Three men sitting at a table. One man in a black t-shirt, another in a white t-shirt, and the third in a red t-shirt. The table is stacked three feet high, from one end to the other….with cheeseburgers. The three men are told that they’re allowed to have as many cheeseburgers as they want, so long as they eat what is in front of them.
The cheeseburger-eating contest begins. The black t-shirt guy to the left, the white t-shirt in the middle, and the red t-shirt on the right. Cheeseburgers are flying everywhere, the three guys covered in mayo and catsup. In the midst of the chaos, you catch a glimpse of the white t-shirt guy leaning over his section and taking handfuls of cheeseburgers from the black t-shirt guy. You can’t say anything though. You’re merely a spectator. The red t-shirt guy says nothing.
The contest is paused briefly so that the contestants can gain their composure, and so that the judges can guage their progression. The cheeseburger pile has diminished quite a bit. The white t-shirt guy in the center is nearly unable to breathe. His t-shirt is on the verge of ripping right down the center, but he doesn’t seem to care as he leans back and wipes sweat and catsup from his chin. The pile to his right is the exact same height, belonging to a still rather thin black t-shirt guy. He’s looking very hopeful, thanking his excellent genes, and surprised because he didn’t think he could eat so many cheeseburgers so quickly. He checks his fingers; just barely a dollop of mayonnaise. His shirt is nearly clean. The naked eye says that he’s consumed almost 10 burgers, but his stomache only says 3. He shrugs the thought off. “Look at what i HAVE.” he says “Look at what i HAVE!”
The contest begins again. The white shirt sits back, relaxing comfortably while the black shirt and the red shirt consume consume consume.
consume.
consume.
consume.
They fight so hard to get what they know is theirs. Black shirt slaves away at his pile. He starts getting full, but he’s not satisfied yet. He hasn’t won yet. He starts to succeed and he’s excited. He’s covered in sweat too, but not from being full. He’s covered in the sweat of labor. The sweat of struggle. He raises a catsup-filled fist to the air, his eyes full of self pride, and yells “Black-shirt power!”
White shirt has more than he needs. He’s taken from the other contestants, but he reaches over once in a while. A cheeseburger from the black. A cheeseburger from the red. He just wants more.
More.
More.
He knows he is winning. He is way ahead of the game. He raises his fist in the air too.
My question to you is:
Who has the right to glory?
