Red and yellow, black and white, all are precious in His sight.
Boxing is probably no longer considered a politically or socially correct sport for a grey-haired lady of a certain age to admit that she once enjoyed. Too much like the gladiators fighting to the death while the Empress, in her royal box, cheered them on. A violent world, enjoyed, in modern times, by the cigar smoking gamblers and the down and out, the rich and the famous.
My father-in-law had been a boxer in the Army and for some time after WW ll. We (our family) watched the matches on television, attended the olympic tryouts the year they were held in Jacksonville, and supported the local boxing profession whose cause was getting and keeping wayward teens off the streets.
After several years of watching, something amazing happened. I no longer saw black or white or Mexican or Cuban or English speakers or Spanish speakers. I only saw boxers. Red or yellow, black or white, after ten rounds, I couldn't tell you anything about them except to recite their fight statistics.
And just like that, would that we could become colorblind and deaf to language barriers and care only for the scorecard, written in BIG BOLD LETTERS, "We have a tie decision. All are equally precious."
