I don't follow sports much (as you can tell by the fact that I'm about to talk baseball just as the World Cup draws global attention). Now and then, though, even sports stories move me. Like the story of Armando Galarraga, who pitched a perfect game, except for a bad call by the umpire. My favorite bit is the last paragraph in the story from the NYTimes:
Galarraga told reporters that Joyce apologized to him after the game, adding that he had no instinct to argue the call. “He probably felt more bad than me," Galarraga said. Smiling, he added, “Nobody’s perfect.”
There's something beautifully heroic about a humble player, willing to accept the imperfections that cost him a heroic record. I confess that I much prefer these heroes to the big, powerful, always-winning ones.
Our hero story this week is a story of one who was certainly not the poster child for super-heroes: a (nameless to us) gentile widow from Zarephath. At Elijah's word, she gives up her last bits of food to feed Elijah, and finds that she continues to have enough to save her and her son from starvation through the rest of the drought.
I like heroes like this: not the ones that look like the robust football champion or the perfect captain of the cheerleading squad, but the ones that are human, vulnerable. And, even more beautifully, give what they have.
May it be so.