Games

Games.

My kids each got at least one new game for Christmas this year. They are doing a good job of sharing them, and they are even taking pretty decent care of them. It makes a mother proud. (grin)

When I was headed to bed last night, I noticed one of the games on the diningroom table, and the little monkey pieces were scattered across the room. I stooped to pick up the tiny, brown, curled-tail game pieces, thinking about how many games we play in our grown up lives.

We dance around sensitive issues with friends. We see things in their lives that disturb us, and at best, determine that our choices will be different. We want to be honest, but sometimes honesty (although the best policy, still)breaks the playing board in half, scattering games pieces (pieces of our heart)across the room. It is sad, and no matter how hard we try, damage is done, sometimes irreparable.

At this time of my life, I have friends who are facing aging parents, retirement years and tragic illnesses. There are funerals of older folks (who were ready to go) and younger folks (who had no business dying so young). We have played the game of life, some scoring big rewards for their labors, and some left holding the cards that had somehow scattered across the floor when they turned their heads. The game of life moves quickly, there is really no "get out of jail free" card. We don't really get the last spin of the wheel. When the game is over, it's too late.

Heavy thoughts like these accompany as I climb the old stairway to my room. I ask myself again, in this game of life, where am I? Obviously, I am not just now jumping off on the first square of life, because even when I don't look closely, I see and feel the wear and tear on my "game piece." I may be mid-turn sliding on the slippery chute or rolling the dice to see if it's my turn to climb the ladder. What awaits me at the top of that ladder, or who is waiting at the bottom of that slide?

A game.

My husband comes to bed, snuggles beside me and says, "Our Meredith wants to be a mom when she grows up."

"Yeah? What prompted that?"

He tells me how she had picked out a sherrif set at the dollar store, complete with gun, holster, and a badge. It was the last thing she was playing with at bedtime, so he asked her if she was going to be a sherrif when she grew up. He was ready to talk about how awesome it would be to catch the bad guy, or help someone who needed assistance. She got out of bed, put her badge on her dresser, and said, "Nah. I want to be a mom. I want to get married and have kids. Yep, that's what I'm gonna do."

Mere' is opening the box to her Game of Life. She's starting to pick out the pieces, just now beginning to play the game. What will her future hold?

I will not be here to see her every move, or watch as she places one piece in front of the other as she moves around the board. Maybe she will make choices that takes her to the BIG finish proudly, or maybe she will choose a path that will have bumps in the road and she'll wish she had another turn.

We all get one life. One game. I pray that when I round the corner of my game board world, and the top closes, my game will stand out as a good one. One that leaves my children proud. One that made a difference in the broad scheme of life.

One that someone else will say, "I'd like to play that game that she was playing."

"I am the resurrection and the life. He who believes in me will live, even though he dies; and whoever lives and believes in me will never die." John 11:25,26