“Terrible. Well, more OK toward the end, I guess. I started to get the rhythm of the curve ball; you just hesitate for that brief second. Like Coach says, ‘Wait on it, wait on it, wait on it.’”
“Yeah.” The other player peeled off his baseball uniform. “You gotta wait for it to break down. If it doesn’t, you don’t want to swing at one that stays high and away. I remember once the coach had me stand in the box without a bat. ‘Just call the pitches,’ he told me. I had to stand there and call out, ‘Fastball, strike,’ or ‘Curve, outside,’ and try to do it before the catcher caught the ball. You know, to help develop my knowledge of the strike zone.”
“Yeah, he had me do that for a little bit today, too.”
“By the way, what’s your name?” the muscular player wanted to know.
“Bucky. Bucky Stone.”
“Yeah, I remember now.” He unlaced his shoes. “You were in that ski rescue last semester, weren’t you?”
“Uh huh.”
“Cool. My name’s Litton. Well, Dan.” He staggered to his feet and lumbered over to the drinking fountain.
“Stone? Litton? Come on, you guys are late for team meeting.” Coach Walker peered over his glasses at the two athletes.
“What?”
The older man pointed to his watch. “Stay awake, girls. Ten-minute meeting right after practice, I said. Get the wax out of your ears.”
Blushing, Bucky followed the pudgy slugger into the gym, where players were sprawled lazily on the hardwood floor. Coach Walker passed around a sheet with some guidelines on it.
“Okay, gents. Listen up. We didn’t have that many guys sign up for frosh, so the reality is: you’re all on the team. Congratulations and all that. Twenty games, Tuesdays and Thursdays, and we expect you men to always be here unless you bring me a valid excuse. Have we all got that? Here at Hampton we expect to make the playoffs or die trying, and I demand – and will receive – a hundred percent from you turkeys.”
There was a murmur of assent as the freshmen scanned the list of regulations.
“Now, a couple more things. Here in northern Cal, the district is real serious about a certain few rules. If we bust you for drugs, you’re off the team for an entire season. Anything like steroids, same thing. We don’t have a lot of pee-in-a-cup moments here, but if I want ‘em, I can have ‘em, believe me. Zero tolerance and it’s basically a death penalty. One year, no baseball. Something like that can go in your school file and haunt you for a long, long time. So don’t mess up.”
Bucky relaxed. Being a Christian, things like booze and drugs weren’t even on his horizon, and he wondered idly about his teammates, who were taking in the rules with impassive expressions.
“What else?” Coach scanned down the list. “Everybody here is expected to maintain a C average in school. If you go down to a D in a subject, the registrar sends me an email and we pull you off the squad until the teacher says you’ve got it fixed. So do your homework, girls.” He pushed his cap back a bit and then added: “And here’s the biggie. Anybody gets busted for cheating, they miss three games. Any subject, we don’t care which. You cheat in basket-weaving, even, you’re bounced off the squad for three games, doesn’t matter who you are. And here in district, they’re not kidding around. If a teammate of yours cheats, and you know about it, you’re honor-bound to report it. Just like at West Point. I know that sounds nasty, but here at Hampton we don’t let ballplayers just get a free ride ‘cause they can hit homers. So – no cheating. Do your own work, cover up your answers, and keep your head down during a test.”
Bucky carefully folded the slip of paper and tucked it into the back of his school binder. Twenty baseball games, with Lisa cheering from the stands. A grin crossed his face as he pedaled toward home.
Chapter Three: Algebra and the Gospel
The next afternoon the coach sent Bucky out to center field for an extended workout. “I think you’ve got some good center fielder in you, Stone,” he announced. “But we’ve got to work on throwing and also on playing these line drives. Now, listen,” Walker continued, his tanned face creasing into a smile, “the toughest play to make is the line drive hit right at you. My grandma can catch lazy flies because they’re easy to judge – plus you got all day to run under them. But you watch even the major leaguers on TV. It’s those hard line drives straight at them that seem to fool even the best fielders. That’s when you hear the announcer say, ‘He broke in instead of back.’ It’s easy to take one step in the wrong direction, and then it’s too late.”
