I WAS thirteen at the time. It was one of those hazy afternoons when the sun seems to stand at the center of everything. Deep-South summers. Add boys and baseball. You could almost slice the thick humid air with a knife. And even though the temperature always hovered in the 90s, I don't think we ever cared how hot it was when we were out on the field.

On the day I'm remembering, it was probably about the fourth inning of the game, and the visiting team from another playground in the city's summer league was ahead by only a run. We had one runner on first base. It was my turn at bat.

When the pitch came, I could see it was right where I wanted it. A looping "fast" ball (as fast as another thirteen-year-old could throw it) about chest high. And when the bat connected, there couldn't have been a sweeter sound.

Mostly, if a pitcher didn't strike me out with a curve ball and I did get a hit, it would be a line drive single. But this one had a different feel altogether. Anyone who has ever hit a baseball knows that feel. It's like a perfectly directed explosion. The ball leaves the bat as if it were shot from a cannon.

I stood at the plate, frozen in the moment, watching as the ball rocketed away. It just kept gaining altitude until the sun seemed to swallow it. When the ball had finally disappeared in the sun's glare. I started running. I rounded second base and missed the bag. I had to turn back to tag it. Now I could see that the ball had landed thirty feet beyond the left fielder and was still rolling.

There were no fences on our neighborhood baseball field, so a home run was never assured until you had run all the bases. But as I was coming down the last stretch to home plate and the rest of the team was standing there hollering and cheering, I knew this was it. A clean homer! Our team went ahead by one run. The score had turned in our favor.

I don't remember now who finally won the game. It doesn't much matter. But at that moment, for a boy of thirteen, I thought there could be no greater accomplishment. That was success. A moment of exhilaration and pure joy.

As I grew up, however, and began to consider success in other areas of life, I gradually began to feel that perhaps there is also a deeper dimension involved. Perhaps success isn't only the achievement realized in a given moment but the culmination of all the good expressed throughout one's life. And it's evident that what the world calls success doesn't always get at the real thing. The genuine measure may not actually be about how much money we earn or how much "power" we wield, or our job title or personal status. Perhaps it really has everything to do with our relationship to God, and how we express what that means in our lives day to day.

In the textbook of Christian Science, Science and Health with Key to the Scriptures, author Mary Baker Eddy explains that in our human experience the models we hold in thought either limit our expectations and hold us back or provide a positive basis for moving our lives forward. She writes: "We must form perfect models in thought and look at them continually, or we shall never carve them out in grand and noble lives." Then Mrs. Eddy points to some of the qualities that are so vital for us to express: "Let unselfishness, goodness, mercy, justice, health, holiness, love—the kingdom of heaven—reign within us, and sin, disease, and death will diminish until they finally disappear" (p.248).

A life of unselfishness, of goodness, of mercy and justice. A life that is filled with wholeness and holiness. A life that quietly shows love, in everything one does and for everyone. This is a truer measure of success.

The Saviour, Christ Jesus, let all of those qualities reign within him. What he consistently held in thought about God and about all of God's creation must have included nothing less than the perfect model. That pure, spiritual model reveals God as infinite Spirit, all-embracing Love, omnipotent Principle, and man as the very expression of Spirit—the spiritual man. The perfect model of Love's man expresses unconditional, universal love. The perfect model of Principle's man expresses constant integrity and humility. And Jesus lived that perfect model in everything he endeavored to do. The Saviour called on his followers: "Be ye therefore perfect, even as your Father which is in heaven is perfect" (Matt. 5:48).

Once when he was taking a meal at the house of a leading Pharisee, who was no doubt considered highly successful in his community, Jesus noted how the other Pharisees were all vying for recognition and for the most prominent place in this man's house (see Luke 14:7—11). Jesus told them a parable that ended with a direct lesson in success: "For whosoever exalteth himself shall be abased; and he that humbleth himself shall be exalted."

A life of humility, of grace, of unselfishness, of love. Again, this sounds more like real success than anything else. None of this, however, is intended to minimize the value of any joy-filled moment or worthy achievement, whether in our careers, in our families, in business or academics, on the farm or on a construction site, or even on a baseball field. It's just that the best measure of success is one which consistently weighs, as the most significant thing, our relation to God and how we express that in our lives. And it's according to this measure that everyone can succeed. No one is left out. No one is second-rate. No one is a failure.

Putting our God first will show us how many truly wonderful and successful moments there are in our lives right now—how many genuine home runs! Those moments will grow into days, and the days will grow into a full life—a good life, even a grand and noble life.

William E. Moody