At times things get really ugly. Our annual men versus women, Godzilla versus the young babe, bad things happen. This year sadly perpetuated two brief points in times to give birth to a third. I doubt, desperately hope really, the three consecutive points constitute a trend. There is substantial evidence that the trend establish last night will turn into a regular, predictable outcome. You might guess from my rambling that the men lost. In fairness we didn’t lose; the women soundly and firmly won! The neck and neck competition early on gave was to four moves which left us floundering mid-board. The end was simply ugly. We were shocked. We sat dumb struck, unable to acknowledge the performance of a team in their prime.
Life can be like that. Great moments, everything seemingly yet to come, dashed in a moment of ugliness. London wins the Olympic bid and within hours is grabbling with the worst terrorist event in decades. Wonderful dinners haunted by tragic violence. Ugly moments finding themselves contrasting with moments of beauty and awe.
The contrast isn’t new. People were still basking in the after glow of a celebration and party in the capital. Just days later, the honored guest was tracked into a dark garden on the edge of town. The romantic setting was destroyed as “the Roman soldiers under their commander, joined by the Jewish police, seized Jesus and tied him up.” (John 18.12) Yet this ugly moment was a gateway into a future filled with unseen hope.
Last night’s ugliness masked the awesome hope that resonated around the table. Old friends and new enjoyed the process of extended families becoming one community. I found myself filled with renewed hope and excitement. The future is in good hands. The next generation is full of life! They are the future; smarter, faster, and more open to possibilities than I was at their age. Everything is possible!
Last night showed me how we can work together; generations, genders, and totally different background. What may have seemed ugly was actually beautiful and new. Wow.
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