I went on a pilgrimage today. 

I’m no baseball guru, but I am married to a man whose first read in the morning is the sports page.  So we jumped into the car and motored thirty miles to watch the Twins play Puerto Rico. 

Who knew that such things happen and are so important?  We were in a sea of Minnesotans celebrating spring and cheering on their guys.  Being in the midst of the party was wonderful.  Listening in on conversations going on around me about the team and catching the delight emanating from my beloved made for a great bit of wonderment.  All of that, and sun too!

Who we are matters.  What it is we pin our allegiance to matters.  Watching the rituals of batting stances and knowing that in all my baseball ignorance I was a part of a communal celebration mattered.

A man sitting next to me was from Indianapolis.  He wondered how often we saw games in our home town, since it is so close.  We had to admit that we didn’t go to games.  That interchange led to a great conversation about why it is the opportunities to play go so often unexplored.

But not today.  We played.  We journeyed to the place of baseball and threw ourselves into the adventure and it seems to me we’re learning some good lessons about our own play as we watched it unfold before us on the field.

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