Reminds me of a little story when I was little.
It took some serious coaxing, continuous studies, and recommendation from mom to get my first hockey stick. I still remember dad bought me the stick, without taking me to the shop -- it was my earliest enlightenment of how you should never let your parent buy anything for you. It looked like an ice hockey stick instead. I hated it from the very moment I saw it. I still remember, it had a band-aid like thing pasted on the bottom edge (lest I erode the stick). It took me exactly 5 mins to break the stick and probably 5 more months to get another one. This new baby was an angel. Perfect curve, the right balance and weight. It was called 'Service' ( I still have it in my attic), as though to remind me that it should last forever.
The first day in school with the new hockey stick was amazing. At the stroke of 12 (Tiffin time for us ;) ) .. I rushed to the ground along with my friends .. my strides were by far longer than others, my new acquisition was gleaming. All of us threw our weapons on the ground. The priest sat in front of the weapons, with another helping him go in a trance. With the power vested upon him, he carelessly threw the hockey sticks, two at a time, in opposite directions. Before you knew, teams were created, battle lines drawn and war would begin. This continued daily .. there was a romance in the rudimentarism. Never did we care about the results (well almost) , never did we care about 'who is playing in my team and who is not', never did we care about the sun ( or rain sometime).. What was important was the game.. the feeling of being in the game !
Our lives are also like the hockey game.... The sticks are like situations in our lives, we don't get to choose them. At first it looks like some random blind guy throws them on us without any logic.. hurridly just as to finish the activity and join the game. Sometimes in our overt adulthood we think that He is just too eager to play the game Himself.. but we forget.. ta ha .. He is the game !
It takes a near lifetime for us to realise that we neither choose the sticks nor the playground nor the results…what is important, is that we ought to play !
It took some serious coaxing, continuous studies, and recommendation from mom to get my first hockey stick. I still remember dad bought me the stick, without taking me to the shop -- it was my earliest enlightenment of how you should never let your parent buy anything for you. It looked like an ice hockey stick instead. I hated it from the very moment I saw it. I still remember, it had a band-aid like thing pasted on the bottom edge (lest I erode the stick). It took me exactly 5 mins to break the stick and probably 5 more months to get another one. This new baby was an angel. Perfect curve, the right balance and weight. It was called 'Service' ( I still have it in my attic), as though to remind me that it should last forever.
The first day in school with the new hockey stick was amazing. At the stroke of 12 (Tiffin time for us ;) ) .. I rushed to the ground along with my friends .. my strides were by far longer than others, my new acquisition was gleaming. All of us threw our weapons on the ground. The priest sat in front of the weapons, with another helping him go in a trance. With the power vested upon him, he carelessly threw the hockey sticks, two at a time, in opposite directions. Before you knew, teams were created, battle lines drawn and war would begin. This continued daily .. there was a romance in the rudimentarism. Never did we care about the results (well almost) , never did we care about 'who is playing in my team and who is not', never did we care about the sun ( or rain sometime).. What was important was the game.. the feeling of being in the game !
Our lives are also like the hockey game.... The sticks are like situations in our lives, we don't get to choose them. At first it looks like some random blind guy throws them on us without any logic.. hurridly just as to finish the activity and join the game. Sometimes in our overt adulthood we think that He is just too eager to play the game Himself.. but we forget.. ta ha .. He is the game !
It takes a near lifetime for us to realise that we neither choose the sticks nor the playground nor the results…what is important, is that we ought to play !
