Not Done Yet

I’m sure his intentions were good.  I think he meant the best.  His best was just a bit awkward.

I met him early in my fighting career.  He was a coach and promoter, and I was a young fighter who fought on many of his cards against many of his fighters.  He had been around for my first fight (it was on his fight card against his fighter) and had hovered near most of my subsequent fights.  In all honesty, he had done me a bit dirty a few times over the years—things were a bit shady in the fight world (especially in the early days), and I didn’t have professional management.

He seemed to genuinely care now.  He had come to find me before the show started—I was scheduled to fight in a few hours and had just completed my medical checks and the rules meeting.  I was on my way to the warmup area when I ran into the place where he had been waiting to talk with me.

“You’ve been doing this for a long time now,” he said in a low, deep voice.  I imagine it’s getting to the end of your career.”

It felt a little weird, admittedly.  I was just a few hours out from my next fight, and he was talking about my career being over.  It wasn’t something that had crossed my mind.

“Look,” he said.  “If you want to call this your retirement fight, we can do something really nice for you.  We’ll finish things on a high note with a celebration.  You’ve been a big part of the fight community in this area and I’d love to pay some kind of homage for all you’ve done.”

There wasn’t a lot of space in my brain at that moment.  I was still dealing with the stress of the fight I was about to fight.  The idea of retirement hadn’t even been a dim flicker in my preparation.  I opened my mouth but couldn’t think of anything to say—my lips opened and closed like a fish.

My coach—my friend and mentor—was standing at my side.  I’d been so taken aback by the unexpected conversation that I forgot he was there.

“Joel’s got a lot more in him,” my coach said to the promoter.  “We’re not done yet.  We’re just getting started.”

“I was just thinking it might be a good idea,” that promoter replied.  “He’s been at it a while now and he’s not getting any younger.  The fighters he’s fighting are young and at the top of their games.”

I took some sort of pride in the fact that I’d never pursued an easy route.  I’d fought some of the toughest opponents the region had to offer.  Sometimes I was successful and sometimes I was not, but I was sitting on a winning record.  I suppose I could hang it up and call it a successful career if I wanted to.

But I didn’t want to.

“Yeah,” my coach shrugged, almost nonchalantly, “he’s fighting some tough guys, but he’s doing just fine.  We’re not ready to talk retirement right now.  We’ve got a lot more left in us.”

It was the promoter’s turn to shrug.  He walked away to take care of some other business of some sort.

My coach turned to me and looked me directly in the eyes.  “We’re not done yet.  We’ve got a lot more left in us.  Let’s go get warmed up.”

Guilt and shame are powerful weapons.  They are doubly powerful, I think, when I wield them against myself.  They lead directly down a path to worthlessness and unworthiness.  They are a devastating combination—like a hard right-cross followed by a brutal left-hook.

I’ve messed up a lot.  Made left turns when I was supposed to do right, deliberately done the thing I knew was wrong, or treated people in ways unbecoming of the faith I claim.  Every time I do it—every time I accept a lesser version of myself—I feel like I’m eroding a portion of my standing in the Kingdom of God.

I’m of no use and I am of no value to God.  I refused His every good gift and intentionally sought out inferior assets.  I squandered opportunities.  I treated treasure with disdain.  I didn’t live up to who I was supposed to be.

In short, I have plenty to be ashamed of.

I’ve been struggling against this very much of late.

I was supposed to be a minister.  I went to Bible college.  When I was a young man, someone told me that God had revealed to them that I was going to do incredible things for His kingdom.  There were expectations.  Most of those were expectations I had of myself.

And I threw them all away.

Through an corroding series of decisions—and a little complacency—I squandered the purpose God had built into me.  I burned it in a slow fire of apathy and rebellion.  I removed myself from God’s gameboard like a captured chess piece.

I made myself to be of no use to God.

I was never able to escape God in my life, no matter how hard I tried—I tried hard a few times.  I just neutralized my standing in His kingdom.  I stepped out of His will and into a narrative that I built for myself.  Of course, my narrative proved flimsy and left me powerless.  Eventually, I recognized my error, but not before I had spiritually deactivated myself.

I worked myself back into the graces of my God and creator—actually, He worked me back to Him.  I found myself back in His presence but in a lesser form of what I used to be.  I’m a recycled version of the servant God made me to be.

I am of lesser value.

The voice in my mind that belongs to me brings nothing but condemnation.  I am ashamed, and my enemy knows my shame.  My enemy is a clever enemy and will deploy any weapon against me, especially a weapon of my own making.  My shame is a blade that I point at my own heart for my enemy to thrust.

