“I see you as a boxer. Someone who has been beaten up, bruised, but has gotten back up again,” she proclaimed. Those words still resonate with me, a piano note, held and held a bit more. Is this how God sees me? I love underdogs, maybe because of this. As words of truth poured over me, I began to see myself a bit more how God sees me, a fighter.
The past week has taught me so much about what it really means to fight, falling, all the while failing, yet never giving up. If you’ve ever seen Rocky, you know that Balboa doesn’t win, but boy does he ever take a beating. It’s his endurance, resilient to the end, that’s why we cheer. I remember an Ironman competition, years ago, and hours after the winners finished, a champion crossed the finish line. Others may have gotten the medals, yet he stole their hearts. As all the competitors rushed the water, this man – I don’t recall his name – sat on the beach with his son and inflated a tiny raft, then secured a cord to his ankle. His son had cerebral palsy and he fought for him. For two miles, he swam, pulling this raft, and his son, behind him. On the back of bike for 110 miles, his son sat, and for a grueling twenty six miles he ran, pushing his son along on a rolling cart. He may not have won the race, but everyone knew who the real winner was that day. Through all the pain, he never gave up.
I sometimes question if I have what it takes to be a fighter, and at these times, God reminds me that I don’t have to be the toughest, hardest, most unbeatable boxer out there. I must promise to persevere, because I know He will never give up on me. So I question myself and ask, am I willing to fight? Am I ok with redefining failure? Am I ready to fight for the girl I’ll love, now, before I even know her? Will I protect her from myself? Will I be ruthless, banishing sin in my life? I will fail sometimes, but am I willing to get back up and stay in the fight? I am a brave warrior and my Father tells me I am worthy to be part of His army. Bloody, bruised, broken, yet I refuse to be beaten.
I desire to be tough, yet I’m so weak. I’ve seen the knock out punch, but by the grace of God, I’ve gotten back up. Standing now, but I know in my heart I never had the strength on my own. There are many times that I shouldn’t have gotten back up. And again, I remind myself that it’s not about winning, but standing firm. Unafraid of the knockout punch, bloodied, black and blue, just like Rocky was. A hopeless, one in a billion underdog, I should have never been invited to fight in the first place.
