The Fall ...

I am a pastor, thus the title of my blog site, with that in mind you think by the title of this post that I am about to give you an intellectual treatise about the theology surrounding Adam and Eve being shown the gate at the Garden of Eden. If that were your mind set approaching this post then you obviously don't know me at all. If you do know me then you were simply curious knowing that the title had to mean something else. You might even have begun to get irritated at this point in reading this post wondering where the point of this post might possibly be headed, or if there is a point at all. I can certainly understand your growing frustration. In fact at this point in writing this post I am now beginning to wonder myself.

So if you have been patient, or bored, enough to still be reading this far, or if you are related to me and feel obligated to continue reading knowing precious few people will read this far here is your reward.

On Sunday at our Father's Day whiffleball game (see previous posts) I was an active participant. In fact the record shows, well if would if anyone had kept a record so my memory is the only record, that got a hit all three times I batted. My team lost in the last inning despite my hitting and some outstanding fielding on my part, hey it is my memory and I say my defense was superb. At this point you may have looked back at the title of this post and are wondering once again what the point might be. Here goes, during my first at bat I ripped hit almost to the shortstop and beat the throw to first. At this point you might tempted to begin to marvel at my speed, but you need to remember it was a whiffleball they were attempting to throw and, did I mention it was a little league field? As I reached first base I decided that given remarkable speed in beating out the throw to first, obviously I forgot the whiffleball thing, I rounded the base and took off for second. At this point the fact that my speed was more in my own mind than reality and the fact that I was running in sandals on dirt began to dawn on me. At this point my upper body was moving quicker than my feet. I will pause for a moment to let you picture the moment .....

Okay, back to the story. My upper body continued it's pursuit toward second and feet decided to abort the run. That led to a picturesque tumble. (See I got to the point of the title.) I did a complete somersault and came running, I use that term loosely, on toward second base. At this point the other team was mesmerized by my speed, or my somersault, or they were laughing to hard to throw the ball. Whatever the reason, I made it safely to second base and inspired my team on to losing in the last inning.

Back to the fall. It hurt. It hurt a lot. I continued to play. The reasons I continued to play are several. I am an idiot at times. I didn't want to let me team down. I didn't want to admit that a tumble in a whiffleball game could hurt that much. I am a man. I wanted to keep playing. Now that I type those reasons they all seem to connect back to the first reason, don't they?

Anyway, it still hurts. It is a little better, but it hurts. It is in my ribs that it hurts, which makes sleeping an ordeal.

There, aren't you glad you kept reading to the end?