We were warned about Mrs. Price's window, but we didn't listen. All of our dads said that someone would one day hit a ball into Mrs. Price's front window, and it would be the end of us. There was a park that was only a few blocks away, but it didn't have any shade or water. The small lot next to our house had a big oak tree, and it was just so handy for the guys in the neighborhood to get together and play a gritty nine innings of baseball on a hot summer's day under the shade of that old tree. We had a hose at the side of our house for a cool drink, and my mom always had popcicles in the freezer in the garage.
It was just the most logical thing in the world to have our games on that empty lot, but for the fact, as pointed out by our dads, that Mrs. Price's house was across the street with her front window in the middle of center field, which made for the possibility that if anyone got a hold of one, the long homerun ball would crash through the glass into her living room. But we had a simple and plain defense, as of yet, no one has even hit a ball over the street so we thought we were well out of harm's way, and we could rip at every pitch with a full burly swing.
It was the first game of the season, and we were in the bottom of the ninth and the score was tied. Harold was up to bat-he was the only who had ever hit a ball just short of the street but with one out and a man on third, a long ball from him now and the game would be over. I was pitching, and I knew he couldn't hit a high pitch if his name was written on it. So I threw one hard and fast meaning for it to be high in the strike zone, but it went low, and Harold swung and the smart sound of the crack of the bat as it met the ball was loud enough to be heard in the next county. The ball took off high into the sky and sailed over head, and it kept going-flying over the street and finally came down crashing into Mrs. Price's front window. That moment was the most fascinating and terrifying moment of my ten year old life.
What was terrifying was that as soon as the ball hit the window, it made a sound like a small explosion, which alerted the neighborhood to the disaster. Three dads instantly appeared in front of the broken window. I don't know how they got there so quick, but they were ready to set things straight.
My dad, Harold's dad, and Sammy's dad were there as prosecuting attorney, judge, and jury. Court was in session on Mrs. Price's front lawn and in less than a minute they gave us list of things to do-we had to clean up the glass and apologize to Mrs. Price, we were to give up our allowances, and work the rest of the summer mowing everyone's lawn in every suburb north of Chicago until we paid for the new glass, and we were never to play baseball in the empty lot again.
In my young mind, I thought it wasn't fair. Harold just got lucky and got a hold of one. Our whole summer was ruined with no allowance for baseball cards to trade and spending every free minute cutting grass. I wanted to plead our case, but by the sharp look in our dad's eyes, I though it best to keep quiet.
Of course I realize now, as a father myself, that our dad's punishment back then was fair and just. We got what we deserved. We had been warned, and we had to meet the consequences.
Since then I have read what the apostle Paul says in Romans 2:6: “God will give to each person according to what he has done.” This has to be one of the most chilling statements in all of Scripture. For it to send a shiver up my spine, all I have to do is think about is some of the things that I have done since childhood, and I wonder what a just God will give me as a punishment.
If we don't obey our conscience or God's law, we will be judged by God and suffer eternal damnation. This is confirmed in Romans 2:12: “All who sin apart from the law will also perish apart from the law, and all who sin under the law will be judged by the law.”
