I have two inklingz posts outlined in my trusty notebook, but got home today and found something that struck me as more important. There was a catchy quote on a small envelope in my mailbox.  I read it twice, my interest piqued—but I guess not enough to open it. Distracted by my other mail and without really thinking about it I threw it down on my dining room table, got myself ready for a run and headed to Central Park.

Once back from my run I sat down for a bite to eat—and saw the envelope staring at me again. Its invitation reads like a tiny prayer:

“Let me win.  But if I cannot win, let me be brave in the attempt.”         -unattributed

Once the wrapping was off, I could see the mailing was an appeal from the Special Olympics. The gift inside is a picture of a young man, red-headed, pale and freckled like me. He has a medal around his neck and his hand held high above his head, obviously in the joy of triumph.

I was overwhelmed for a moment with emotion, moved by the image and this tiny prayer.

Two things gripped me.  The first is the fact that we’re really not so different—this boy and I…or you and I for that matter. We all want medals and moments of triumph.  We all want to be loved. We all want to sense that our lives are somehow meaningful.

Yet, I am personally so quick to dismiss others as not smart enough, not good looking enough, not successful enough, not something enough to deserve my time. God is challenging me in this lately and I am trying to see people for who they are as children of God—all valued, all loved, all eternal beings (see On the (in?)significance of what we do: two perspectives).

The second thing that struck me is how carried away I get in the winning. It’s the second half of the prayer that I find so precious—pointing out the fact that we won’t always end up with medals. Life is about the living, not just the winning.  It’s about who we are becoming between victories—not so much which victories we win.
Read more »