fight

It’s not a sight you’d expect to see, here in the foothills of the Ozarks. The lush wooded landscape, along with the numerous rivers and creeks that crisscross the valleys and hollows hereabouts, doesn’t bear much resemblance to the cactus and sand-smothered expanses of the desert.

Nonetheless, I know what I saw with my own eyes. While on a longish bicycle ride last week, I actually had to shake my head for a moment in unbelief.

Surely it was my favorite childhood cartoon come to life! Up ahead on the road as I crested a hill, a roadrunner stood, poised for flight.

Greater_Roadrunner_(Geococcyx_californianus)_(3399096675) — photo by Dominic Sherony

Well, not for flight.

The earthbound birds prefer to outrun their predators with their strong and speedy legs instead of using their wings. They can run as fast as 20 miles an hour when pursued.

The thing is, I can ride my bicycle faster than 20 miles per hour. Downhill, anyway. And, I was headed straight for the unfortunate creature as he stood downhill from me.

All Wile E. Coyote-ish, I sped right toward the sprinter.

He, knowing that danger was approaching, ran for all he was worth. I gained quickly. I don’t know if he reached his top speed, but I do know I nearly ran him down.

Zig-zagging all over the road, he gave me no clear path to pass. It was evident that every instinct told the poor bird I was a predator, intent on his destruction. Regardless of the fact I was more intent on avoiding him than running him down, he only knew the terror that being close to death can bring.

At the last second, just before my wheels caught him up, the tricky fellow did the only thing he could do—the one thing he may not have known he had the ability to do—he flew up and off the pavement into the low-hanging branches of a maple tree that hung over the fence about twenty or thirty feet away..

He flew!

The bird that I have always believed could simply avoid any pursuer by out-running it, flew.

Any lingering thought of the Warner Brothers cartoon bird from my youth disappeared from my consciousness with the suddenness of a pricked balloon exploding.

The bird didn’t push the Acme weights off the cliff onto me, didn’t draw a railroad tunnel on the side of a cliff for a train to blast out of and flatten me, didn’t light the wick on a rocket to launch me into the stratosphere.

He flew away.

Gone. Just like that. Disappeared from my sight.

One moment, certain destruction—the next, salvation from on high.

Dare I say anymore? Need I?

Perhaps a word or two.

I’m not the only one who has felt the terror of late; I’ve seen it in the eyes of others. Many see all chance of escape disappearing from their sight.

Some fear for their future, others for their children’s. Aged and hardened old men weep in the darkness for the loss of their loved ones. Young men and women despair of hope.

All run as fast as they can, hoping for escape, but pursued relentlessly by their terror. There is no escape to be found.

I’ve written recently of the wings of eagles and the ability to run without tiring. They are a gift from God and there is hope in His strength. (Isaiah 40:31)

But, what if there is another way? What if the wings and the strong, untiring muscles are not meant to be tools for retreat, but a means of facing the powers that threaten us?

Perhaps, it is time, not for flight, but to fight. (Ephesians 6:10-18)

And yet, I can’t help thinking there is one more thing to be said.

What was it, now? Let me see…

Oh yes. I’m wondering if we’re all that good at identifying our enemies.

The birdbrain that ran away from me on the road that day thought I was his. I wouldn’t have harmed a feather on his body.

I wasn’t his enemy. At all.

Sometimes, fear makes our enemies seem stronger than they are. It even manufactures enemies where there are none.

Perhaps, after all, it is time for us just to stand.

Stand and see the salvation of the Lord.

Neither fight nor flight.

Just plain faith.

Salvation is certain.

Stand still.

Still.

He that flies counts every foeman twice.
(from The Two Towers ~ J.R.R.Tolkien ~ English author ~ 1892-1973)

But you will not even need to fight. Take your positions; then stand still and watch the Lord’s victory. He is with you, O people of Judah and Jerusalem. Do not be afraid or discouraged. Go out against them tomorrow, for the Lord is with you!
(2 Chronicles 20:17 ~ NLT)

Faint not—fight on! Tomorrow comes the song.

“I’ll just take this with me, okay? There might be a poem in it I can use.”

I looked over at the Lovely Lady as I headed toward the door earlier tonight, waving the thin volume in the air as I spoke. The little book of popular poetry from the nineteenth century had come from her parent’s home (and possibly her grandparent’s before that), so I felt I needed her approval.

Smiling at me, she told me to take it. She never expected anything less when she brought it home a while back.

The little book of verse is lying open on my desk even now, along with three or four others. I really didn’t think I would find anything spectacular in it.

Poetry is just poetry. Sometimes.

