It was almost midnight and I’d already driven seven hours that day to get you to-and-from a county game on the Sussex ground in Hove.

We were simultaneously exhausted and wide-awake wired – you’d just top scored and carried your bat – and we talked and talked about how Jofra Archer trains in those nets and what it was like to play under lights and we laughed and ate snacks for miles of dark motorway.

There was nowhere else I’d rather have been, and I just kept thinking, This is the stuff of life.

It reminded me that sport is emotional. For those who play, for those who watch. Dare I say, it’s especially emotional for those of us who watch our hearts playing sport in other people’s bodies.

So with the leaves just turning – in this handful of weeks before winter nets begin again – I’m reflecting on what I’ve been learning from God and from you (and from you learning from God) about cricket and about life.

Cricket is a cruel, capricious mistress with a whole lot of variables up her fickle sleeve. You can seldom predict how she’ll treat you. Maybe she’s in a good mood. Maybe you go out for a first-ball duck.

But thankfully, cricket is not the boss of you. You don’t ever have to be on the backfoot as you play your forward defence because you serve a greater Master far above cricket, your every other endeavour, and any odds stacked against you.

In cricket, and in life, sledgers gonna sledge. You’ll come across the arrogant and the insecure on every playing field. Remarkable – irresistible – is the man who stays calm and kind, humour and humility comfortably intact.

In cricket, and in life, there’s more than enough space inside your skin for you to feel absolutely comfortable. I’ve loved watching you stepping up to the crease. Taking up your space. Taking your time. With the ease and unshowy confidence of knowing you’ve worked hard to earn your spot there.

I’ve watched you making friends with boys from Harrow and Eton and state schools like yours and it’s reminded me that God is your protector, provider, and promoter – whether or not we have cricket nets in our garden. Or a helicopter. Jesus is only ever bringing the hope and freedom of His Kingdom and it’s in His best interests to best position you for His best use, whatever that turns out to be. I know He’ll keep doing His work in you and through you.

I’ve watched you deal with disappointment – putting a bad game behind you and looking to the next knowing the future burns bright because God waits for you there. Remember: none of us is powerful enough to ruin everything, and God works all things together – wides, runouts, seriously all things – for our ultimate good.

I’ve watched you run through your pre-match rhythms to settle your nerves – fighting on your knees and leading with thanksgiving because the win is simply the opportunity to play and anything else is a bonus.

Eric Liddell, 1924 Olympian of Chariots of Fire fame, said, ‘God made me fast. And when I run, I feel His pleasure.’ Cricket is a gift to be gratefully enjoyed, not an idol to be fearfully clutched. You get to just go out there and play – and love it! – and feel God’s pleasure.

Keep shadow-batting in your bedroom when others are asleep. It’s where the magic happens in your head and heart.

. . .

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