Jonny turned 30 this year.
We could think of no better way to celebrate than watching people punch eachother.
Jonny trains at a local Jiu Jitsu gym – Jiu Jitsu is a martial art that focuses on manipulating the opponent via leverage. Like choking. There are, it turns out, a lot of ways to choke someone. Some of his teammates fought at a local MMA event, which had “birthday ambiance” written all over it.
Our seats were very close to the ring – the eight-sided chain link fence where the fights take place. The first fight was paused only seconds after it started. One of the EMTs peered into a fighter’s eyes with a flashlight. Blood ran down the side of his head from a cut in his eyebrow. I leaned over to Jonny and asked, “Did they stop the fight because he’s bleeding?”
“No. They don’t stop these just for blood.”
I had a front row seat to a lot of action that I didn’t recognize. But several fights later, as I was watching the fighter in the blue shorts build momentum with his strikes, something clicked. The onslaught of disturbing thoughts runs on the same pace. Spiraling into temptation is like taking series of punches to the face.
One moment, I’m alert and on my feet. The next, I’m hit with a wave of resentment.
Don’t you remember what she said and how she looked when she said it?
I snap back with my fists up, trying to prepare for the next strike, but I misread it.
They probably laugh about it all the time.
My back is on the cage.
She did it to you on purpose.
My face hits the mat. A bell rings. I hardly hear it over the hatred clamoring around in my head.
In MMA, there are rules about not going after the other fighter’s weak spots. No punches to the back of the head or the spinal column, no poking in the eyes, no kicking someone while he’s down. Our enemy doesn’t pay attention to rules like that. We can get punched in the childhood wounds and the lifelong insecurities over and over.
I find it easy to transpose that understanding onto my troubles with sin and despair and darkness. But when it comes to making the same allowance for others, especially the ones closest to me…
The crowd at fight night was alive. We cheered, we clapped, we screamed, we cried, and we criticized. Oh man. Just, constant commentary about what the fighters were doing wrong.
“Why did he uppercut instead of cross?”
“Stop grabbing the cage! That’s illegal!”
“He’s not standing up after that one!”
I couldn’t help thinking that I often watched my loved ones’ battles in a similar way. Cheese pretzel in hand, witty remark at the ready, huge expectations hovering over everything.
But it doesn’t have to be that way.
My high school track coach kept a faded quote from a Teddy Roosevelt speech in his notebook. He read it to us on the days before meets:
“It is not the critic who counts, not the one who points out how the strong man stumbled or how the doer of deeds might have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred with sweat and dust and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs and comes short again and again; who knows the great enthusiasms, the great devotions, and spends himself in a worthy cause; who, if he wins, knows the triumph of high achievement; and who, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who know neither victory nor defeat.”
As I live alongside other people – not people in general, but people in the very particular – I can try to recognize and remember this. After all, there is something inspirational about watching a human take a punch to the head and keep moving toward the goal. I can give the credit to the man in the arena, no matter how battered or beaten he may look. I can put the cheese pretzel down and use my words to encourage.
Like a Punch in the Face
I love that quote from Teddy Roosevelt! It's one of my favorites! Great observations! It's also nice to know that we are never alone in the fight!