Chess Lessons in Life

Start where you are. Use what you have. Do what you can. Arthur Ashe

I have been teaching my grandson how to play Chess. He’s eleven years old and sharp as the proverbial tack. We sat down, set up the board, and identified the various pieces and the rules of the game. I told him that I wasn’t playing to win, but was going to play well enough to help him learn how the pieces move and some things to watch for.

Chess is a fun game. We played. I let him take backsies whenever he blundered into something catastrophic, and with each succeeding game he has gotten better, smarter, and has become more strategic in his choices. He still hasn’t won, as of this writing, but his play has improved enough that I approach each game more carefully so that now I AM playing to win.

One of the things I don’t like about playing games is that they tend to bring out a killer instinct in me. I want to play for fun, but when danger lurks, the adrenaline squirts into my veins, my heart races, my face flushes, and suddenly I go into kill-mode. It is instinctive. I have virtually no control over it. I don’t just want to win; I want to annihilate my opponent.

That’s an attitude I don’t like, and a reason I tend to decline invitations to play cards or board games. I don’t worry about losing. Far from it, I couldn’t care less. But I am a horrible winner. It inflates my ego far beyond all reason. Why should a man near seventy gloat in victory over his eleven year old grandson?

It’s unseemly; that’s what it is.

I also know that it is important to pass along life-lessons to the latest generation, so as we play, we talk. Developing strategies in chess helps us develop strategies in living. The next move is important, but so is looking a few more moves “down” the board. Sacrificing a pawn to gain a Rook teaches the value of making a sacrifice for the benefit of gaining something better. Overcoming the loss of a Queen with the better coordination of Knights and Bishops helps us learn to make do with what we have, which is better than moaning over what we don’t have.

We don’t always get backsies and do-overs in life, but sometimes we do. I think it is important to learn about grace, for too many of us have been squeezed dry by judgment and a lack of charity.

A young lad was chastised by his parents for being so miserly in his weekly gifts to his church’s Sunday school offering. They knew he had a very generous weekly allowance from which to give. What they didn’t know was that he was saving up much of his allowance to buy a coat for a classmate who didn’t have a decent winter-coat to wear. They didn’t know his plan because they didn’t ask. They judged him in ignorance. After the heated exchange (for that’s what it had been) and discovering his (previously hidden) generous heart, they took him to the store, chipped in to help buy the coat, and bought several others for the school’s coat and gloves program.

Getting back to Chess: at the end of each game, I always extend my hand to compliment my adversary for a game well-played. Win or lose, good sportsmanship is important.

I don’t just tell him he played a good game. I identify the moves he made that gave me pause or forced me to change what I was doing. I focus on the things done right and ignore the things done wrong. 

I think we often spend too much time rehashing what we or others have done wrong, whether at home, work, or the world of politics. I tend to improve when I am told what I’ve done well. A pat on the back is nice, but I really appreciate it when someone identifies what, specifically, I have done that was meaningful, right, well, or good.

I don’t believe life is a game wherein God moves us all about the board. In ignorance, we strive to avoid checkmate, only to discover in the end that God’s only desire is to BE our Check-Mate in this, our valley.

The Good Earth

Is the reward for good [anything] but good? Surat ar-Rahman, Verse 60

I went to the store this week and gassed up the truck. Neither took much. Our home is pretty well stocked (without doing any hoarding, thank you very much) and with the continuing Stay At Home orders in our community, I just haven’t gone anywhere or done anything.

If I go places, it is on foot and just around the neighborhood. While the early stages of our current crisis felt a bit like Solitary Confinement on a global scale, against which I kicked and bucked like a delirious demon-bull at the rodeo (more like a tired old geezer being told it is time for his Geritol, truth be told), I must admit that the slower pace has begun to feel as warm and comfortable as those old leather dress shoes that have finally softened and conformed to fit your feet just right.

There is something about perambulating at a natural pace that feels good. The backyard has come alive with the flowering azaleas, blue bells, forget-me-nots, and hyacinths. The daffodils and tulips are done for the season (they really don’t last long at all), but the roses are budding and will soon be drawing humming birds and honey bees to their life-giving sweets.

I have mentioned in the past that the land and I are not great friends. I prefer concrete and steel. You don’t need to mow cement; weeds don’t grow on steel. I never have to clean my shoes after walking on asphalt, but when I come in from working in the yard, I track in all sorts of yard debris – dead grass, dirt, slug slime – and then I have to clean up after myself so that the labor never ends. Woe is me!

However, since I don’t have the luxury of hopping into the truck and running hither, thither, and yon like the proverbial chicken sans skull, I do have the time to step outside and walk amongst the various plants like a new-born Adam. They have become my children and I find myself wondering: Who the heck are you? What’s your name?

A friend dropped by last summer and we showed her our yard, and she was delighted by the wonderful variety of flowers and bushes. She would oo and ah, and she identified each and every one by its “proper” Greek or Latin designation. “Oh, what a beautiful Azalea Rhododendron Ericaceae,” or “Hyacinthoides Campanula Rotundifolia!”

I confess I didn’t pay much attention. I find it easier to simply recall them as Azaleas or Blue Bells or Forget Me Nots (on those rare occasions I recall anything at all). Some people have a gift for gardening and are adept at attending to proper details – like how much sun or shade a plant needs, or how often to water, or how much water to apply (and at what time of day). Sadly, I am not one of them. But now that I have time, perhaps I can begin to at least learn some of the names of these, my children, eh?

Or maybe I should go about my “Adam” business and name these flowers and bushes myself. I mean, why should I have to suffer the slings and arrows of scientists who see the world through their little microscopes and give these living organisms names that come from dead languages?

What’s wrong with naming my children Red Bush By the Birch Tree, Bee Collector Watch-it, Blue Bells Out Front, or Is That a Weed or a Plant?

There is no small satisfaction that comes with identifying our outdoor sentinels in a manner that is every bit as orderly and meaningful as that done by scientists in their lairs. The names may not have the panache of scientific nomenclature, but what does one expect from a Viriditas Bipedal Vulgaris (common two-legged weed)?

If there is anything good to come from this pandemic we’re all struggling with, it may just be our reconnecting with the universe (and the One) who binds us all together.

There is joy in becoming more familiar with the world in which we live. Familiar – family-like – reminds us that we’re all related. Perhaps I shall name the “Forget Me Not” Blessing, for we don’t ever want to forget our blessings here in this, our valley.