I like strategy games. Rook, Blokus, and Scrabble are examples. Some games are pure chance, and there is no fun in that. Candy Land and Chutes and Ladders? I play them with my children out of pure love because in real life, I hate those games. When you are battling to the death, I like to think that my winning had something to do with my technique instead of the fact that I drew the card with the Sparkle Princess near the finish line. (That’s a Candy Land reference.)

I used to think baseball was pretty simple. There’s a bunch of guys trying to hit a ball and run around some bases. But it’s so much more than that. I never cared for baseball until I understood it. There’s a game within a game, and strategy is as important as skill.

I would never have thought there’d be an occasion in baseball where a manager would allow runs to score on purpose, but there is. You have to play the rules to your advantage. You must save your best pitchers for the right games while observing the rest periods appropriately. There are even rules about the rules—which can get complicated—but that’s the fun of it.

Team COMBAT took home their third five-foot-high trophy this week. That’s three wins in a row against the best hand-picked teams around. They’re doing great. One nine-year-old on my son’s team even hit one out of the park. (Somebody tell me what’s in those hot dogs.) They’re a great team.

But my son still has this problem. They’re called The Red Raiders. I asked my son why he’s afraid of The Red Raiders. (This is beginning to sound like a Berenstain Bears story but it’s not.)

“Their pitcher picks off, Mom,” he says.

“So?”

“So, their pitcher picks off.”

“Don’t you think every nine-year-old kid is shaking in his cleats about [your team] Team COMBAT?” I ask.

And so, it doesn’t matter. They can win all day long, invoking the slaughter rule as easily as they unwrap their Hubba Bubba, but he doesn’t care. Have some confidence, kid. He’s still scared of The Red Raiders. Their pitcher picked off a kid leading off second base in one sly swoop many months ago, and he hasn’t forgotten it.

There are some things I’m anxious about too. Childbirth is one of them. I’ve faced it many times, but there’s nothing you can say to me to fix it. I’m scared of it and I’m not even facing it. I have compassion but not confidence.

I’m also tentative about moving out of a state I’ve never left. I’ve lived in Florida my entire life, and I’m worried I’ll hate to freeze. What if my blood can’t take it? What if this whole thing is a big mistake? What if nobody likes us and our house gets eaten by termites? (The former is more probable than the latter.)

While we have no right to walk around smacking our gum, likewise, we should not worry either. John Piper writes, “Anxiety shows that we are too close to the world and too far from God. So don’t be anxious—the world has nothing eternal to offer, and your loving heavenly Father knows your needs now and forever.” The way I faced my last birth was this: I clung to Jesus. When my strategy failed and I proved ill-suited to face it, I would tell Him all about it. Those were some long nights before the birth.

There will always be The Red Raiders out there. We will always be tempted to worry. It is my choice to coddle my worries or to hand them over.

Humble yourselves, therefore, under God’s mighty hand, that he may lift you up in due time. Cast all your anxiety on him because he cares for you. I Peter 5:6-7