In the Fall of last year, I was throwing the ball with my older son Xander. I remember the day vividly not because of my time with him but because of its effect on my younger son Kore.

As the ball travelled back and forth between Xander and me, I noticed my one year-old Kore crawling across the driveway to observe the action. Although Xander and I had thrown the ball together frequently, Kore had never seen us do so. Mesmerized, he watched as his older brother repeated the mechanics: fingers on the threads, arm back, point, step, and throw.

The dejected look on Kore's face said it all: Why does he get to have special time with Daddy and I don't? Aware of his fear, I gently threw the ball to him.

He wore a smile for the rest of the day.

Since that day, he has been on a single-minded mission. When he wakes from a nap, the first word off his tongue is "ball." When he meets someone new, he introduces himself as "ball." And when he enters a room, the first object he sees is a ball. Of course, it may in fact be a balloon or an apple or a globe, a clock or a plate or a lid. To you and to me, it may be a host of things. But to Kore, if it's a circle or a sphere or anything close, then it's a ball.

To my younger son Kore, to the one whose mind and heart were deeply imprinted with joy when his daddy welcomed him into the game, everything's a ball. I guess that's how it is for children. Whatever the father uses to assure them that they are his, to welcome them into his game -- from that point on, that's all they see.

And so as I meditate today on the fact that "God demonstrates his love for us in that while we still were sinners Christ died for us" (Romans 5:8), I am reminded that Jesus is the one through whom my heavenly Father proves his love.

As a result, may it be Christ I see in all things and at all times. May Jesus be my single-minded mission.