The Score Doesn’t Tell the Whole Story
by The Rt. Rev. Hector Monterroso
As the World Cup reaches its final days, our attention naturally turns to the teams still competing for the trophy. Yet sometimes the most meaningful stories are found among those whose journey ended much earlier.
One of those stories belongs to Curaçao.
For many people, Curaçao’s first World Cup will be remembered simply by the results. A quick glance at the scores will show victories, defeats, goals scored, and goals conceded. Statistics will become history, and before long, most people will move on to the next tournament.
But I suspect the people of Curaçao will remember something very different.
They will remember the moment Livano Comenencia scored the first World Cup goal in their nation’s history. Curaçao was facing Germany in Houston and had fallen behind early in the match. Then, in the twenty-first minute, Comenencia struck the ball with his left foot and sent it beyond the German goalkeeper. For a brief moment, the smallest nation ever to qualify for the
World Cup stood level with one of football’s greatest powers. Germany eventually won the match 7–1, but the loudest celebration of the day belonged to Curaçao.
Somewhere in the stadium, Livano’s father, Liomar, was watching. Born in Curaçao, he had later moved to the Netherlands, where his son was born. At first, amid the noise and celebration, he did not realize who had scored. Then he recognized his son. Livano was crying. His father cried too. What appeared on the scoreboard as a single goal had become a shared moment between a father, a son, and an entire nation.
That goal did not change the outcome of the match. It did not send Curaçao to the next round. Yet it gave a small island a memory that will endure long after the final score has been forgotten.
For Germany, it was one more victory.
For Curaçao, it was history.
It reminded me that scoreboards rarely tell the whole story. Perhaps that is true not only in football, but in life itself.
As the tournament narrows, the spotlight falls almost entirely on those still standing. It is easy to believe that only the semifinalists have something worth celebrating. The world often measures success by numbers. We count victories, promotions, attendance, income, achievements, and recognition. We are tempted to believe that what can be measured is what matters most.
But scoreboards count goals. God sees faithfulness.
The Kingdom of God tells a different story.
Jesus never measured faithfulness the way the world measures success. He spoke of a widow who offered two small coins, a mustard seed that became a great tree, a shepherd who left ninety-nine sheep to search for one, and a father who celebrated the return of a son who had failed. None of those stories made sense if success was measured only by visible results. Yet each revealed something far greater than numbers could ever express.
Ministry has taught me that some of God’s greatest victories are almost invisible. They rarely appear in annual reports: a quiet conversation after worship, a prayer offered beside a hospital bed, a child asking thoughtful questions during confirmation classes, a family finding hope after a difficult season, or a person taking a first step back toward God.
None of these moments make headlines.
Yet heaven surely notices them.
Perhaps that is why Curaçao’s first World Cup goal feels so significant. It reminds us that faithfulness is not always measured by trophies. Sometimes the smallest victories become the greatest reasons for hope.
The Apostle Paul once wrote, “So neither the one who plants nor the one who waters is anything, but only God, who gives the growth.” (1 Corinthians 3:7) Paul understood that our calling is not to control the outcome. Our calling is simply to be faithful. God alone brings the harvest.
The same is true in our own lives. Not every prayer receives an immediate answer. Not every act of kindness changes a life overnight. Not every ministry grows quickly. Not every effort receives recognition. But none of that means God is absent. The scoreboard may suggest defeat while God is already writing a story of hope that we cannot yet see.
Long after the final scores of this World Cup have been forgotten, I suspect the people of Curaçao will still remember Livano Comenencia’s goal. His father will remember seeing his son make history. Children on that small island may remember discovering that they, too, could dream of playing on the world’s greatest stage.
Sometimes one small sign of hope becomes more meaningful than a hundred victories.
When this World Cup is remembered years from now, most people will recall who lifted the trophy. Far fewer will remember Curaçao’s first goal.
Yet I suspect heaven keeps a different record.
The scoreboard tells us who won the match.
Only God knows what victories were taking place in the human heart.
