Fool's Mate
My dad was a serious chess player. Not just on a Chess board, but in life. He put all his pieces in place and then waited for the chance to check mate us. As he began to loose his battle with Parkinson’s Disease, he foresaw, as any good chess player does, the coming moves and prepared for them. Certain pieces - his pieces - were in position to block squares and protect his Queen. Other pieces were being played by other players. And his adversary was constantly moving closer to a strike that he could never live with. I was a piece Dad played a long time ago and I have faithfully stood on my square throughout the gambit.
But you know, there was another chess game going on. Aside from just being the piece placed in position by my father, I stood my ground because of the preceding four months in the Church. God prepared me, without my being aware, to stand where Dad placed me, with strength I did not know I had.
The day after Dad died I fell down some stairs. Now, I do this all the time - weekly in winter. But this time I broke my toes and could no longer run the miles I had been building toward a marathon goal. This seemed to me at the time as a sign from God to walk not run through the process. But now I see that it was a great deal more than that. I've changed shape since I broke my foot because not running does not mean not drinking mochas. And my lovely size 10 clothes are now blimpy size 12 clothes and don't feel too good. They no longer fit. They feel tight, they look wrong and they are, frankly, too happy for the somber spring that follows the broken winter. I changed shape on the outside which is only "fitting" because I have changed shape on the inside as well.
People look at my broken foot and say, "She was training for a marathon therefore she broke her foot running." It’s patently wrong, factually wrong. I ran healthy, but I fell on my ass down some stairs and walked on it for four weeks. That is the way I broke my foot. But there's no telling people that, they think they know and there's no correcting them.
People look at me and say, "Her father died and she's changed; she wants to go to grad school, she's changed her sport, she's changed her aspirations, and she's fat." Again, logical but wrong. My father died but the change inside me began long before, prepared me for the death of my father and set me up for a dark winter and a spring in which I burst into bloom. But there's no telling people that, they think they know and there's no correcting them.
Pawns, you know, can only see one or possibly two squares ahead. Unless the chess player plays with a flourish, the pawn never gets a bird’s eye view of the whole board and never knows what his role on it is. If he did, the pawn might relax and let the player move him at will. If he did, the pawn might be both more humble and more determined about his importance in the field. But he cannot. The pawn can only find himself, or in my case “herself” sitting on the square where they were placed and wondering what can come next.
In the case of my father’s game, I knew the gambit. He told me as he placed me, he was explicit and I was resigned. But in the case of the other Chess player – the one who lined me up in a pew with a prayer book, an insightful minister and a world of wonder in my head – that one told me nothing in advance. To be a pawn for that player required faith. I did not know I had it. I did not know I would need it. But when the pieces began to move around me, I found myself in a perfect spot. I was both offensive and defended, both critical and incremental. Where I might have felt sadness or dismay, I was positioned by my father and played by God in such a way as to end in victory. It would have been easy to feel like a pawn, to feel used. But instead felt I like a valued piece, loved and protected.
It is true that I have changed as a result of these experiences. I have certainly changed outside but that is only “fitting” because I have absolutely changed inside as well. I am no longer a faint and frightened pawn being played in a game I cannot understand or even really see. I am being played by a brilliant and loving hand. I can see much more of the game, and faith in the player makes the strategy slightly less obscure to me. I have changed through these hard months from a pawn into some other, more free and powerful piece. And judging from the fit of my jeans, it’s a Rook.
