When I was ten, my parents gave me a brand new baseball and then left to go shopping. They left strict orders not to play baseball in the backyard, though, since we had such a small yard. Unfortunately, my friends were there with a baseball bat. They talked me into hitting just once. I decided to hit left-handed. WHat could happen? I knocked out a window with the first pitch. I was devastated. Still, little boys are hard to keep down. They told me that nothing else could go wrong. I may as well try again. I did. Another window bit the dust. I decided to run away. I got about a mile away and heard a neighbor working outside and she was singing, "Jesus Loves Me." I knew then that my parents might be mad, but God loved me and they did, too. So I went home.