Barnabas at the Ballfield

I can still see her.

Sitting in the bleachers like it was her job—yelling, cheering, clapping for every single kid on that T-ball field. She wasn’t quiet about it either. No ma’am. She’d shout, “When you’re hot, you’re hot! When you’re not—you’re still amazing!” She didn’t just root for her son—she rooted for everyone.

I didn’t know her name.
Mom just called her Barnabas.

I remember asking my mom once, “Who is that lady?”

And she said, “She’s a Barnabas—an encourager.”

That name stuck with me. She wasn’t flashy or dressed for attention. She just showed up.

LOUDLY!

She made an impact on me as a child—and now, years later, I find myself thinking about her often.

In a world full of critics and armchair commentators, we need more Barnabases.
We need people who see the good, who call out the effort even when the outcome falls short.
We need voices in the stands—not just at the victories, but in the muddy, awkward innings of life.

“He was a good man, full of the Holy Spirit and of faith.” — Acts 11:24 (ESV)

The original Barnabas in the Bible?
He wasn’t even called that at first. His real name was Joseph, but the apostles nicknamed him Barnabas, which means “son of encouragement” (Acts 4:36). He was the kind of man who took risks on people, stood beside the misunderstood (like Paul and John Mark), and believed in what others were quick to dismiss.

That’s the kind of voice we need on the porch.

Because when you're parenting a prodigal—or just walking through any hard thing—it can feel like you're at the plate, swinging and missing, while the crowd watches silently.

You don’t need someone to critique your form.
You need someone in the bleachers yelling, “You’ve got this. Don’t give up.”

And maybe even more than that—you need to be a Barnabas for someone else.
Even for the one who’s not home.
Especially for the one who’s far away.

How can you be a Barnabas for your loved one who isn’t on the porch right now?

Can you find one thing they’re doing right, and tell them?
Not in a way that ignores the brokenness—but in a way that reminds them you see them.

Because even adult children look for that, “Look, Mom!”
“Did you see that, Dad?”
Even from afar, they’re still wondering if you noticed.

It’s easy to point out where they’ve gone wrong.
It takes intentional grace to find what’s still good.

There’s a saying:
“Complain up, edify down.”
Tell the Lord the hard things.
Tell them the hopeful ones.

Don’t mistake silence for strength.
Don’t let absence keep you from affirmation.
Write the note. Send the text. Leave the light on.

Be the voice in the stands, even when your seat feels empty.
Because one day, when they do look back toward home, they’ll remember:
There was someone who never stopped cheering.