Angel in the Outfield

Earlier this year, I relayed the story of a humorous nun that I encountered and became friends with when I worked at a Catholic College nearly a decade ago.  I was one of a very few protestant members of the faculty and staff.  Sister Matthew Marie was such a beautiful soul, a wonderful professor, wise counselor, and special friend.  If you haven’t read the story “Pie,” I encourage you to scroll through the previous blogs and find it.  She’s one funny nun!

There are two stories that come to mind when I think of Sister Matthew Marie.  This is the other one.

My boys have played baseball, like many American young men, from the time they turned five.  Our kids played baseball/softball nearly year round.  One way you can tell is because so many of the stories I share have to do with the “great all-American pastime.”

My oldest son, Beau was totally committed to the game of baseball.  He didn’t play football, so that he could play fall baseball.  He did participate in soccer and basketball at an early age, but gave it up to devote all his time to baseball.  We spent thousands of dollars on travel teams, World Series tournaments, equipment (a new bat every year), pitching lessons, sign-up fees, and on and on.

He played recreation ball, tournament ball, league ball, school ball, travel ball, All-Stars, high school varsity ball . . . he even played college baseball.  His freshman year in college, his college team won the NAIA World Series.  We would have loved for him to play baseball as a career.

However, his sophomore year in college, he wanted to walk-on to a D1, public university program a few hours from our home.  He had three great friends there.  We were  unsure about the transfer. Of course, we let him make the choice. We also decided be there to support him no matter how it turned out. 
  

It did not go so well.  He played some, practiced a lot, but never really did get any support from the coach.  It was such a disappointing experience.  The coach did not have any successful seasons during his tenure as the head coach and was eventually fired.  It was difficult for my son to go from a small, private school with a great coach and a winning season to a program that, overall, was a failure.

Beau hung in there for three years.  It was quite a long three years.  So, early in the season of his senior year, I decided to spend the weekend with him at his college.  I could tell he was quite discouraged.  We talked for hours late into the night and then more the next day about what he thought his options might be.  He knew for sure that he did not want to play for that team any longer.  We talked about transferring to another school, or finding a minor league tryout date, or just simply quitting.

After heart breaking discussions and multiple prayer conversations with God, Beau decided that it was time to quit that team.  He left the door open to continue to play later, but at that school, he was done.  He was devastated and so were his dad and I for him.  But deep down, I had peace with his decision.

I decided to stay an extra day to be supportive.  After his morning classes, he went and found the coach and told him that he would not be playing his final year in college.  The conversation went fine, and my son came back to where I was waiting and relayed to me how it went.  He was crushed, so disappointed, and felt such a heavy heart as he made this life changing decision.

I drove home that afternoon sobbing the whole 100+ mile trip.  All I could do was to pray and ask God to somehow help him (and me) through the mourning process.

The next morning, I woke up, got dressed and drove to work.  I was still an emotional wreck.  I was feeling overwhelmed and depressed.  I’m sure it showed on my face.  I was trying to be brave, but having wrestled with such an important decision with my son had wiped me out.

I walked into the building of the college where I worked. The first person that greeted me was Sister Matthew Marie.  She was always so upbeat and positive.  She said that she had been looking for me.  I asked, “What’s up, Sister?”  She asked how I was.  I lied and said fine.  I asked how she was and she said that she was great – as usual.

She then questioned further.  "So, Diane, how are you really?"  I was perplexed by the question and again answered that I was fine.

Sister continued on and explained to me that over the weekend, while she was praying (and she prays more than anyone I know), the Holy Spirit urged her to pray for my oldest son and for me multiple times over the three days.   

She paused as she could tell I was stunned and shocked.  I just stared at her for a long moment.  Tears started streaming down my face; I covered my face with my hands and started to sob.  She put her hand on my shoulder and asked what was wrong. 

After I partially regained my composure, I relayed to her the events of the weekend.  She just quietly listened.  She did not seem at all surprised that we had just survived the worst weekend of Beau's life.  She was so encouraging, supportive and she promised to continue to pray for both of us.

That experience is profoundly etched on my heart; I will never forget her praying for us when we desperately needed God’s peace without even knowing the circumstances.  Sister Matthew Marie is an incredibly faithful, kind, wise, and compassionate follower of Christ.  It is absolutely amazing that humans can be such blessings for each other, if we simply listen to the Holy Spirit when we are prompted to reach out or pray.  I encourage you to be generous with your life just like Sister was to us.

(c) 2014 Diane C. LeJeune, Sustained Momentum Entertainment, LLC & "Tribal Tales"