For the next hour the hitting coach hit hard shots to the boys in the field. After the first few balls, Bucky understood exactly what Coach was saying. Line drives were tough! The ball seemed to come straight at him on a low trajectory . . . should he move in or turn around and quickly scoot back for one sailing over his head?
“Get a good jump on it!” The coach hollered encouragement to the tiring players.
“Yeah,” muttered one of the fielders. “You jump quick, and if it’s in the wrong direction, you’re dead meat.”
Bucky grinned. Already he was beginning to pick up the instincts of a center fielder. Most of the time, he was able to quickly determine the flight of the slicing line drive and scoot in the right direction for the catch. One shot in particular sank quickly in front him. Charging in, he dove for the ball and snagged in his glove just off the grass turf.
“Great grab, Stone,” Mr. Walker shouted from home plate. “Attaboy!”
The sweating athletes headed for the dugout. “Sweet! Way to pick ‘em off,” the coach beamed at Bucky.
“Thanks. That was kind of fun!” he panted.
The coach looked him over. “You remind me a little of that guy who played for the Giants a few seasons ago. Spanish kid, remember? On a deep fly ball to center, man, he could turn his back on home plate, run straight to the exact right spot, turn around, pick it up visually, and make the catch. Incredible.”
Bucky grinned as he headed for the showers.
Wednesday evening he dressed with special care before heading over to Lisa’s house. It was a warm evening, so he decided on a colorful short-sleeved polo shirt, topping it off with a light jacket for the seven-block bike ride.
“Well, have fun,” Morn remarked as he headed for the garage. “Be good.”
“Sure, Mom,” he called over his shoulder as he tossed his algebra book into his backpack.
“Not too late, Bucky!” Dad hollered from his upstairs study.
“OK.”
Lisa’s family lived in a neighborhood of large, single-story tract homes on a cul-de-sac. Squinting to read house numbers, Bucky finally located the right house and wheeled into the driveway.
Mrs. Nichols came to the front door almost immediately after Bucky’s first ring of the doorbell. “Come on in,” she said coolly, motioning him inside.
“Thanks.” He looked around him. “This sure is a nice neighborhood. What I could see of it in the dark anyway.” He forced a smile, trying to defuse the tension.
“I’ll get Lisa,” Mrs. Nichols said, walking into the next room.
A moment later the pretty freshman appeared, books in hand. Giving him a meaningful glance, she motioned him into the kitchen.
He followed her into the spacious dining area and set his books on the large oak table. She sat down next to him with a tiny sigh. “Did my mom give you the chill treatment?” she asked in a low voice.
Startled, he nodded sheepishly. “Yeah, kind of, I guess.” Shaking his head in dismay, he added, “It’s OK. She doesn’t know me very well.”
“Well, let’s do our math,” Lisa interjected with a smile. “We can fight about religion later.”
Forty-five minutes later, the two students put their pencils down with a collective sigh. “I can’t believe we got every last one of those word problems,” Lisa said with relief. “That D section was the worst! I usually don’t even bother with them since they’re extra credit.”
Bucky laughed, enjoying hi
mself. “Well, if you’re ever the clerk in a candy store where you have to mix baskets of $2.50 candy and $3.50 candy, you’ll be in business! Isn’t this stuff great?”
She giggled. “Thanks for your help. Sure makes it easier having someone to prod me along.”
Bucky pushed his books aside. “Well,” he began hesitantly, “I guess you want to talk about that other stuff we were discussing.”
She fidgeted uneasily in her seat. “Sure. I guess.
Bucky looked at her with a suddenly serious expression. “You said something on the phone the other day about ‘legalism,’ a Christian trying to get to heaven by all the good stuff he does.”
“Uh huh.”
He took a deep breath. “I guess maybe I should ask you something first of all. What do you think salvation is all about? What does it take to get into heaven?”
Lisa sat for a minute, drumming her pencil against the wood surface of the table. “What does it take to get into heaven?” she pondered. “Bucky, I guess you should know better than to ask me stuff like this. I don’t really know. I kind of know what I don’t believe, but I don’t know what I do believe. You know what I mean?”
