Make each throw count. That was the tribute and the message my friend wanted to impart. The nave was packed with friends, family, former law partners, classmates of the couple’s three incredible children. An extraordinary person, one said, who believed in an ordinary life well lived.

School had just let out for the holidays and I found myself thinking that this gathering should not have been for such an occasion. He’d only moved to our town five or six brief years ago and look how many he’d touched. As I read the memorial leaflet, I realized that although my husband and I had very much enjoyed the company of the gentleman who’d so suddenly left this earth, I had not an inkling of the depth of this man.

My friend continued: They had together coached baseball for their sons’ grade school teams for five years. My friend had not known that this modest, yet extraordinary person had played in the minor leagues before an injury led him to attend law school. He learned over the years, there was much more to this man.

For five seasons, each practice, 15 games a season, the advice was always the same: Make each throw count. What he now understood, my friend said, was that this advice was much more a life lesson than simple, direct advice before a little league baseball game. To all of us sitting in the nave, to the boys who were part of this man’s little league team, the advice resonated and was clear: Each time you throw, each time you’re up at bat, each time life gives you an opportunity … Make it count.

I wonder: How often is it that you were up at bat, had the ball, had the opportunity, and wished that you’d made it count?

There’s a lesson here for me and I will share it with you. Now that this modest, yet extraordinary gentleman is gone, I wish I had known him in a much more intimate way. I did not know of his youth, his schooling, his passion for history and baseball. I knew of the love he showed for his wife of six years and her three children. I’d seen it first-hand and for that I admired him greatly. I had sensed his professional stature, but this modest man never boasted about his successes as a trial lawyer. He never impressed with his scholarly intellect. Instead, he was much more interested in the person he was with, to learn about them. It was said that he often observed that it was important to truly see another person, because most likely that person, like you, is trying their best and trying to do the right thing.

Now that he is gone, I wish I’d taken in each aspect of this extraordinary individual. I wish I’d made it count.

To you, I declare: In this profession we are so incredibly privileged to become acquainted with modest, humble, yet extraordinary people who believe in an ordinary life well lived. They are the donors, volunteers, and others who are passionate about changing lives through the good works they support.

When you have the chance to sit down with them — to truly get to know them, their interests, their history, their passions — seize the opportunity. Make it count.