“Is this heaven?” Shoeless Joe Jackson asks Ray Kinsella in Field of Dreams.
I’ve always loved that line. Growing up on an Iowa farm, we had our own ball field behind our house. My dad built a backstop for my brothers and me long before Kevin Costner ever heard “The Voice.” On summer evenings, Dad would hit us fly balls in his work clothes while Mom cooked supper.
To me, heaven looked a lot like baseball under the Iowa sky.
But lately, another sport has shown me a different glimpse of eternity.
From Winter Workouts to Fall Glory
But God always surprises us with His gifts.
This fall, as Eric moved from homeschooling to an all-boys private school, I was delighted when he announced his desire to run on the cross country team.
I was pleased — it showed his terrific progress with running and offered up a perfect way to meet boys at his new school.
But it has been so much more.
Cross country has meant days outside in the glorious fall weather. Tourists talk about Chicago summers, but September is our best month — it’s not even close. There’s nothing like the warm sun and a light, cool breeze touching your face at the same time.
And I love the sport’s simplicity.
All you need is a decent pair of shoes — no $300 baseball bats or custom sliding mitts.
The closest thing to an umpire or referee is the official starter. There are no questionable called third strikes, no arguing about a pitcher’s balk.
While you may race over two hundred competitors, it’s ultimately you against the clock.
Everyone on the team gets a chance to run, a chance to top their personal best time. There’s no disappointment when the coach’s kid is challenging Cal Ripken’s consecutive inning streak while your son is sitting in the dugout again.
Not happy with your time? Well, it’s simple — have better habits, run every day, train harder. You can’t just show up on race day and post an incredible time without putting in the work. Whining won’t help.
Friday Night Lights
One race in particular will stay with me forever.
It was a Friday evening in late September. My son’s team had a meet high atop a hill in Chicago’s northern suburbs. It was under the lights, a rare treat in cross country, with the towering poles above the soccer fields illuminating the runners’ paths.
From our vantage point, we had a terrific view of a stunning sunset which faded into a sky of coral, topped with violet blue.
Our boys jogged their warm-ups, laughing while tossing around a football.
Parents lined the course, smiling and bonding, grateful to see our sons exercising in the autumn air instead of watching YouTube.
When the starter’s gun cracked, a wave of boys charged toward us, into the twilight. The air filled with the rhythmic pounding of feet upon the grass.
As I waited for Eric’s approach, I found myself cheering for every runner who passed. Some sprinted, some struggled, but all gave their best.
As a former wrestler, I’m not against intense competition. But there is something wonderful about cheering for every boy choosing effort over ease, discipline over distraction.
Regardless of their place, these youngsters are doing something hard. They’re in the arena, doing so in a culture that prizes comfort over challenge.
They deserve our applause.
When Eric came around the final turn, his face was flushed red with determination. I shouted encouragement as he sprinted for the finish. Moments later, he crossed the line, chest heaving, eyes shining. And, after a few minutes, a well-earned smile.
Then came my favorite part.
At this meet, any runner who achieved a personal best was invited to ring a small brass bell. Eric stepped up to the bell and gave the rope a good pull. The sound echoed across the field — a bright, joyful note of triumph.
As one boy after another took their turn, I thought of little Zuzu Bailey from It’s a Wonderful Life: “Every time a bell rings, an angel gets his wings.”
That night, it felt true.
Each ring seemed to celebrate something deeper than a time on a stopwatch. These kids were pushing through pain, overcoming fear, finishing strong. They had run the race marked out for them.
A Cloud of Witnesses
The race was over, and the boys cooled down, playing touch football again under the lights. The 8th graders teased the 6th graders as they would a younger brother, like Shoeless Joe treats Moonlight Graham on a ball diamond amidst a sea of Iowa corn. Parents lingered, talking and laughing, no one in a hurry to return to screens or schedules.
In that warm glow, surrounded by good company, I could have sworn it was heaven.
And maybe, in a way, it was.
Standing there, I thought of my wife Kristy, my dad, my grandparents — loved ones who have gone home to God. In my mind, I could almost see them lining the course of our lives, cheering us on from the sidelines.
It reminded me of the passage from Hebrews 12:
“Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us, fixing our eyes on Jesus…”
Life, like cross country, isn’t easy. There are steep hills, endless stretches, and moments we wonder if we can keep going. But we don’t run alone.
Those who have gone before us — family, friends, faithful souls — stand along the route, examples for us to look in the direction of Jesus, the One who completed His race perfectly, who waits for us at the finish line.
Our Journey Home
Cross country has given Eric and me more than exercise. It’s given us glimpses of God’s design: the joy of community, the satisfaction of perseverance, and the wonder of His creation.
And while these moments can’t compare to the glory that awaits us in heaven, they whisper of it. Every finish line, every cheer, every joyful bell reminds me that heaven isn’t just something far away. Sometimes, if we’re paying attention, we can hear its echo right here on earth.
So as you run your own race today — through work, parenting, or grief — listen closely. Who’s inspiring you from above? Who needs your encouragement along their course?
Run your race with faith and joy. And when you cross your next finish line, don’t forget to ring the bell.
Sharing Midwestern values through the stories of a hard-working single dad, all for the glory of God.