When my second daughter and my son were younger, we signed them up for karate classes (their older sister preferred ballet). Twice a week, we made the drive down from Arnold to their karate studio in Murphys, where they had class with 20 other sweaty kids in a cramped space. They both loved and hated it, honestly, but it was a delight to watch my daughter and my son both work hard and learn how to strike, kick, and defend themselves.
One year, my daughter Hailey attended a tournament down in the valley. She was young, around 13 years old, and a tiny little thing. At this tournament, she progressed and progressed through each round until it became apparent she was going to be matched against other kids with a tremendous amount of talent. Those other kids weren’t just talented, though – they were BIG. Big boys. Because the tournament was classed by age only, not size and not gender, she ended up going against some very big 13 year old boys who were strong and scary. When it came to her final match, my brave little daughter put on her safety gear, and slowly walked out to the middle of the mat to face her final opponent.
Of course, on the sidelines, I was a trainwreck, but knew that I had to breathe and cheer and speak as much confidence into my little girl as I could. I also knew she was relatively safe — the gear was good and the students, including her opponents, were well -trained in the rules of safety. But, still, those boys were big and I watched as my daughter was punched at, kicked at, and circled again and again. From this mom’s eyes, if I had watched only the punches and the kicks, I would have exploded in fear and yanked my daughter off that mat.
But I wasn’t watching the punches and the kicks. I was watching the blocks. My daughter moved her forearms and blocked every hit and every kick. It was brutal – she was in full defense mode and couldn’t get many offensive strikes in herself, but she blocked everything that was sent her way.
Here’s the thing: she blocked the strikes and the kicks, but they hurt. The sheer force of her opponent’s strength against her forearms and against her defensive kicks caused such pain, soon tears were streaming down her face. But she didn’t stop blocking. She didn’t stop once. She lasted until the whistle was blown and still kept her chin up, even while tears coursed down her cheeks. She lost that final match, but later that little girl grew up to earn her black belt. (I’m pretty sure she could kill me with her little pinky if she wanted to!)
But long before the black belt, on that tournament day in that humid gym, this Momma was proud of her little pint – sized warrior. When we talked later, I expected her to weep and wail about how awful the tournament was. Instead, she responded that it was really hard, but “fun”. Fun? Nothing about that looked like fun to me, but I learned something pretty powerful watching my daughter that day: blocking punches is critical to stay in the game. Blocking punches might even hurt, or hurt a lot, but the punches must be blocked in order to finish the match and not be disqualified.
The truth is, ministry is a lot like that, isn’t it? We have to block the enemy’s punches over and over and over again. We have to be on our guard against what that sinister snake tries to throw at us. In 1 Peter 5:8, we are told to “be sober-minded; be watchful. Your adversary the devil prowls around like a roaring lion, seeking someone to devour.” (ESV)
Make no mistake, the enemy’s plan is nothing short of annihilation. He wants to kill our church. He wants to destroy our ministry. He wants to take out leaders and elders and pastors and everyone in between.
Curious how to block those punches? With His word. Paul tells us in 2 Timothy 1:13 – 14 that we should “follow the pattern of the sound words that you have heard from me, in the faith and love that are in Christ Jesus. By the Holy Spirit who dwells within us, guard the good deposit entrusted to you.” (ESV) Follow the Word. Guard what has been given to us. Let’s be so steeped in the Word that the enemy can’t even gain a single point or foothold in our lives.
So, chin up, my friend. Let’s block those punches. We might even have some fun.
Blessings,
Holly