In Between

It’s the “not yet” moments that drive me crazy.  They drive me crazy because I struggle to understand them.

I have never been a patient man, and that lack of patience often translates into the way I fight.  I tend to want to force the issue.  I like to set the pace.  I want to be the one to determine where the fight goes next.

I’m really bad at patience.

I’m really bad at waiting.

In fighting, we usually call them transitions.  They are the moments when we move from one technique into the next, like setting up the takedown with a little misdirection.  We flow from one aspect of the fight into another.  But when we are transitioning from one place to the next, we must wait until all of the right pieces are in place.  We have to wait to transition until the time is right.

These are the moments in between the moments, the important movements and positions that have to be set before we move on to the next.  And they might be the hardest thing I have ever tried to learn.  I am terrible at waiting for everything to settle.  I just want to move forward.

I wait for Yahweh; I wait and put my hope in His word.  I wait for the Lord more than watchmen for the morning— more than watchmen for the morning.  (Psalms 130:5-6)

But I do remember that one time, that one time I remembered to listen and wait.

There I was in the fourth round.  Fourth rounds only happen in title fights and I was fighting for a title.  He was a tough opponent, very skilled—I think he had actually been an Olympic athlete at some point in his career.

He had come to fight and caught me with a wicked overhand right early in the fight.  The punch had rattled me all the way to my toes.  I had managed to recover, but not without damage.  We had traded blows—punches, kicks, takedowns, and takedown attempts.  I had managed to land a good knee to his forehead and followed it with a solid takedown, but he had quickly swept me and reversed the position, moving to top and landing more than one solid strike.

The third round had ended and we were both marked up and dripping in sweat.  We retreated to our separate corners while struggling to reign in our breathing.  My corner was fast—some of my best friends to this day—with quick observations and advice.  One of my friends—my coach and training partner—quickly admonished me, “don’t be in a hurry.  Set it up.  You’ve got this! ” The bell rang and I started to the center of the ring.  He was tough, that was sure, but I saw something there, something that told me I could possibly win this thing.  I flicked out a couple of jabs and he winged a kicked at my head that gratefully missed.  I tested him with a quick right-cross and he suddenly closed the gap, spanning the space between us and going to work in the clinch. 

We traded punches and knees, wrenching on each other’s heads and digging for underhooks.  And then it was there, the opportunity I had not expected.  It was not a big moment.  It was a very small movement.  But it left a gap—a small gap—that gave me a moment to dig for the body-lock, clasp my hands, and turn my hips.  We hit the mat with me on top in side-control, and unexpected outcome in that transition.

And I couldn’t afford to lose that position.

I pressed my chest tight to his and threw a few short punches.  I could feel him straining to escape and I was pretty sure he was stronger than me.  I touched him with a couple more punches as he framed off against my face—just like I would expect a strong grappler to do.  I could feel it.  I was going to lose this position.  I was going to let him back into the fight.

I waited patiently for the LORD, and He turned to me and heard my cry for help.

He brought me up from a desolate pit, out of the muddy clay, and set my feet on a rock, making my steps secure.

He put a new song in my mouth, a hymn of praise to our God. Many will see and fear and put their trust in the LORD. (Psalms 40:1-3)

I could feel that I was losing the position.  I knew my window for success was closing.  But then I heard it, my coach’s voice.  “Joel,” he shouted (I could always find his voice, even in the noise), “Knee-on-belly!  Wait for it.  He’s going to open up and that’s when you go!”

Despite the noise, despite my black eye that I could feel swelling, and despite the fact that I felt like I was losing this position, I strangely heard my coach’s voice over all the distraction.  I was going to move to knee-on-belly, and I was going to do it when he opened up.  I was going to wait until the time was right, and then I was going to move.

 Wait for the LORD; be strong and courageous. Wait for the LORD. (Psalms 27:14)

And so I waited. I waited for what felt like forever—fight time is always severely distorted.  I could feel him priming—getting ready to throw all of his energy into his next attempt.  And then he did—he exploded away from me, turning his hips in the first set of movements that would bring him back to his feet.

That was the moment I exploded, too.  I exploded into the knee-on-belly that my coach had called out for, the one he had told me to wait for.  As he turn, I posted to that next transition, my knee seeking its target…

…and the best thing happened…

…he continued his turn.  He didn’t do it on purpose.  My knee-on-belly had pressed him further away than he wanted.  It had almost rolled him to his belly.  In that moment I slid into the back-take and locked the position.  It was only seconds later that I was sinking the choke and a few seconds later that I was having my hand raised in victory.

Because I had waited until the right time.

Yet, still, I am so bad at this.  I am bad at the times between the times,  I am terrible at the transitions.  I am bad at waiting.  I have nothing that resembles patience.

I think it goes without saying that the moments I least enjoying waiting in are the hard ones.  I think it goes, also without saying, that the hard moments are the ones I most need to wait in—even though I don’t want to.  I hate waiting.  I hate waiting when things are difficult.  I just want to move on.  I want to move to the next moment, to the moment that doesn’t hurt so much.  I want to make the transition.

But the time is wrong.  God is doing something.  I don’t know what it is, but God is doing something.  And that something requires that I wait.  Because God is not bound by time.  His vision is boundless and He can see what will be, and what I will be, when the time is made right.

Dear friends, don't let this one thing escape you: With the Lord one day is like a thousand years, and a thousand years like one day. (2 Peter 3:8)

That doesn’t mean I like waiting.  I’m still terrible at it, even when I know that it’s what I must do.  I think there’s an element of trust to it, too.  I have to believe that God has my best at heart.  And He’s waiting with me, right there in my corner.  He’s at my side, telling me that we can wait together.  And when the time is right, we will transition out of the in between moment into the new moment where we are meant to be.  In the meantime, I wait.  I wait even though I don’t want to.

Wait for the LORD; be strong and courageous. Wait for the LORD. (Psalms 27:14)