What should writers have in common with Ron Santo?

 

Chicago and almost anyone who loves baseball mourn the passing of former third baseman for the Cubs, Ron Santo. In the newspaper they talked about Mr. Santo’s eternal hope and optimism. At the start of every year he brought with him hope that this would be the year his team would take home the pennant.

Which of course made me think that’s what writers should have in common with Ron Santo. Eternal hope. Optimism for a bright future.

The problem is, so few of us have that. I must include myself in this group, those of us who with one part of our brain admire those with such an upbeat, positive outlook, while at the same time another part insists reality is often far different from our hopes and expectations. For aspiring writers, is it best to start each new year not just hoping, but on some level truly believing this will be the year to sign a contract? And for those more seasoned writers, should we likewise start each new year believing this will be the year one of our books breaks out to become a wildly popular blockbuster?

The answer according to Mr. Santo’s outlook would be yes.

Ron Santo leaves behind many, many friends who admired his tenacious hope. He was forever cheerful and uncomplaining. He saw the best in his team. That’s something all of us can hope to be remembered for—more so than as some old sourpuss who can’t see the stars through the clouds.

But even as I write this, that little part of me screams caution. Oh, I know as a devoted follower of Christ I have ultimate hope. Truly eternal hope. I’m counting on that. But for the here and now, can hope set me up for disappointment if I don’t have a realistic view of things?

My husband and I talked about this very thing over the weekend. More than anything, we hope for a cure or treatment for our son who suffers from Fragile X Syndrome. Not long after he was diagnosed, I read a pamphlet stating they thought it possible for researchers to find a cure in the next ten years or so, because it’s a single-gene disorder. That was thirteen years ago. Somewhere along the way, I realized that pamphlet was penned by fundraisers, not researchers—two groups with decidedly different perspectives. Eventually hope for a cure almost seemed like an enemy to me, a sure setup for disappointment.

And yet that can’t be the way to think, either. The Bible teaches hope, so surely God doesn’t want us calling hope an enemy.

Certainly Ron Santo didn’t, and perhaps even with disappointment along the way he had a better quality of life because of his hope. He never saw his beloved Cubbies win the world series, he suffered from diabetes, had both legs beneath the knee removed because of that disease, at one point he had a quadruple bypass, and eventually died of bladder cancer. Yet he wasn’t known for complaining, even about any of that. He lived in reality but never lost sight of hope that tomorrow would be better.

I think we all can learn something from that . . .