On Monday and Tuesday, September 15th and 16th of 2008, I joined my nephews--Kevin from Midland, Texas along with his then three-year old son Andrew, and Daniel from Los Angeles, California--at old Yankees Stadium in New York. We converged upon the Bronx for two games of the final week in the life of the grand dame of ballparks before her collapse that winter. On Tuesday morning, Daniel returned to law school at UCLA; his seat was filled for the second game by Jackson, a young boy from my church in Auburn, California.  

I've previously written of this baseball pilgrimage; this, however, is the story of how Jackson joined me and my nephews for a magical night of baseball in New York City...

A scant two weeks before our trip, Jackson--a young man whom I had known all of his eleven years--quietly approached me at worship and asked, "Uncle Michael, is it true you're going to a game at Yankees Stadium?" I replied with a smile, "No, Jack, I'm going to two games at Yankees Stadium. What do you think of that?" Jackson stared at his shoes and quietly, half-heartedly, replied, "Cool." He then asked, "Will you bring me a pennant?"

Jack's melancholy resonated with my spirit. When I was his age a handful of ancient stadiums closed to make way for a generation of monolithic, multi-purpose, indistinct, concrete stadiums that were erected in the 1970s and 80s. Forbes Field in Pittsburgh, Crosley Field in Cincinnati, Shibe Park in Philadelphia, Commiskey Park in Chicago all returned to the dust from whence they came. A significant era was passing before my young eyes. And I watched helplessly from afar with nary a chance of walking their historic concourses, immersing myself in the sights and sounds and smells and flavors of an historic ballpark--baseball's version of a seasoned cast iron skillet.  

Within the next couple of days, Kathy had a conversation with Jackson's mother. She told Kathy that Jackson had been grieving for months--even at times expressing anger around--the loss of Yankees Stadium. It was inexplicable. His parents had no interest in baseball. I had no idea that Jackson, in measure, shared my strong connection to the history of baseball and its icons.

Knowing we had a spare ticket for Tuesday's game, Kathy and I approached Jackson's parents with the possibility of his flying to New York overnight Monday to attend Tuesday's game. We agreed not to tell Jackson of the opportunity until his parents were sure they could arrange his travel.

On the Thursday before my Sunday departure, we finally received word that Jackson had a flight to New York. That evening, Kathy and I visited Jackson. He still had no knowledge of what was about to happen. I told Jackson, "I've felt bad that you're unable to see Yankees Stadium before it comes down. Kathy and I would like you to have this memento." I handed Jackson an envelope. Within the envelope was a replica I had prepared of his game ticket and a card with a rather abrupt message, "Buy your own pennant!"

Jack carefully, cautiously pulled the card from the envelope. He looked at us, then at his parents, confused by the message on the card. I said, "Jack, there's something else in the envelope." Jack reached down into the envelope and withdrew the faux ticket. There was quiet as he vacantly stared at the treasure. Finally, I softly said, "Jack, next Tuesday, God willing, you'll be sitting next to me at Yankees Stadium." He looked around at the others in the room, without word or expression. After several moments, Kathy said, "Jackson, breathe!" He looked at Kathy. He looked at me. He looked at his parents. The corners of his mouth began to turn up in a subdued smile. Then he collapsed into my arms, sobbing.

The following Tuesday night, we witnessed a record that will never be broken. Yankees legend Derek Jeter--with just a few games left to manage it--broke baseball immortal Lou Gehrig's record for most career hits in Yankees Stadium. The ovation Jeter received was deafening. But even more memorable to me of that now distant night in New York City was the opportunity I had--with the help of others--to fulfill the dream of a young boy.

Have you ever had the opportunity to fulfill the dream of another?  

How might fulfilling the dream of another be a reflection of divine grace?  

Where's a present opportunity for you to show grace to another?