I’m prepping for a fight. Even though I have three big tough brothers (yep, sucking up in case any of them ever reads this) I don’t know how to fight. I couldn’t throw a punch if my life depended on it. Maybe I’ll need to call one of them in for a little tag-team action. If I was a girl who liked to play the odds, I’d bet that I’m going to get my socks rocked.
Now, who is it that I will be fighting? 24 year old, “professional,” Christian women don’t fight, right? Truth, fight might be a bit dramatic of a term for what I’m prepping for. My fight is going to take place in the calming scenario of my couch, with candles burning, pen and journal in hand. I’ll be fighting against myself, my will and stubbornness in fact. I never learned to punch and jab, but I did pick up some pig-headedness along the way. I’ve been stewing in stubbornness for months now.
This fighting analogy emerged last night with the Ecclesia Leadership team. I said that I was tired of fighting to be happy. We discussed what it means to go to the mat with God, to really hash out our frustrations with him. Everyone kept telling me that its good to fight. I had my arms crossed, and all the while I was thinking “When I said I was tired of fighting, I meant I wanted to hang my gloves neatly on a hook by the door as I walked out. “ Classic fight or flight response. When the catacholamines hit the floor, I like to fly. I admitted I don’t know how to float like a butterfly, or sting like a bee, and I mean that in the sense of a spiritual fight as well.
So maybe this fight just requires me to lay down and surrender. I could really hang up my gloves.