Men and women in the past did just as many of us do today, sitting and meditating on our days and nights—remembering that we haven’t accomplished what we intended—recalling some important lesson we don’t want to lose in the gray haze of our busy lives. Dashing down words onto a page, we save the thoughts for another night, or another morning. Line by line, the thoughts and words take shape, achieving a semblance of wisdom or wit—or not.

As I glanced through the little book tonight, my eyes fell on the concluding line of a poem by the man who penned the words to that great old hymn, This is My Father’s World. The line is copied above, but I’ll repeat it here to save you the trouble of looking for it.

Faint not—fight on! Tomorrow comes the song.

I froze in the act of flipping to the next page. Then I reached for my phone. Only a week ago, I saved a thought in my notes there, a thought that had arrested me one afternoon. One afternoon—on one of those days.

You know the kind of day I mean. The cares and troubles of the world already pressing down on you are joined by a mountain of tasks to be completed. To add to it all, nothing is going as it should. Nothing. One failure after another—one disgruntled patron after another, lead to the terrifying feeling of drowning.

The words I wrote that afternoon are still there, where I saved them in black and white, and the fear returns.

There are days when I panic and wonder, how do I get to tomorrow from here? Click To Tweet

There are days when I panic and wonder, how do I get to tomorrow from here?

The fear of drowning is real—the fear is—even if the danger is not.

My mind wanders and I see an eight-year-old lad with short blond hair and brown skin crouched beside a swimming pool. Wound up like a spring, he is watching the camp’s activity director closely. The man holds a silver steel ring in his hand and then with a quick motion, releases it into the air to fall in the deep end of the pool. Within a second, the boy is diving into the water, eight feet deep and well over his head.

The idea is to retrieve the ring from the bottom of the pool more quickly than the other boys have achieved the task. He is sure he can do better. There is no fear at all in his mind—yet.

Dropping quickly, he heads for the spot he last sighted the target. As he nears the bottom, his ears begin to pop; the water pressure at that depth is much higher than in the air above or even in the shallows of the other end. No matter, he is still confident, but for some reason cannot see the ring.

His eyes have started burning in the chlorine-treated water and his ears are actually hurting a little now. The boy finds himself a little disoriented, but looking above through squinted eyelids, determines where he is in relationship to the sides and the water’s surface, and continues feeling along the bottom of the concrete pool. Then he feels it.

No. Not the ring; He feels the fear.

He is running out of oxygen in his lungs. He had taken a huge breath prior to jumping in, but his discomfort has used up precious time and burned more air than he expected. It is all he can do to persevere and grab the ring as his hand contacts it.

No, it wasn’t the ring after all, but only the grill around the pool’s drain.

Now panic really is gripping him, his heart pounding uncontrollably in his chest, but he won’t give up.

There! There it is! He has it in his hand and heads to the surface. But, in his panic, he forgets to push off on the bottom and is left to flail and kick his way up, eight long feet to the life-giving oxygen.

In his mind, he is drowning. He can’t get there; the pressure in his lungs is too great. He will have to exhale and breathe in before he reaches the surface. It hurts too much! He knows he will die, simply knows it!

Just as he exhales, the pressure exploding from his mouth and nose, his blond head emerges from the water. Gasping the precious, life-giving oxygen into his lungs, he stabs his hand above his head in triumph—just as if he hadn’t given up all hope just seconds before—and shows the ring to the waiting group.

Two things I remember, fifty years along the road of life. Two things.

The waiting group of swimmers wasn’t all that impressed. No one congratulated me on persevering though the panic. In fact, not one of my fellow campers ever admitted to feeling that same fear. Not one.

Neither did I. Never. Until now.

The second thing? I had to do it all again the very next day. And the next day, and the next.

Life keeps coming at us. Daily. And, we either face it and go through, or we fail in our aspirations. We persevere and push on, or we are overcome and give up.

I don’t want anyone to believe they are the only one who feels that fear. The thing I’m sure of is there is someone close to me and to you right now who is feeling it. Maybe you should ask the person next to you if they’ve ever felt the panic. If they’re honest, they will remember a time. They might even be going through it right this minute.

How about it? Are your eyes burning? Are your lungs bursting? Is your heart beating so fast you think it may never recover?

Me too.

Hang in there. Today, we fight. Ah, but tomorrow? Tomorrow, we sing. Click To Tweet

Hang in there. Today we fight.

Ah, but tomorrow?

Tomorrow, we sing.

Be strong!
It matters not how deep intrenched the wrong,
How hard the battle goes, the day how long;
Faint not—fight on! Tomorrow comes the song.
(From Be Strong by Maltbie Babcock ~ American hymn writer ~ 1858-1901)

When I am afraid, I will trust in You. In God, whose word I praise, in God I trust. I will not be afraid.
(Psalm 56:3,4 ~ NIV)

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