Don't Duck Life

“If you are honest and sincere people may deceive you. Be honest and sincere anyway.” ~ Blessed Mother Teresa of Calcutta, Albanian Catholic Nun, Founder of the Missionaries of Charity, Nobel Peace Prize recipient (1910-1997)

My right arm was tucked in tight against my right side, elbow at my belt line and gloved fist firmly against my cheek. I rested my chin almost on my chest and hunched my shoulders in, protecting my vital organs. Arturo, one of the instructors, laughingly called this the cockroach position.

Dean, a 4th degree Black belt, gracefully stepped to my right, hooking with his left trying to come inside my guard. Pivoting away, the blow still glanced off my sparring helmet. Keeping my left side toward him, I tried to present him with the narrowest silhouette and therefore the smallest possible target; but to no avail. He had been landing his jab on the forehead of my sparring helmet almost at will.

Several times during the sparring session, I had attempted a spinning heel kick which Dean had, each time, effortlessly avoided. Judging he was in range I tried the maneuver again. This time, however, I purposefully allowed the kick to miss, planted my foot and followed through with a spinning back fist. The result was a resounding and satisfying “thunk” as I connected with Dean’s helmeted head. Quickly I moved out of range, congratulating myself.

My satisfaction was short-lived however. Turning to face Dean again, I noticed a change. His eyes narrowed, his jaw set, I knew he was no longer toying with me, he was stalking me. In a moment of, what can only be described as desperation, I chose to attack. Errantly, I came straight forward, rather than at an angle, as I had been taught. Immediately diagnosing my strategy, Dean made a quick crossing step and executed a perfect step-over side kick.

As quickly as I had come forward, I was now traveling backward. The low angle of the kick and its flawless execution had literally launched me. I landed flat on my back on the canvas. The little oxygen left in my lungs went out of me and I lay there like a beached grouper gasping for air.

A moment later, Dean was standing over me looking down, not triumphantly, but with concern. Pulling off his glove, he popped out his mouthpiece. “Sorry man, reflex action. You OK?” he asked. “Not sure,” I croaked. Slowly I started to roll onto my side. A ribbon of pain shot through my ribcage. Dean knelt next to me and carefully explored the place where his kick had landed with his hand. “Your rib’s pushed in,” he remarked. “Let me fix it.”

Standing behind me, Dean reached under my arms and grasped my wrists. In one swift motion he brought me to my feet. Releasing my wrists, he laced his fingers behind my neck, placed me into a full nelson, and leaned back, arching me backwards as he went. In an instant there came a popping sound. A blinding burst of pain shot through my body as the damaged rib shifted back into place.

My wife was not fond of the fact that I took kick-boxing classes. To keep peace, we had made a pact; since I had chosen a hobby which virtually assured physical injury, I had agreed not to complain about them¬ – ever.

The next day, without her knowing, I went for x-rays.

It is easy to view life as a competitive sport. Getting ahead means besting the other people around us, whether at work, in the parking lot, and sometimes even at church or at home. We herald our triumphs and bind up our wounds, only to return to the fray again the next day.

Operating in a competitive world means protecting oneself; never giving ourselves away or exposing ourselves to perceived harm. Our natural inclination, when we come under what we perceive as an attack, is to “circle the wagons.” This is particularly true when it is our beliefs which are being threatened.

All the techniques I learned in kick-boxing seem to apply. Expose as little of yourself as possible displaying only the narrowest silhouette. Distance is your greatest ally and if you must get close to someone, do so only briefly. Wherever possible, engage your opponent only on your own terms. Keep your fists closed, your head down and your arms tucked in to protect yourself. In other words, employ the cockroach position.

As Christians, Jesus provides us with a very different perspective. Our prevalent image of Christ is naked, nailed to a cross, arms spread wide, fully exposed, unable to protect himself. Jesus lived his life full out, with incredible openness and frankness. This “openness” is freedom at its best and purest.

Conversely, the efforts we take to protect ourselves, to avoid mistakes, to be successful, to avoid embarrassment, to always be right, also restrict us. In fact, protective, closed approaches confine, constrain and limit us. Like Christ, we are called to live our lives openly and freely. Trying to protect what we are and to restrict who we are, only magnifies our personal issues; it doesn’t resolve them.

Life is not a boxing ring. It is a wide-open vista of possibilities. If you don’t let down your guard, you will never encounter them.

Dear God, help me this day to live my life openly.

“In the final analysis, it is between you and God. It was never between you and them anyway.” ~ Blessed Mother Teresa of Calcutta, Albanian Catholic Nun, Founder of the Missionaries of Charity, Nobel Peace Prize recipient (1910-1997)


© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.

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