For me, the hardest part of playing catch is stopping. Take, for example, yesterday.
Yesterday was January 31, a date that celebrates the anniversaries of the births of Jackie Robinson, Ernie Banks, and Nolan Ryan. I read significant passages from Gary Scott Smith’s book, Strength For the Fight, a new biography about Jackie, and waited for the clock to strike four when I would be meeting Toby for a game of catch.
While I waited, my dog shredded her bedding, which was absurdly annoying, and another round of wintry weather coated the streets and pavement of Springfield, also absurdly annoying. I watched multiple cars skid and slide and spin at the intersection near my house. Even though it would be closed, Toby agreed to meet me at Fun Acre.
In the moments leading up to meeting with a catch partner, I have trouble sitting still. I just want it to be time already. I want to go throw and laugh and hear that nigh indescribable sound that a glove makes when the ball perfectly strikes the pocket. A sound that is only topped by the sound of a ball thundering skyward off a wooden bat.
I beat Toby to Fun Acre by a couple of minutes and played catch by myself while waiting. I’d spin the ball in my fingers feeling the seams to find a grip, flip the ball with a little umph into the woven-web pocket of my beloved Wilson, and then toss the ball out of my glove back into my throwing hand. It took much more thought trying to write a sentence describing the action than it did when I was actually doing it.
Toby pulled into the parking lot and greeted me with a big smile. And wearing shorts. I had on Frost Gear compression pants under my jeans, a Frost Gear compression shirt and t-shirt under my hoodie and vest, and two pair of socks. Even underneath all the layers, I was still cold.
“I like this weather,” Toby said.
Toby is the Viking of The GRBL.
Initially, while planning our game of catch, I told him that I would keep our game short, maybe 30 or so throws, that it mostly depended on how long I could feel my fingers.
“I am good for however long you want to go,” he replied.
In cold weather, my first throws are always awkward, working around the bulk of the clothing. I lost track of how many times my front foot slipped on the ice, sending throws high or offline. Toby snagged them all.
We started talking about high school memories and playing in The GRBL and best days on the field and the conversation was utterly delightful. I completely lost track of time – which is exactly what is supposed to happen when you’re playing.
We played catch so long that I wore holes in the ice, so neither of my feet slipped as I threw. We played catch so long that I am fairly positive I saw ice forming in Toby’s beard. We played catch so long that I was tempted to shed layers of clothing, even if the tips of my fingers were frozen-ish.
I simply didn’t want to stop playing catch.
Just one more throw.
Just one more throw.
Just one more throw.
* * * * *
G.K. Chesterton was a writer, theologian, and literary and art critic. What he wrote in his book Orthodoxy helps me think through why stopping is so hard.
“Because children have abounding vitality, because they are in spirit fierce and free, therefore they want things repeated and unchanged. They always say, “Do it again”; and the grown-up person does it again until he is nearly dead. For grown-up people are not strong enough to exult in monotony. But perhaps God is strong enough to exult in monotony. It is possible that God says every morning, “Do it again” to the sun; and every evening, “Do it again” to the moon. It may not be automatic necessity that makes all daisies alike; it may be that God makes every daisy separately, but has never got tired of making them. It may be that He has the eternal appetite of infancy; for we have sinned and grown old, and our Father is younger than we.”
G.K. Chesterton also wrote, “The true object of all human life is play. Earth is a task garden; heaven is a playground.”
I do not have “abounding vitality” and I would never describe myself as “fierce and free.” But, I think that just one more throw is my way of staying young, my way of experiencing the wonder and beauty in every throw, my way of learning to see how heaven is breaking into earth every single day through play.
I didn’t want to stop playing catch with Toby because I loved hearing his stories about hitting and throwing with both hands. I loved hearing about the frustrating honor of being intentionally walked twice in the same game. And I laughed – and was somewhat intimidated – when he said his favorite day in The GRBL is “tryout day.”
Just maybe, that is the heart behind “Catch 365,” as my friend Aaron first labeled my catch-playing year.
To get a taste of a life that does abound in vitality, that exults in doing it again and again and again, and stoke the fierce and free embers in our hearts.
To believe, with every throw, that heaven can break into earth, where we will never grow tired, where the adulting tasks of taxes and paperwork can forever be put aside.
And to do so with a friend, whose stories make you smile, who volunteers to play catch “anytime you want.”
There are several people who have experienced the joy of their own Catch 365 year. Jason in Washington and Adam California. Dan in Missouri and Kevin in Iowa, who just finished. John in Washington who is a month away from finishing his year. J.D. in Boston is halfway through his year and Travis in Nixa is a month into his. And 70-year-old Don in New York is doing it too, calling his effort “Jonathan Catch,” in honor of his son.
Maybe that’s enough people to officially label it the Catch 365 Movement.
Through a simple sensory-filled game – throw, catch, repeat – remembering the fierce joy and wonder of life, and multiplying that joy with friends new and old.
No wonder I have trouble stopping.
It really is heaven breaking into earth.