Messy and Misunderstood

The other night a group of us played a game that I'm all too familiar with. The messy tug-of-war battle begins in me every time the playing cards are handed out. The Ace cards representing each member of the murdering mafia, the Queen card is in the care of the one and only Dr. Quinn, the King card lies in the hands of the brave police officer, and every other numbered card signifies each misunderstood citizen. In the past I've been known to open the floodgates of tears during a stressful situation, or release steam out my ears when I've been betrayed. It's a game of bluffing and deceiving, and essentially inviting immorality into a circle of chums. A game I have yet to determine it's value. It's invigorating, no doubt, but afterwards I feel cheated, betrayed, violated, disrespected and absolutely no sort of unity or love towards my fellow groupies. But this time these feelings which erupted through my motions, language, and facial expressions seemed much too familiar. It seems the threads of life have been twisted up with this awful, yet enticing game of mafia. It's time to think about the value of the game. What good can come from feeling cheated, violated, disrespected, betrayed, used, unwanted, and ultimately rejected? My immediate response is of anger and self-defense, but now that the dust has begun to settle I feel aged and weary. Very weary. Battling isn't exactly my strength, but either way you must be humbly and selflessly all in it or likewise, humbly, selflessly and completely all out. It takes a decent understanding of the possible prize, or else you'll never find rest. Forgiveness and humility may be the real combination for true rest.