When Hope Seems Out of Left Field

It’s our brushes with hope that shape how we think when the odds are stacked against us.

I remembered this last week as the Cubs came from behind to win the World Series, because I once had a front row seat to see what happens when you keep hoping. 

Well, it was actually a second row seat. 

Behind home plate. 

I went to game 4 of the 1979 World Series in Pittsburgh when the Pirates played the Orioles. 

My ticket cost $12. 

I'm pretty sure today $12 wouldn't buy me a hot dog at the World Series.

But I was an eighth grader then, crazy about baseball and I remember my parents debating whether or not they should spend the money on the tickets. 

My mother told my dad that we should go since who knew if we’d ever get a chance to go to another World Series game? So we went.

But the Pirates lost the game and were down three games to one in the series. 

The mood was somber as we disheartened fans trudged out of the stadium that day. It seemed silly to even hope we could pull off such a miracle. 

I mean, there were only three teams in the history of baseball, since 1925, that came back to win the series after that deficit, and the Pirates would have to win two on the road. 

But who was crazy enough to think that far ahead? They just had to win the next game.

But the next day they did win the game and that tiny flicker of hope still alive in my heart got a little stronger. 

They traveled to Baltimore and won the next two games, winning the World Series in the best come-from-behind style you could imagine.

So I thought maybe like me, you could use a little story about hope today.

Because I’ve seen with my own eyes from my almost-front-row-seat what happens when you keep hoping when everyone says it's next to impossible. 

I think this early training ground in the stadium of hope was a valuable coach for me. 

Because to be honest, I’m not naturally all that hopeful. 

I tend to look at the glass half-empty. I wait for the other shoe to drop. I expect if something could go wrong, it probably will.

Sometimes I need to remember the game’s not entirely mine to win or lose, but I do have a role to play.

It's to step up to the plate and take a swing at the curve balls in life.

It's to run down the foul balls because you never know when the wind shifts and the ball might turn fair.

And it's to come from behind when I'm down and out and realize it's a whole new ballgame. It's possible that my next turn at bat could serve up the winning pitch.

So I'm wondering if you want to join me in hoping {for whatever you're hoping for}, even though it seems hopeless?

Have you ever played those icebreaker games in groups that ask you to share three facts about yourself, two true and one false? 

{I'm not a fan of them.}

For the truthful tidbits about myself, I always say I've ridden in a helicopter and gone to the World Series. 

{Separately of course, since I did not ride in a helicopter to the World Series, although wouldn't that be something?} 

No one ever believes those two things are true about me.

I'm not sure if it's because I don't look sporty enough to be interested in baseball or adventurous enough to ride in a helicopter, but {ha!} looks are deceiving. 

Maybe the next time I'm asked to play the icebreaker game I should say I'm hoping to sell my 2,000 baseball cards.

{Just between me and you, that’s true, too.}

I'm having coffee with my friends at Holley Gerth's place at Coffee for your Heart. Click the image if you'd like to read more posts from my blogger friends.