Just a Passing Through

I was playing softball with some buddies from work. Amid the haze created by the dust and the hubbub from the plays on the field, I was able to make out a faint singing coming from somewhere behind the backstop on the other side of the fence. As I searched around for the melodious sound, I was able to recognize a young child singing an all too familiar song.

This world is not my home I’m just a passing through.
My treasures are laid up somewhere beyond the blue
The angels beckon me from heavens open door
And I can’t feel at home in this world anymore…

As I took my turn at bat, I noticed that the little boy was playing underneath the scorekeeper’s box. He looked barely 6, but he seemed to know the song very well.
As I swung at the first pitch, the little boy sang the chorus at the top of his lungs with a masterful crescendo comparable to an operatic diva.

Oh Lord, you know I have no friend like you
If heaven’s not my home, then Lord what will I do…

I seemed to hit the ball with extra gusto from the surprise I received when the little tenor’s voice reached its apex. The ball got smaller and smaller as it traveled through the air…

The angels beckon me from heaven’s open doors
And I can’t feel at home in this world anymore.

…homerun.

The singing stopped. I turned around.
The little boy and I exchanged looks. He motioned at me as if to say he saw the homerun. As I began my homerun trot, I pointed a finger at him, winking. “You rock, kid” I said faintly.

These past couple of weeks have been some of the lowest times of my life.
But as that little boy reminded me, my treasures are laid up not on earth, but in heaven.

God sure has a funny way of reminding us sometimes.