And yet, and yet…

This morning I read a remarkable article by a Seattle Mariners’ fan that was encouraging fellow fans not to lose hope as Seattle approached a Game 7 that could send them to the World Series. You can check out the article here: https://www.lookoutlanding.com/editorial/136369/do-not-be-careful-with-your-hope. While the Mariners ultimately lost, the thought is poignant and moving about the past we carry.

A couple of months ago, our dog of 13 years (Eleanor Roosevelt, or Ellie as we called her) passed away. She is not the first dog that I’ve had to take on the lonely walk, but it was remarkably difficult to watch her go.

I’ve thought often about dogs and baseball, the places they can hold in our lives. They carry more than the stat lines and the evening walks. They speak louder than barking at friends visiting the house and chanting in the 9th inning.

With baseball, I carry the memory of my grandfather on the phone talking about the futility of watching Rangers games. I remember my disappointment the year the Strike stole a season of baseball from us. I remember interminable summer nights eating popcorn we made on the stove and chatting with my dad about the different things going on. I remember falling to the ground crying next to my bride in my first year of marriage when the Rangers lost Game 6 to the Cardinals in extra innings (one strike away!). I remember celebrating with my bride 12 years later as Josh Sborz threw the last pitch in the Rangers World Series victory. I remember.

With Ellie, I remember our first apartment in Austin. I remember having to make difficult decisions for our first home when Adrian was expecting our first child. I remember playing in my (perennial dead) backyard with the pup and our toddler. I remember Ellie running in to Adrian’s parents’ house in Fort Worth and chasing squirrels around the campus of Southwestern Seminary. I remember Ellie snuggling Adrian in the moments of parenthood and pregnancy that were really hard. I remember Ellie puking all over two of my students in the back seat of our car. I remember Ellie welcoming me home sniffing at my ankles to wonder at where I’d been. I remember Ellie forever finding the softest and highest point she could just to have a little nap. I remember summer evenings in the backyard as Ellie shuffled to the fence to lose her mind barking at yet another dog. I remember zoomies in a newly moved-into home, meatball subs snatched, 13 years of faithful companionship.

Dogs and baseball are more than dogs and baseball. They carry depths and evenings and emotions and fears and people and dreams and tears and disappointments and joy and creativity and play and

and love.

Dogs and baseball carry time for us. And as the years pass and we reminisce and experience new things that mimic the shadows of the old, we’re reminded of a faithfulness that is larger than us. Baseball reminds us of traditions that go before and beyond us, irrational love and grace for teams that forever fail. Dogs remind us of companionship and reliability, irrational love and grace for us as people who forever fail. They remind us of Jesus, who abides with us in and through ever season.

I’m grateful for the seasons given to us.