same time each night. 

He told us that when the coyote is taking his trail, it will put its feet into the same footprints it made the first time it walked the trail.

He said you can set your time by when a coyote takes to the trail.  (I know he’s right, because sometime later, for about three months during the wintertime, our dog would light up at 1:20 a.m. exactly every night.  I never looked, but the way he barked told me it had to be a coyote crossing the yard.)

He talked about the stars and explained where some of them were.  He talked about how you could tell seasons by certain constellations; like when Orion starts to become visible, fall and winter are coming on. 

Next, he talked about the north star, Polaris, and about the two stars on the cup side of the big dipper that isn’t attached to the handle.

He told us if you lay a long ruler or straight edge along those two stars, the line will land in the North star.

He told us it’s like that line is anchored in the North star, and the big dipper rotates counterclockwise one time around the North star every twenty-four hours.  He said if we imagined a huge clock face out there in the sky, that we could tell approximately what time it was by where the big dipper was on the clock face.  The big dipper’s handle, he said, would be like the hour hand on a clock.  

He told us if the animal kingdom and the stars were so orderly and on time, then surely, we humans could be as well.

*****

He asked how many of them liked to play softball.

At least half or more did.

They talked about what they liked and didn’t like about it. 

He said he didn’t like it when people roamed way out past the baseline when they ran the bases.

Someone else said they didn’t like it when the runner tried to steal and the baseman threw to the next base, and then the runner turned back and they threw back, and how sometimes it would go on and on, back and forth, and waste everybody’s time.

They talked about the rules and how much fun it was to catch a flyball. 

Then he suggested they play softball, right there, for devotions.

(He had talked to a few of the adults previously telling them his game plan.)

The students looked at him incredulously, especially one young girl with big blue eyes and straw-colored hair. 

He showed them he had the bases there, a couple of bats, and a few gloves. 

He had them move their chairs out to the sides of the room so that the podium where he was standing would be home base, and right out in front, and right beside the young girl with blue eyes and straw colored hair, who, incidentally, was so disbelieving as to what was taking place that she completely forgot to move herself or her chair, pitcher’s mound would be.  So, the pitcher had company, she was sitting just to the right of, and securely on pitcher’s mound the entire time.

His nephew was visiting; he is the big, burly type.  He was named pitcher.  She looked up a long way from where she sat and her eyes darted from him to home plate where a motely team comprising a few students, himself, the cook, and a couple of school board members was assembling.

The outfield formed up once the bases were in place, and the game was on.

Except there was no ball. 

That was the point, he told them.  They would play without a ball.

“How will we know where it is?” someone asked.

He told them it was wherever anyone’s imagination placed it. 

“So, then it can be anywhere or everywhere?” they asked.

“That’s right.  That’s the whole point of our devotions,” he said.

The pitcher flexed a few times.  The batter up to bat taunted him. 

He let fly with the ball, and the batter swung and took off.

“NO WAY,” shouted the ump.  “You missed.  That was a strike!”

“Huh uh,” shouted the runner, rounding 1^st, “It’s clear in the grandstands.  You missed it.”

The pitcher allowed a couple more runs and then the cook was up.

She’s a spicey one, that cook, and with brow set and bottom lip clenched between her teeth she took careful stock of each pitch, finally swinging with tremendous force upon one of her liking. 

She was off, oblivious of the hullabaloo and pandemonium surrounding her hotly contested hit.  When she finally pulled up to a stop on third, everyone was arguing about everything.  She, not to be outdone, shook her finger at the whole world and told them to all calm down, she knew exactly where the ball was, and she was on third fair and square.  The ump tried to tell her differently, but one glare from her and it was all over.

By this time, the blue eyed, straw-colored hair girl was looking quite disconcerted with all the action swirling around her, so he called the game to a halt, and everyone moved their chairs back into their respective places.

He said that the ball is like respect, and when we lose it, or don’t feel like sharing it with others, or respecting another’s opinion, nothing goes right.