callmeloquacious

Baseball season has arrived. Breezy, beautiful nights. Hot dogs. The sound of a bat hitting a baseball. Kids on the field playing in dirt… (We’re still in that stage.) I watched my boys walk to the home plate, bat in hand, waiting for the perfect pitch. There were voices shouting. Cheering from parents and encouraging words. “Batter, batter, batter,” being hollered from the opposing team. The umpire offering coaching. So many voices.

As my second stands goes to the bat, the voices do not faze him. Not surprisingly. That kid was born knowing who he was. He has a “walk”. Everything he does he is all in. Then there is my oldest. The uncertainty. The evaluating of the situation. I see him and see me walking out there. Looking around. Debating.

My own baseball career never took off. For one season, I was on the “Jets”. We had green shirts. I hit the ball once (probably accidentally) and eventually made it to second base. That was my whole career. While I can be competitive, I do not like things flying by my head or swinging bats. Blame poor depth perception, blame the green we had to wear, or blame all the voices.

I have always heard voices in my head. Before all of you start nodding your heads in understanding, and saying, “Ohhhh, that explains everything,” let me explain. I’m not talking about voices or even voices of friends, family, etc… (although periodically I do). The voices I heard were my own. My own negative, confused, anxious voices. Over the years I have worked hard to silence those voices.

What do they say? The words have changed over the years, but the sentiment has remained the same.

• You aren’t good enough.
• You are a terrible mama.
• Your boys will forever remember all the things you have done wrong.
• You aren’t a good pastor’s wife.
• You have no idea what you are doing.
• You always hit the curb when you turn right (this is true).

I could let that be the end of the story. I could sit with these words and let them fill my heart and soul and take over my life. Or. Or, I could refuse to accept these words as true. I could listen to the voice of One who holds my entire life in my hands. And, as I try to make MY voices quiet, I want His voice to be louder.

His voice says:

• You are wonderfully made. I know. I made you.
• You were created with a plan.
• Do not worry. I will care for you.
• I. Love. You.

And so, I make moments, sometimes many moments all throughout the day to restart. If things feel like they are falling apart, I’m learning to stop. And I am reminded that if I speak to myself, it should not be with my own negative voice. Otherwise, I teach my boys to do the same. I teach my boys that if you mess up, there’s no coming back. And that, is simply not true. If necessary, I’ll apologize to my boys. And as they are eating grilled cheese sandwiches, and Doritos red chips, I’ll say let’s begin again right now. And I’ll pray. And I’ll possibly sneak a piece of chocolate in the pantry (yes, my secret hiding place). And that voice that says, “Mama, you have no idea what you are doing,” I’ll have God squash it. And I’ll remind myself through His Word, through others, that God gave me my boys on purpose.

As my boys learn baseball (or anything else), I pray I can teach them to listen to the Voice that matters most.