As a boy, I wanted to be a third baseman like Bubba Phillips and play for the Cleveland Indians. Bubba made it look easy but I struggled. For one thing, I am left-handed. A left-hander can’t make the quick throw to first. It’s awkward, ungraceful. No one ever told me that. Years later, my baseball career in tatters, I visited the rector of my church. I told him I was called to the priesthood. This elder looked at me for a long moment and said one word: “Deacon.” So it was. At last. Someone said something before it was too late.