In Brooklyn, New York, Chush is a school that caters to learning disabled

children. Some children remain in Chush for their entire school career,

while others can be mainstreamed into conventional schools.

At a Chush fund-raising dinner, the father of a Chush child delivered

a speech that would never be forgotten by all who attended. After extolling

the school and its dedicated staff, he cried out, "Where is the perfection

in my son, Shay? Everything God does is done with perfection. But

my child cannot understand things as other children do. My child

cannot remember facts and figures as other children do. Where is

God's perfection?"

The audience was shocked by the question, pained by the father's anguish

and stilled by the piercing query. "I believe," the

father answered, "that when God brings a child like this into the world,

the perfection that he seeks is in the way people react to this child."

He then told the following story about his son Shay:

One afternoon, Shay and his father walked past a park where some boys

Shay knew were playing baseball. Shay asked, "Do you think they will

let me play?" Shay's father knew that his son was not at all athletic

and that most boys would not want him on their team. But Shay's father

understood that if his son was chosen to play it would give him a

comfortable sense of belonging.

Shay's father approached one of the boys in the field and asked if Shay

could play. The boy looked around for guidance from his team-mates.

Getting none, he took matters into his own hands and said "We are

losing by six runs and the game is in the eighth inning. I guess he

can be on our team and we'll try to put him up to bat in the ninth inning."

Shay's father was ecstatic as Shay smiled broadly. Shay was told to

put on a glove and go out to play short center field. In the bottom

of the eighth inning, Shay's team scored a few runs but was still behind

by three. In the bottom of the ninth inning, Shay's team scored again

and now with two outs and the bases loaded with the potential winning

run on base. Shay was scheduled to be up. Would the team actually let

Shay bat at this juncture and give away their chance to win the game?

Surprisingly, Shay was given the bat. Everyone knew that it was all

but impossible because Shay didn't even know how to hold the bat properly,

let alone hit with it. However as Shay stepped up to the plate, the

pitcher moved a few steps to lob the ball in softly so Shay should at

least be able to make contact.

The first pitch came and Shay swung clumsily and missed. One of Shay's

team-mates came up to Shay and together they held the bat and faced the

pitcher waiting for the next pitch. The pitcher again took a few steps

forward to toss the ball softly toward Shay. As the pitch cam in, Shay

and his teammate swung at the ball and together they hit a slow ground

ball to the pitcher. The pitcher picked up the soft grounder and could

easily have thrown the ball to the first baseman. Shay would have

been out and that would have ended the game. Instead, the pitcher took

the ball and threw it on a high arc to right field, far beyond reach

of the first baseman. Everyone started yelling, "Shay, run to first.

Run to first." Never in his life had Shay run to first. He scampered

down the baseline, wide-eyed and startled. By the time he reached first

base, the right fielder had the ball. He could have thrown the ball

to the second baseman who would tag out Shay, who was still running.

But the right fielder understood what the pitcher's intentions were,

so he threw the ball high and far over the third baseman's head. Everyone

yelled, "Run to second, run to second." Shay ran towards second base

as the runners ahead of him deliriously circled the bases towards home.

As Shay reached second base, the opposing short stop ran to him, turned

him in the direction of third base and shouted, "Run to third." As

Shay rounded third, the boys from both teams ran behind him screaming,

"Shay run home." Shay ran home, stepped on home plate and all 18 boys

lifted him on their shoulders and made him the hero, as he had just hit

a "grand slam" and won the game for his team.

That day," said the father softly with tears now rolling down his face, "

those 18 boys reached their level of God's perfection."

_________________________________________________________________________________________________

Funny how we can be more worried about what other people think of us

than what we think of ourselves.

The paradox of our time in history is that we have taller buildings,

but shorter tempers; wider freeways, but narrower viewpoints; we spend

more, but have less; we buy more, but enjoy it less. We have bigger

houses and smaller families; more conveniences, but less time; we have

more degrees, but less sense; more knowledge but less judgment; more

experts, but more problems; more medicine, but less wellness. We have

multiplied our possessions, but reduced our values. We talk too much,

love too seldom, and hate too often. We've learned how to

make a living, but not a life; we've added years to life, not life to

years. We've been all the way to the moon and back, but have trouble

crossing the street to meet the new neighbor. We've conquered outer space,

but not inner space; we've cleaned up the air, but polluted

the soul; we've split the atom, but not our prejudice. We have higher

incomes, but lower morals; we've become long on quantity, but short on

quality. These are the times of tall men, and short character; steep

profits, and shallow relationships. These are the times of world peace,

but domestic warfare; more leisure, but less fun; more kinds of food,

but less nutrition. These are days of two incomes, but more divorce;

of fancier houses, but broken homes. It is a time when there is much

in the show window and nothing in the stockroom; a time when technology

can bring this letter to you, and a time when you can choose either to

make a difference or just hit delete.

Keep reaching for that level of perfection.