New Endings
- Lauren Shaw, PhD
- Nov 7, 2016
- 3 min read
When I was a teenager, I claimed that I didn’t have any strong attachment to where I grew up. I believed that I could live anywhere, and that my Midwestern roots wouldn’t travel with me.
I lived in several different parts of the country, and at some point, I realized that I had been wrong. I began to see ways that my Midwestern heritage and upbringing were central to who I am, so central that my younger self had just been oblivious to it.
I am by no means a sports enthusiast, but somehow part of those Midwestern roots meant buying into the narrative of life as a Cubs fan. We are the loveable losers. We have heart, but we don’t win. Ever. We don’t lose hope, but we also know the hope is crazy and usually not based in reality. Some of us buy into the idea of a curse. It’s part of who we are. Even though most years I don't follow baseball at all, that narrative was written on me and deeply internalized. I’m a Cubs fan because of where I was born, and that is the narrative I believed.
But last week the Cubs won the World Series. For the first time in 108 years, the Cubs won the World Series. It’s historic. People are laughing and crying and screaming and celebrating. The Cubs' World Series celebration on Friday was the seventh largest gathering in human history. The seventh largest gathering ever, anywhere, in all recorded time. The six gatherings that were bigger than this were religious pilgrimages and funerals. But on Friday, over five million people filled the streets of Chicago to celebrate a sports team winning a game.
If you’re not from Chicago or not a Cubs fan, you may wonder why it matters so much. Why is this such a big deal?
I think it’s such a big deal because it tells a bigger story and speaks to deeper truth and deeper needs in the human heart.
The Cubs winning the World Series is a beautiful picture of hope fulfilled. The impossible was made possible. A very old story had a new ending. As people, and as a culture, we need that picture. We need to remember that even ancient stories can end differently than they always have. We need to see dreams fulfilled.
In the last weeks, I have sat with people as they ached, cried, and longed for a story to end differently. I’ve wanted to scream and throw things with a friend who is watching everyone else’s hopes find fulfillment while her arms remain empty. I’ve sat with people who long for healing, long for hope, long for something good to come into the broken and barren places in their lives.
I don’t know how those stories will end. I want to rush in and say I know those longings will be fulfilled, I know those broken places will be restored. But I don’t. On this side of eternity, I just don’t know.
But in the last few months, I have also had the privilege of seeing hope fulfilled. I’ve seen a woman whose empty arms ached for a child welcome children into her home and her heart. I’ve seen healing and intimacy and connection come into a marriage that for decades has only been a place of hurt and loneliness. I’ve seen someone who labeled himself Failure experience success and achievement.
And last week, I saw the Cubs win the World Series.
At a cultural level, last week reminded us about new endings. Last Wednesday’s game reminded us that even 108 years is not too long to hope.
We think we know how stories will end. We think we’ve heard the spoilers, know the drill, know what will happen.
But we don’t. Old stories can have new endings, and the Cubs winning the World Series reminded us of that. Sometimes winning a game can breathe life into despair. That’s why the Cubs matter. That’s why 5 million people came out to celebrate Friday. The impossible was made possible, hope was fulfilled, and a very old story found a brand new ending.
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