A Grand Slam Mistake

Recently I have been feeling like I broke something.

You know that shame and startling feeling when you’ve broken something precious to someone else—thinking it wouldn’t be "that bad" until it was?

This makes me think a lot of the main plot in The Sandlot. If you're familiar with the story, you’ll know our main character, Smalls, didn’t have many friends at the beginning of summer. Desperate to make some, he joined the neighborhood die-hard baseball kids who played pickup games every day.

He learned to throw and hit, but when they lost their last baseball over the fence to the ferocious backyard dog, Smalls panicked. He grabbed the only baseball he knew existed in his house: the one perched perfectly on a display stand in his stepdad’s office. You could tell by his hesitation that he knew it must be special—but not knowing the full weight of what he held, he brought it to the field, excited to be the hero among his new friends.

Unfortunately, that ball also got smashed over the fence. Smalls began to freak out, telling his friends they had to get it back because it was his dad’s and very special. When asked why, he explained that it was signed. By who? “The Great Bambi.” Let’s try that again—The Great BAMBINO. The Sultan of Swat.

Once the boys realized the ball was signed by none other than Babe Ruth, they would do whatever it took to get it back—even facing the terrifying backyard dog.

Sometimes, I feel like Smalls in this story with God.

There are things in life that God has made clear are off-limits—either through His Word or through His Spirit. But sometimes, there are situations where, like Smalls, no one explicitly says, “Don’t touch this.” Still, deep down, we know. There are enough signs, enough inner tension, enough wisdom or discernment to tell us it’s probably not the right move.

But in our striving—trying to prove ourselves, avoid embarrassment, accomplish our goals, or gain someone’s validation—we cross lines we shouldn’t. We tell ourselves, “No one said I can’t do this,” or “It’ll be fine.” And that’s where we get into trouble.

Recently, I found myself in that exact place.

I was feeling called to take a leap of faith into a radically new career direction—something I had no prior experience in. I truly believed God was stirring this in me, but I was afraid. I didn’t want to move forward without some external affirmation. I wanted to trust God, but instead, I looked to someone else.

I had the opportunity to connect with someone I thought was divinely placed in my path. Someone who had gone through a similar pivot. In my desperation for confidence, I wasn’t just seeking wisdom—I was seeking validation. I wanted his words to make me feel secure enough to take the leap, instead of resting in the Lord’s guidance.

So, being the initiator and go-getter that I am, I set up a call. But something didn’t sit right. I had a huge pit in my stomach—not just a few minutes before (which is normal for me), but for days leading up to it. I lost sleep, felt anxious, and yet pushed forward anyway.

The day came. I made the call.

It went sideways—hard and fast. What I thought would be encouraging turned out to be completely discouraging. The conversation left me questioning whether I should even pursue the new direction I believed God was calling me to. I wanted to crawl into a hole and disappear.

I kept thinking, Did I just break something? It honestly felt like something shattered for me that day. I had placed so much hope in that outcome—so much belief that I would get exactly what I wanted—until I didn’t. And not only did I not get what I wanted, but I was also left with massive discouragement and deep doubts.

It made me wonder: Is it possible to break God’s will?

My mind went straight to the story of Sarah and Hagar. Sarah and Abraham were promised a son. But in the waiting, Sarah became impatient. She devised her own plan, in her own timing, her own way. Instead of trusting God's promise, she told Abraham to have a child with Hagar.

What a mistake.

Sarah didn’t need a personalized message from God telling her not to do that. It was implied. But how often do we feel like we just can’t wait one more second for God’s promises, so we take matters into our own hands?

Big or small, that’s disobedience. And God doesn’t take it lightly. There are always consequences when we choose our path over His.

But thank God—literally—that He redeems.

He redeems His promises despite our constant rule-breaking. He shows up in the mess, redirects us, and does something new.

The hard part is, our mistakes can’t be fully undone. I can’t take back that phone call. Hagar couldn’t erase Ishmael. The consequences remain. But God doesn’t remove those parts of our story—He weaves them into it. He doesn’t scratch them out. He works through them.

Just like with Sarah and Abraham, God still provided the promised son, Isaac. But He also folded Ishmael’s descendants into the bigger picture.

That’s what I believe He’s doing with me. And maybe with you, too.

Sometimes, we end up on detours. God has to reroute us around the demolition zone we just created. Is the detour the path we expected? Heck no. It feels long, confusing, and slow. Detours are full of hard lefts, confusing signs, and a deep sense of “I’m late and lost.”

But here’s the truth: God still leads us to our destination. He still keeps His promises. He still finishes what He starts.

And when we hand Him the broken pieces, He rewrites the story—not by erasing the past, but by weaving redemption into it.

Have you picked up something you knew deep down wasn’t yours to carry?

If so, you’re not alone. God isn’t surprised, and He’s not done. Even now, He’s writing redemption into your detour.