Here is an article I found reading the posts to the Piers Anthony Thread one day. At first it seemed like someone has sent a Forwarded message that the Thread frowns on, but as I started reading, I got captured in the story. I do not know if this is a true story, like so many other Forwarded messages, but this one, whether true or not, rung out like a church bell. It is about a disabled boy named Shay who asked to be put into a baseball game with other boys his age. I won't spoil the ending... Read it for yourself!

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. However, 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 centre 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, had 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 closer to lob the ball in softly so Shay would 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 came in, Shay and his team-mate 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 the 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."

It's funny how this is so true! Funny how simple it is for people to trash different ways of living and believing and then wonder why the world is going to hell. Funny how people can send a thousand 'jokes' through e-mail, and they spread like wildfire, but when one starts sending messages regarding life choices, people think twice about sharing. Funny how the lewd, crude, vulgar and obscene pass freely through cyberspace, but public discussion of morality is too often suppressed in school and the workplace

Funny how when you go to forward this message (if you choose to forward it), you will not send it to many on your address list because you're not sure what they believe, or what they will think of you for sending it to them.

Funny how we can be more worried about what other people think of us thanwhat 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 judgement; 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 neighbour.

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 time when you can send this along to inspire or just hit delete.