Live in harmony with one another. Do not be haughty, but associate with the lowly. Never be wise in your own sight. Repay no one evil for evil, but give thought to do what is honorable in the sight of all. If possible, so far as it depends on you, live peaceably with all

Romans 12:16-18

True Grit: A western about an old cowboy.

True Regret: A wasted moment that you can never get back.

What really is regret? The definition sounds pretty straight forward, so what is the problem? I have a sad story to tell that will help you understand…

I could have crawled into a deep, dark, worm-infested hole and died. 

I was coaching my neighborhood T-ball team and we were warming up before a big game. As little 4 and 5-year-old kids tumbled out of their parent’s mini-vans carrying their newly bought aluminum bats and gloves in hand, I was still trying to shake the cobwebs out of my mind. It was 8:00 a.m., and as far as I was concerned at the time, it was way too early to try to corral and coach 25 high energy toddlers who had no idea how to play baseball…. and quite candidly, who had no interest in playing baseball. All they wanted to do was tickle their friends and pick clovers and dandelions.

Now mind you, I was a cool 19-year-old college student home for the summer trying to make a few bucks, so naturally, I had very little patience for coaching a bunch of screaming Lilliputians.  I just wanted to get this silly game over with as fast as possible, go back to cutting grass, and work on my tan.

So as 25 kids ran and hopscotched over to me I immediately started lining them all up in a row to practice some ground balls. There they stood, like a scene out of Rugrats, some still had peanut butter smeared on their cheek from breakfast, others were still trying to tie the shoestrings on their tiny baseball cleats, and others were stuffing the tail of their baseball jersey’s into their bluejeans and shorts.

“Okay, c’mon you guys, line up!” I was a bit frustrated because my high-energy kinder-team kept pushing and punching each other giggling all the way.

“Here is what we are going to do,” I shouted, “I will roll you the ball, and I want you to stop it with your glove, pick up the ball and throw it back to me. Understand?”

One eager and attentive kid said “Yes coach!” while the rest of the team started rolling in the dirt and pulling clovers out of the green outfield.

I began rolling soft slow grounders to get their minds on the game. Ball after ball landed in little gloves, and to my surprise most of the kids were starting to catch on. “Good,” I thought to myself, “they are starting to get it.” But then I rolled a ball to Johnny. Johnny was the silly funny clown of the bunch, he thought every moment he got the ball was his chance to make the whole team laugh. So when I rolled him the ball he grabbed it witha tight little pudgy fist, whirled his arm in a 10-second wind up, and threw it back trying to hit me in my privates with the speedy white baseball.

“Wow,” I muttered to myself, “that kid has an arm.” With cat-like reflexes, I caught the ball just in time and said, “Nice throw buddy. Next time a little bit softer please.” Johnny laughed a devious laugh causing the rest of the kids to snicker.

Down the line, I rolled the ball again. And then it was Johnny’s turn. This time he took a longer wind up and let fly a stronger throw. “Okay Johnny, the first time was funny, it is time to stop firing it at me.” 

Johnny laughed harder.

Again, I rolled the ball down the line. And then it was Johnny’s turn. Before I rolled it I said, “Johnny, take it easy this time. Nice and easy.” He said nothing, but you could see a devilish grin curl on the side of his thick lips. The ball slowly rolled into his plastic mitt and a strong pink hand made another tight fist. “Johnny, do not throw the ball hard back at me, or else.” I was emphatic.

His wind up started cranking up, faster and faster it went, “JOHNNY!” Faster and faster, “DO NOT…” The ball released from his hand like a shot out of a gun. I quickly jumped to the side of the speeding missle and caught it in my hand. The ball made a loud WACK!

“Ouch! That really hurt Johnny!” The whole team was busting out laughing. I had to stop this nonsense post-haste or a real mutiny from this a pack of belligerent urchins was near at hand. Putting on a hardened Captian Bligh demeaner, I got really serious and said. “Okay Johnny, I told you not to do that, so now it is my turn to throw you a hard one. Back up….”

I had Johnny back up 25 yards away from me and stand on the edge of the field that dipped down. My intent was to throw the ball hard and far and make him go get it and try to tire him out.  But it had to come close enough to him to scare him.  I was a pitcher in High School, so I convinced myself that I knew how to be accurate with a baseball. 

When Johnny reached 25 yards he stood with his little plastic Mickey Mouse mitt ready to catch my ball. Winding up, I gripped the seams of the baseball with a two-fingered fastball, my most trusted grip. And when my arm reached top speed, I let ‘er rip! It was like a bad slow-motion scene in a movie. The pitch I threw looked like it was thrown on a rope, it left my hand and was heading in a direct line for the little boy’s head. In lightning speed, it hit. POP! It smashed Johnny right in the left cheek of his face just grazing his stubby nose. 

Johnny fell to the ground like I hit him with a rifle shot. I dropped my mitt and ran over to him. “Johnny, are you okay? Johnny say something.” He couldn’t talk, but boy could he scream. All eyes were on me, you talk about making a scene!  I picked him up and ran him over to the field coordinator. “Johnny has been hit by a ball in the face.” A large welt started to form on his cheek and his mother came running over to take him home. 

A few days later I had a meeting with the furious mom, the bruised-faced boy, and my stern boss. You want to talk about an angry lady…I thought she was going to kill me. After the mother and son left it was me and the boss, he was not happy. “Chris, you are lucky we were not sued! Not only are you done with coaching, get used to digging holes and cutting weeds. You are in the dog house!”

As I stood up to leave the room, the boss gave me one final blast, “You could have killed that kid!”

Well, true to his words, I dug a lot of holes and weed-wacked too many patches of unruly grass to count that summer. Our office kept hearing from the angry mom, and I made up my mind I would never throw a baseball to any little boys named Johnny ever again.

When I went to bed the picture of a ball hitting his smiling face would replay over and over again. I would even imagine the boy dead on the ground with his little Mickey Mouse mitt shrouding his face like a macabre burial cloth.

Talk about regret! I can never get that moment back, and even writing about it now causes my anxiety level to rise. “Oh what a wretched man I am!”

But many of the things that happen in our lives are not regret, they are better categorized as stubbornness, grudge-keeping, or irritation. It is not regret when you have a dispute with someone and say, “I regret ever meeting that person.” No, that is having a hard heart. “I regret being kind,” no that is our Christian duty. We should always be quick to make peace and express love, even to those who are difficult and irritating. 

And one of the most common wrong ways we talk about regret is when you share your life with someone and they don’t recipricate. So often people will say, “I regret trying to love or even be nice to that person because I seem to always get hurt by people.” Or “I regret telling the truth to people because it always comes back to bite me.” The cold and sinful responses of others to your kindness and honesty isn’t your fault.

I know people who go out for a team and fail the first time and they regret it and never try out for another team again. Or they apply to a job and don’t get it so their false regret stops them for getting up and trying again.

If you regret doing things that people respond wrongly to you or you fail at the first time you will stop living. Too many people who get hurt from other’s callousness will close themselves off to the world and take on the demeanor of an old crusty cowboy like Old Grit.

Hurt is a natural part of maturity, and you stop growing when you regret trying. Don’t let hurt stop you from living, and don’t let the false regret stop you from growing.

I still regret throwing the baseball on that fateful summer day, but I don’t regret being a coach of kids. I didn’t quit coaching because I once made a terrible mistake, I kept trying and eventually got to coach my kids and their friends at t-ball.

But one thing is for sure, I have decided that I will no longer throw ground balls to any boys named Johnny!