When Life Throws a Curve

Relationships

Mar 10

Life throws a lot of curves, doesn’t it? Just when we’re all set for straight pitches across the plate, life has a way of slipping in nasty breaking curve balls around the knees, impossible to hit. After three missed swings, as Ernest Lawrence Thayer’s famous poem “Casey at the Bat” reminds us, even the best of us strikes out. Granted, some fortunate people seem to receive an inordinate number of batting practice straight balls, easy to knock out of the park. Indeed, there are even folks who are born on third base, so to speak, and have advantages that most people never experience—good health, supportive families, and ample educational opportunities.

Then there are others, unfortunately, who come into the world and find themselves in the dugout and never even get a chance to bat, struggling with health issues or mental challenges or other kinds of disadvantages. For some people, more people than we think, life is a successive series of never ending setbacks. God surely has a special place in his heart for people who are never given a fair chance to play.

Most of us, though, fall somewhere in between. We enter the world with feet planted firmly in the batter’s box, with opportunities to reach first base and go as far as our work ethic and talents can take us. Yet, even for those of us who are given a fair shot at reaching base, or find ourselves on third base through little effort of our own, life can be unpredictable and we never know what harrowing challenges the next inning will bring. One thing is certain, however, the law of averages will eventually catch up with us and sooner or later we will all whiff at the ball.

That’s not to say there aren’t wonderful and exhilarating moments when we hit everything thrown at us. The birth of our first child, graduation, the thrill and excitement of marriage, or being hired for our first job—these are times to cherish. They make life worth living and give us hope and strength not to give in to despair when we fail to reach base, knowing the possibility that better innings are ahead.

Still, we don’t reach base every time. No one escapes striking out on occasion. A marriage ends and a family is torn apart. A job doesn’t turn out the way we had hoped and dreams are shattered. Children take a wrong turn and hearts are broken. Health deteriorates and alters life. These slumps make life more complicated. The fact is, no one hits the ball every time. There are seasons in life where we find ourselves on a hot streak and hit everything thrown our way and then, suddenly, we can’t even see the ball, let alone hit it. We learn to appreciate success and endure failure, rejoice in times of plenty and humble ourselves during times of scarcity, celebrate times of love and mourn during times of loss, give thanks in times of health and pray for grace during times of sickness. That’s life.

A large part of becoming a successful human being requires us to adapt to the unforeseen circumstances of life, especially during those dreaded batting slumps that we all experience. It may be that our most difficult seasons define who we really are. After all, character is revealed, not when we hit a home run, but when we strike out with the bases loaded. Sometimes what stretches us, what defeats us, forces us to grow and mature and develop into the person God created us to be. If we never face loss, we will never discover who we really are.

Two people I’m particularly close to made vows of marriage decades ago for better or worse and for years there was far more better than worse, and their marriage sailed along with only a few bumps here and there. But, as so often happens, life threw a blistering curve. The beautiful woman was stricken with ALS, a life-threatening illness. Suddenly, the couple’s world was turned upside down. The once vivacious woman quickly became bed-ridden, unable to care for her most basic needs, and required round-the-clock care, which her husband tenderly provided. Day after day he lifted a spoon she could not hold and patiently fed her; he held a cup to precious lips, so she could suck water from a straw, lips that he so often lovingly kissed. He dared not leave her side, day or night, week after week, year after year.

Every day the routine was the same. It was an exhausting labor, but it was a labor of love. The love the two have for each other is rich, deep, and lasting. They did not complain. No one bailed out. They were in it together. For better or worse.

I’ve seen this couple in better times when sickness and disability were the furthest thing from their minds. They joked and laughed with one another, teased each other in a good-natured way, enjoyed each other’s company, and were the best of partners. What I find remarkable is that even in sickness they were the same people that they were years ago before the dreaded curve of ALS was thrown their way. Their circumstances dramatically changed, but their characters, their moral fiber, remained the same.

Yes, their story is tragic. But there is also beauty in their tragedy—the beauty of love. Their love for each other is stronger than their feelings of fatigue or depression or self-pity. Tragedy refined and purified their love, like a smelting process produces a precious metal. If given a choice, I’m sure they would have chosen a different pitch than sickness and disability, but they accepted what life threw at them with courage, perseverance, and love. That’s life!

Some people choose a different course when adversity strikes. I never met my maternal grandfather. He abandoned his family in Texas when my mother was only a child. Faced with the responsibility of providing for a large family during difficult times, he bailed out of the batter’s box—he got in his truck and left town, leaving his wife and eleven children behind. No one from our family ever heard from him again.

I have often wondered, though, if he ever regretted his decision. I also wonder how his life turned out. Rumor was that he moved to California. Maybe in a new state he hit it rich and lived a good and prosperous life. Maybe he married again, had other children, and enjoyed life to the end of his days. Maybe.

By abandoning his family, however, he missed the joy of seeing his children become adults, work their way through school, get married and have his grandchildren. By leaving the game, he missed a huge chunk of life. Whatever he may have gained, I can’t help thinking how much he lost. Authentic life is anything but easy . . . but it is priceless.

The philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche said, “What doesn’t kill you, makes you stronger.” I believe there is truth in that statement. Of course, the burdens and stresses of life can become so crushing that one’s spirit can be broken even if one’s body remains intact. It may be true that the Lord doesn’t place upon us more than we can bear, but life itself certainly can. I’ve seen lives buckle and crack wide open under the unrelenting weight of suffering without end. Every one of us has our limits. I guess that’s one reason why God created more than just one person—when the burdens become too heavy, there are others to help us carry the load. We are, after all, part of a team!

Yet, life’s adversities can make us stronger . . . if we see them through. It doesn’t even matter if we strike out with the bases loaded. What matters is that we do the best we can, take our swings, and look back with joy in how we played the game, whether in the dugout or circling the bases.