WRESTLING

Come back with me some thirty five years to LeTourneau College. To the heat of eastern Texas on a campus where the girls were diamonds and the boys were rough. The living quarters were as varied as a man's wardrobe of bell bottoms and leisure suits. " Sir, would you prefer an old army barrack, a room in our brand new plush cement bomb shelter or a suite in an old Hilton Hotel." I didn't need much, I was a man of little consequence. So I accepted the luxury hotel suite, the pool...the whole deal.

I had a wonderful friend back then whose biceps made my thighs look small and out of proportion. You see, Dan lifted weights and wrestled for the college. I had played a little basketball and tennis but had never participated in the sport of bad uniforms and humiliation. By bad uniforms I mean bad uniforms. What I mean by humiliation is that wrestling is not a team sport. If you won it was great, if you lost...you lost. You stood out there in front of everyone and took your lumps. There was no sharing the blame, you were alone.

As a fan it was so easy to watch someone out on the mat struggling and do the official annoying yell; " just stand up". I didn't understand the reality of that annoyance until Dan asked me to be his practice partner. I would go for a take down and find that moving his leg was like repositioning the foundation of the Eiffel Tower. This musclebound person would flop me around like a rag doll on a sweaty, smelly rubber mat finally jumping on top of me for my final demise. He would body slam me, put me in holds the names of which seem somewhat inappropriate, and continually pin me to the mat. My perspective changed. If someone would have told me to "just stand up" during my drubbing I may have lost whatever composure I had left.

This may not make sense to you but thoughts like these caused me to quit writing for a spell. A friend of mine created a pod-cast which explained the difference between a thinker and a doer. Often I think and draw conclusions leading to frustration as I analyse why people act and do what they do. I draw ideas from my perspective, my dealings...my way of life. With my brilliant overtones I think I can solve these dilemmas which have caused such anxiety. But really my conclusions are only the annoying "just stand up." Of course I care. But the empathy is often self served because I want a change to alleviate the hassle in my life. It was time to put the pen down and the wrestling shoes on.

Jesus got in the face of people. He didn't conjecture from a wing back chair in the den. He didn't assume the woman at the well was scummy and should be spanked. He didn't assume the Pharisees were perfect because they were religious leaders. He didn't assume Peter should just stand up. He entered their lives and saw what they needed. He saw a woman who needed a different kind of love. He saw a bunch of men that completely missed the point of His Father's words and needed a boot in the shorts. And He saw a man reaching out and helped him stand up. Granted, He is God, He knows what to do... of course He will help us as well.

Do I always know what people need? Generally... no. Do I know the brokenness behind difficult relationships?Do I know the hurt, the struggles or the void? Should I be a coach, a father or just a friend? I do know that sometimes they can't just stand up. I wrestle with myself. Many times my pen scribbles, but my feet can walk with them. Too often, however, I say what to do before I do what

I should.