ImageMy time at the plate with bat in my hand,

I knocked the dust off my cleats, prepared to make a stand.

I dug deep with my back foot, rested lightly on my front,

And considered if I should swing away, or lay down a perfect bunt.

I glared in at the pitcher, swung the bat in practice style.

I felt a lump in my throat. The pitcher looked so vile.

I felt a sudden tremble. Satan rubbed the ball,

And smile to show his slimy teeth. I was drained of all my gall.

I glanced to the coach’s box. My Savior gave me a nod.

“You can do this trouper, just trust the power of God.”

How could I explain to Jesus that I have lost my nerve.

As if He knew, he shouted, “He only throws a curve.”

The first pitch looked in my wheelhouse. I gave a might swing,

To see the ball drop low and out. I didn’t hit a thing.

The second pitch looked well outside, but bent across the zone.

I was down to one last swing, I felt so all alone.

“He just throws curves,” I heard a shout. “It’s not where it appears.”

“Don’t swing with just your insight, nor swing with all your fears.”

“If the ball bends in”, I reasoned, “it won’t be where it looks.”

“If Satan throws only deception, I’ll swings after it hooks.”

Satan kicked up high in windup, and feigned a powerful throw.

”Another lie”, I told myself. “This pitch is coming in slow.”

The pitch was sailing for my head. I thought to fall away.

Instead I stood and watch the sphere, approaching with delay,

Change its course to towards the zone. I dipped to start my swing.

With power I had never known, I hit the curving thing.

The ball sailed far and deep that day, further than I deserved.

And I learn my lesson for sure. Satan only throws a curve.


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