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Ginny and I sat on our deck, played scrabble,
and enjoyed a warm summer night. The stars shined; and a light breeze
cooled our skin. The game progressed - our scores close. Ginny formed
a word. It extended to the bottom of the board - the last letter
placed between two “triple word” squares.
It was my turn. I stared at my tiles. My eyes
opened wide. There it was - the move of my life - “Faltered.” It
spanned both “triple word” squares. I scored 140 points, a personal
best.
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Life is full of tiles. They’re scattered in front
of us, but they’re upside down. We don’t know what they are until
they’re picked up. We can’t handle too many at one time. We’re only
allowed to choose seven.
Imagine having seven tiles of life in front of
you. You stare at them and think to yourself, “Life starts here.”
They’re lined up, but they make no sense. You move them around, try to
arrange them into something logical, but you struggle. The first move
has to be right.
The letters come together into a word, but it’s a
small one. Will you use it or struggle and make a bigger word? This is
the beauty of the game - you get to replace the tiles you use. Are you
going to make small moves, only to pick up a couple of tiles?
Remember, the more you use, the more you can pick up - more
opportunities.
Later in life, if the tiles are put together
right, you get to have a partner to play with. Their words become
stepping stones for the other. Each decision has an effect on the
other’s.
Time goes by. The last tile is placed on the
board. The game is over, but the words you created live on. They are
the children fostered, decisions made, friends found, work done, and
the life lived.
We start with the same number of tiles. How we
use them is up to us.
My 140-point score? It represents the day I
married Ginny, the day our words came together – the best move I ever
made.
Michael T. Smith |
