Love Losing or Losing Love

There is competition both formal and informal. In it all we are asking a question. It is "Who wins and why?" The very word "competition" announces to us our mutual interest in that which may be had by only one. Nations compete for territory and tribute. Corporations for trade routes and profits. And individuals for that brief whiff of social standing, the definition of the Self.

Games are great for the exercise of the latter. Point totals, rules and limited times and terrain all compound to make the winner able to cash in a quantifiable for his or her Self definition. Ah, yes, the winner. It is always the winner, darn his hide! But the loser, the sulky, angry, excuse-making, "second place is never good enough", sort of loser is a unacceptable problem to the spirit of grace incumbent on Christians. I guess they just did not like the answer to the question expressed earlier.

Who wins? The other guy.
Why? He was better than you.
What is your problem with that? You are not wise.

"First you call me a loser and then a fool?
You are not making friends, O Oracle. "

What else should I call you?

You are playing a game. You anticipate being able to win. The point totals at the end would verify your self assessment. You rise from the table torqued, affronted, and pouty. The point totals said other than what you anticipated. They rebuked your false definition of self and to pout is to be a fool. Rejoice for you have been reproved in a false notion of yourself. Love them who beat you, for they are your teacher. For do not the Scriptures say:

Proverbs 9:8 Do not reprove a scoffer, or he will hate you;
reprove a wise man, and he will love you.
9 Give instruction to a wise man, and he will be still wiser;
teach a righteous man and he will increase in learning.

and
17:10 A rebuke goes deeper into a man of understanding
than a hundred blows into a fool.

My Humiliation

And so it came to pass that Ian Tracy, resident of the court and child to Darel and Karla, count and countess of Eagle and the South, did profess with gun and repeated ventures to the woodlands to kill something larger than a hedgehog. As the days of such venture increased in number, so did the mocking words of the Marquis of Mojo. He didst rail on the young man. In his humor, he offered to bow down to young Tracy if any blood be spilt. The days and nights of seeking continued apace. The Marquis words were forgotten except when another opportunity to joke at the lad's expense arose.

Then, one night, as the court sat robustly feasting on goodly victuals, the young Nimrod stood in the door. His hands dripped with the blood o f his prey. He pointed at the Marquis whose heart turned to stone within him. Courtiers and ladies in dumbstuck silence paraded their crushed overlord into the street . The weight of his vow pushed him to his knees and he did homage to the killer of stags and young women's hearts.

The moral of the story: It is better that you not vow, than vow and not pay.