He nodded. “Yeah, I sure do.” He paused. “I guess it’s a question just about every Christian struggles with, even sometimes after years of, you know, going to church and everything.”
“Well, tell me what you think,” she prompted.
For a moment Bucky sat quietly, collecting his thoughts. “I guess people have always had the idea that being good or earning salvation is the way to get to heaven. A lot of religions focus on works or good behavior or earning merit, stuff like that.”
“And?”
“Well,” he continued, “Christianity is different. Or it’s supposed to be, at least. Only Christianity has a Saviour. It’s the only religion where someone paid the price for our sins. Salvation is God’s free gift to us because Jesus died on the cross.”
‘Well, I know about that,” Lisa interjected.
He nodded. “Anyway, here’s the point. What Jesus did on the cross pays the price, or the penalty, for our sins. ‘The wages of sin is death,’ the Bible says. But Jesus paid that penalty for us. And so my behavior, good or bad, isn’t what counts any more. What matters is if I accept his sacrifice for me, if I accept him as my own Saviour.”
“Well, then, what are the Ten Commandments all about? And all the stuff that Jesus told his followers they should be doing. ‘Do unto others’ and all that. Don’t Christians go on and on about the commandments and stuff?”
Bucky nodded. Shifting in his chair, he again tried to formulate his thoughts. “Yeah, I guess so. I mean, they’re in the Bible and God clearly intends for his people to live holy lives.”
Lisa said nothing.
“God gave the Ten Commandments to the children of Israel to show them how to live. I guess in a way, he was saying, ‘Here’s your blueprint for happiness. Live this way and I’ll be able to bless you.’ But,” he went on, “did those people living then need a Saviour? Did they need for Jesus to come and die for their sins?”
“I guess so,” Lisa said hesitantly.
“Sure they did,” Bucky asserted. “That whole business of a temple and sacrifices and offerings was to keep reminding them that Jesus was soon going to come to save them. Keeping those Ten Commandments didn’t earn them salvation any more than it can earn us salvation today.”
“So what’s the point of it all, then?” she asked. “I always thought – okay, be good and you get to go to heaven. If obeying the rules isn’t what matters, when why do Christians try hard to obey the Bible’s commands?”
He hesitated for a moment before replying. It was a sweet but delicate moment; Lisa was just inches away, intent, her pretty face serious as she weighed eternal ideas for the first time. “Well, I can give you two good reasons, at least.”
“Okay.”
“The biggest one,” he said carefully, “is that when Christians lead holy, honorable lives, it brings glory to God’s kingdom. It makes the principles of the Christian faith appear valid to onlookers. There’s a verse in Matthew where Jesus says to his disciples: ‘Let your light shine before other people, so that they give all the glory to God. Instead of to you.’” Bucky chuckled ruefully at his garbled translation. “My memory’s not very good.”
Lisa leaned forward, putting her hand on his arm. “Hey, you’re miles ahead of me. You seem to know so much about this stuff.”
He grinned. “Well, here’s the point. It’s like on the Panthers. They gave us a whole bunch of rules the other day. No drugs, no booze, no steroids. No flunking out in school. No cheating on tests.” He shook his head, still remembering. “I mean, we’re even supposed to turn in a teammate if we know he’s cheating or plagiarizing. Which is kind of wild. But the whole point is: we do these things for the success of the team. People are watching, and we want the Panthers to look good.”
“Okay. That makes sense,” she nodded. “I guess when Christians get busted for embezzling, or when a guy cheats on his wife, it makes the church look like a big joke.”
He nodded. “Anyway, I got another idea to try out on you. There’s a verse in Revelation that describes the Christians of the last days. You know what it says?”
“Huh uh.” She shook her head.
“‘Here are those who are keeping the commandments of God and have faith in Jesus.’ Right in the last days, God’s people will still be committed to obedience to Jesus and his commands. He once said to his disciples, ‘You’re my friends if you do the things I ask you to do.’”
The pretty girl still had a mystified look. “I still don’t . . . I’m not sure I get the big focus on what we do.”
