One afternoon this summer, I drove to my high school to reflect and pray for the move to Raleigh. I basically grew up on our softball field, so it felt fitting to park there for a while. I noticed a new white banner on the left field fence that read “HUTCH” in huge red letters. The second I saw it, memories washed over me - His distinct smell every time he’d give me a hug. His booming laugh that echoed across the field. His stubbornness. His genuine excitement when I got something right. His piercing blue eyes. His fierce commitment to us.
Bill Hutchinson, Hutch, was my softball coach for almost all of my career. From the time I started playing as a five-year-old, all the way through high school, he was always there. He taught me all the basics, that it takes 30 days to break a bad habit, and how to be a person of character on and off the field. I blame him for why my golf swing was so dang bad at Drive Shack last week.
Grieving his death has never been intense, yet almost two years later, sitting on Ashley's dock one morning during Orientation Retreat, I found myself randomly choked up over his life. I was slightly taken aback. It’s been a while since he passed, and I’ve lived such a different life since I knew him. I’ve also been “retired” for years now, and softball isn’t exactly the sport you can just pick up anywhere, so I feel really separate from it all. But that morning on the dock felt holy. Not holy in a super-spiritual, overwhelming-emotions kind of way, but more like a divine nudge. I was reminded of a beautiful question I came across this summer: What if allowing grief to wash over us, in both the elongated, intense moments, and in the seemingly trivial moments, is actually saying yes to God?
Each day in Raleigh so far has contained so much goodness, and there’s much to grieve - college, friends, family, the loss of normalcy, the grief of vulnerability and transition, the list goes on. I never want to be a person who gives pat answers when it comes to grief, but I will say that God knows it well, cares about it, and desires to be invited into it. For me, my moment of grief was a reminder of the gift of Hutch’s life, who I want to be, and God’s kindness and faithfulness.
For 25 years Hutch was the head softball coach at Albemarle High School. More than that, he coached dozens of rec teams of younger girls, and incessantly gave hitting and pitching lessons, often for free, even during the week after high school practice. The offer was always there for him to move up to the collegiate level, but he stayed. In the eyes of our ruthlessly success-driven culture, to spend so much time teaching girls how to play softball (of all sports) is laughably pitiful. To me, he’s a tangible picture of Jesus. He quietly served the “least of these” for decades with no promise of anything in return. He devoted himself to building up others. He was someone who was just always there for me growing up. He was the best listener and always had challenging questions for me. He was the epitome of a servant-leader.
Starting Fellows has provided the space for articulating my story in new ways. God’s bringing to light experiences and people, like Hutch, that I’ve lost or left behind. I could tell you why I think He’s doing this, but I honestly just want to sit in sadness and gratitude. I am who I am because of people like Hutch. It is so sad that he’s gone, and I’m so thankful to have opportunities to remember him and tell stories of his unmatched role in my life.
And he’s just one of many I could write pages about.
This year has already been a year of newness. There are so many people I’m excited to learn from. But I think it will simultaneously be a year of remembering. Remembering the people, experiences, and places that have been divinely used to mold me and spur me on. Learning, remembering. Giving thanks, grieving. Here’s to inhabiting the tension.
Questions and Quotes from this month-ish -
Don’t we all just want to be listened to?
“All through those centuries warnings were sounded that if, indeed man was the measure of all things, someone had to determine ‘which man’. Was it going to be Hitler or Hugh Hefner, Stalin or Mother Teresa?” – Ravi Zacharias
How do you like your bacon cooked?
The 5th graders in my classes are honored when I ask them to do something. When and why does it become so difficult to ask people for help?
“Much of the challenge for us as Christians today is learning to embed our lives in the true story of the Gospel, while offering this as the better story for our friends and neighbors.” — Dr. Josh Chatraw
What is a smell that instantly brings a vivid scene to your mind?
“The only person who dares wake up a king at 3:00 AM for a glass of water is a child. We have that kind of access.” – Tim Keller
Why the heck do people here care about their grass so much?
– Brooke