Swing
by Ryan Sanders
All of life is in the swing of a bat.
That’s what Dad taught me, pointing to players and stances too far away to see while he held my Coke so that I wouldn’t spill.
In a sense, life is all physics. The ball is wound tight, stitched with knotty, red twine and hurled at you with speed. The bat is hardwood- sanded, polished, solid and heavy. There’s a pitch and a swing and life is ignited in the material.
But in another sense, the batter swings supernatural. With rhythm, timing, momentum, strength, hope. Toward the mystic union.
The critical time, the living part of the swing, is in the instant that contact is made. The hands feel the shock that reports that they’re alive and they’ve arrived at the right moment. The pitch is fast and the crack violent and stunning so that it feels like the bat should shatter or fall helplessly from the hands and the pitch continue on its ripping course.
But then the weight of bat and arms and the strength of hands and hips carry forward faith until, as quick as that, the course is changed and the bat swings away wide and shoulders open to the field before them and eyes look up to a sky of clarity and possibilities.
Last week, Dad’s doctor said “cancer.” The pitch was fast and, for a moment, I wondered if he would strike out. He seemed to swing free and I expected to hear the pitch forever sink into the padded mitt behind him, the chances gone.
But then the bat shook and hands and hips carried forward faith until, as quick as that, the bat swung away wide and shoulders opened and eyes lifted.
And all of life was in the swing of a bat.
About the Author
Ryan Sanders is a public relations writer and former newspaper reporter in Irving, Texas. He has written speeches for CEOs, op-eds for Texas political leaders, articles for national sports and devotional magazines, and useless drivel for three Texas newspapers. He and his wife are had their first child, Bethany Grace Sanders, in December.