He looked at her earnest face and had to smile. He sent up a silent prayer, asking God to show him a good illustration. All at once he grinned as a story from one of Pastor Jensen’s recent sermons popped to his head.
“Let me illustrate,” he said, in a deep “preacher” voice.
Lisa giggled.
“Let’s say you marry a terrific guy a few years from now. He’s extremely handsome and hits a lot of home runs. So you’re mad for him, and you make plans to live happily ever after.”
She blushed.
Slightly red in the cheeks himself, Bucky went on. “Don’t you think there are certain ‘rules’ that a husband or wife ought to live by if they’re going stay happily married? The rules don’t take the place of love, of course, but sometimes a few rules help in demonstrating a person’s love. Like, ‘Don’t leave your socks lying on the floor.’ ‘Spend time with your wife every day’ – important things like that.”
“Yeah, I guess.”
“And following those rules or guidelines would help you to enjoy the happiest possible relationship. Right?”
“Uh huh.”
“But,” he queried, “in a good relationship like that, would you chuck the marriage the first time your husband violated the guidelines? I forget and leave the cap off the tube of toothpaste. Are you going divorce me over that?”
She blushed again. “No.” She laughed. “You’re getting a little ahead of yourself. This is our second date, buster.”
He grinned. “Sorry.” Then he went on. “A good marriage doesn’t end every time one breaks a rule, because a good marriage isn’t based on those rules, but on a good friendship, a good relationship. Right?”
“Uh huh.”
“OK, then,” he concluded. “Here’s my point. Does a couple who’s truly in love still try to keep the rules? To keep the socks picked up? To buy Valentines for each other every year? Stuff like that?”
“Sure. I guess.”
“How come?”
She thought for a moment. “Because that’s the best way to stay in love.”
Bucky looked very satisfied. “Now you got it.”
“Got what?” She still looked confused.
He looked at her earnestly. “My friendship with God is like a marriage. It’s a friendship based
on what Jesus did on the cross for me. Being good won’t earn me that friendship . . . and it won’t earn me a ride to heaven. But following his life principles, which are like his guidelines for a happy Christian life, is the best way there is to keep that friendship healthy.” He cocked his head to one side. “Do you see the difference?”
“And that’s what the church believes?”
Bucky nodded. “Uh huh.” Suddenly he added, “Well, let me say it this way. That’s what it tries to believe.” He paused. “But it’s sure easy to slip into a pattern of trying to be good just for the sake of being good – trying to somehow qualify for Jesus’ approval. That’s why people always joke about being good and getting a harp when you get to heaven. Or meeting St. Peter at the gate, and he’s got a big book with all your New Year’s resolutions written down in it.”
“I like the idea that being a Christian is like a good marriage,” she mused thoughtfully. “I guess it’s always sounded to me like Christianity was so full of rules. You know, don’t, don’t, don’t. And that you can’t have any fun if you come to the Lord.”
“It can seem that way,” Bucky nodded. “Even in my own church. Well, you remember that long talk we had last semester about dancing being okay or not okay. And about trying to live a holy life and all.”
Lisa burst out laughing at the memory. “That was sure a strange evening! My mom had no idea what was going on. She asked me how the dance was and couldn’t believe it when I told her we didn’t dance, that we went for a walk outside and talked about God instead.” Lisa stopped laughing abruptly. “I still remember how you loaned me your jacket in the cold.”
“Yeah.”
A long silence rested between the two students, punctuated only by the rhythmic ticking of a clock on the wall.
“And I remember how it ended,” she said suddenly, softly.
They were sitting closer than Bucky realized. Her face looked up at his, her eyes full of meaning. Instinctively, he leaned over and gave her a kiss.
“Like this, if I recall,” he murmured.
• • • • •
Bucky lay on the grass, using his baseball glove for a pillow. Overhead, big fluffy clouds cast broad, swiftly-shifting shadows on the playing field, but the warm sunlight seemed to fill the entire high school campus.
Bucky Stone: The Complete Adventure (Volumes 1-10) Page 12
