For me, life in “the arena” means spending more time on my knees with my face in the mud than parading around in victory laps. It feels like I’m getting my ass kicked more often than not, and in-between punches to the gut I catch quick glimpses of everyone else celebrating their triumphs.
Or so it seems.
It makes you wonder what you’re really getting out of this whole deal. “Success” is defined differently in the arena, but that takes a while to understand. So for most of the fight, you think you’re failing, and usually on the verge of getting knocked out completely. And yet, every time you fall, you get back up.
It doesn’t take long for it to become natural, to the point you don’t really notice the shaking in your knees or the heaviness of your breathing. You fall. You rise. You fall. You rise. And yet, the strength and endurance you’re building goes unnoticed. Especially when you’re looking around at everyone else who isn’t covered in blood, sweat, tears, and mud.
Lots of mud.
And while the mud caked all over your body can be deemed a source of shame, just like the scars and wounds still healing, in reality, it is a robe of glory. For it speaks to the journey of becoming, the fight to be free, that so many choose to dance around rather than trek through. When you get laid out on your back, it’s easy to think everyone standing must have it all figured out. That you’re the one missing it or doing something wrong, when this is the truth of impartation. This is the death and resurrection being played out in real time as with every fall, something that is meant to dies. And every time you rise, something holy comes alive in its place.
As from death comes life, so you can only rise after you fall.
And so here you are , covered in mud and scars and bruises, mastering the art of getting back up. Fighting for life you were created to live in the arena that costs you everything.
So remember, it is not the critics who count. Not the lies and fears that torment you. Not the delusions of grandeur that tell you the fight isn’t worth it. Not the lies that create stories of how everyone else thriving while you’re barely making it moment-to-moment.
What matters is that every time you fall, you get back up. You keep going. Holding onto the hope, even if it is just a flicker, that the One who is with you every step of the way is working in and through you beyond your understanding. All for your good and His glory.