After 88 years, it sure feels good

I confess - after one of the more hectic days of my ministerial life, my body went crashing into bed at 10pm. In solidarity with my arms, legs and torso, my eyes shut tight almost immediately and I raced into one of the soundest sleeps I have ever experienced.

It wasn't until 8am this morning that I awoke to discover that if you wait long enough eventually hope does prevail: the White Sox won the World Series.

And then I sobbed. Big, heaving, uncontrollable sobs. The impossible had become possible. The improbably is now reality. Grandpa's team had finally won. I wish that I had it in me to stay awake for the whole game. In another unlikely turn of events, my father actually did manage to watch the game. He is the least likely among us to be caught viewing American's pastime. But he recognized the historical weight of the event and stayed up for the final out. His father would have been proud.

Grandpa took me to my first baseball game at Comiskey Park in 1984. We watched the White Sox play the Tigers. I have the ticket safely tucked away in a binder of 'important things' from my childhood. I only had to wait 21 years to see the Sox win. Grandpa waited his entire life. Even so, he never gave up hope.