So wages the war inside of my soul.  I battle against myself while my enemy strives against me.  I fight a fight that I cannot win because I am outnumbered and I am outflanked.  My shame is a weapon that I cannot defeat…

…not on my own.

Now the Scripture says, Everyone who believes on Him will not be put to shame (Romans 10:11) 

My enemy is screaming in my face.  He is telling me that I am of no use.  I’m done.  I’ve ruined everything and there’s nothing left to salvage.  I had my chance and I burned it all down.  I’m out of chances and it’s time to sit down not bother trying.

But then I hear another voice.  A small whisper.  It’s small but it’s clearer than anything I’ve ever heard before.

“You’re not done yet.”

I am reminded of the prophet Jonah.  He messed everything up.  God called him to a mission and Jonah ran the exact opposite way.  Jonah did it all wrong.  Jonah did it a lot like I would have.  I would have messed it all up, too, just like Jonah did.  But God wasn’t done with Jonah.

Then the word of the LORD came to Jonah a second time: (Jonah 3:1) 

God’s not done with me, either.

I’ve done my level best to neutralize myself in God’s kingdom, but God still has a part for me to play.  My enemy is an accuser.  He shows up to tell me that I am of no use.  He reminds me of my every shortcoming and failure because he knows that my shortcomings and failures are the clearest path to my demise—especially if I allow myself to be defined by them.  If he can accuse me enough and convince me that he’s right then he can remove me as a threat.

But then—subtly—my God and savior is suddenly standing at my side.  I don’t know how He got there because He was always there.  He was always at my side.  Maybe I just forgot that He was there.  I lose focus like that, sometimes.

But my God never loses focus.  He steps forward, almost nonchalantly, and looks my enemy in the eye—He looks at the enemy that is me and He looks at the enemy that is my spiritual adversary.  He shrugs.

“He’s not done yet.”

Therefore, no condemnation now exists for those in Christ Jesus, because the Spirit's law of life in Christ Jesus has set you free from the law of sin and of death. (Romans 8:1-2) 

My adversary is stubborn and doesn’t always like to listen.  He points to my past and to my failures.  He reminds me of all the ways I should have done—should have been—better.  My eyes follow his accusing finger to the place where I am now and I see my failures.  What do I have to offer?

“Keep your head down and stay invisible,” says the enemy of my soul—and in my soul.  “You’ve lost all credibility.”

But then the God who stands beside me simply whispers, “you’re not done yet.”

I am sure of this, that He who started a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus. (Philippians 1:6) 

I find myself looking across the room at someone I barely know.  I have no knowledge or insight of them, but I can tell they are hurting.  There is pain in their eyes.  God made me really good at seeing pain in peoples’ eyes.  I want to walk across to where they are and tell them they are not alone.

There’s the enemy of my soul, once more in my ear.  “Stay still,” he says.  “You’re a fool to believe that your God would send someone like you!”

The God who stands beside me simply whispers, “you’re not done yet.”

Because of the LORD's faithful love we do not perish, for His mercies never end.  They are new every morning; great is Your faithfulness! (Lamentations 3:22-23)

I know I have something to say.  I know my words would be of value, not only to myself but to the others here.  In that place where my mind and my heart join another battle begins.

“Stay silent.  Don’t make this about yourself,” says the accuser inside of me.  “Nobody cares what you think because they know who you are and what you’ve done.”

Maybe there was a time when my words would have held weight—in a time when the source  would have been unscarred and unmarred.  But I am both of those things—scarred and marred.  I’m battered, bruised, and maybe it’s time to be out of the fight.

But then, once again, my God stands at my side.  He looks at me, then at my opponent, then back at me once more.  His eyes stay there one me, peering into my soul.  “We’re not done yet.  We’ve got a lot left in us.”

Certainly, I’ve made a lot of mistakes.  Some of my mistakes were made with great intention and malice.  Some where made in ignorance.  Every one of them is a blemish on the image of me that was supposed to be God in me.  I’m a poor reflection unworthy of being seen.

I was reminded recently—by an actual artist—that flaws are often the best part of art.  The best artists turn imperfections into beauty.  And my God is the greatest artist of all.  He is still crafting me and creating the image in me that is the image of Him.

Yet LORD, You are our Father; we are the clay, and You are our potter; we all are the work of Your hands. (Isaiah 64:8) 

I received a devastatingly beautiful message from someone recently, because God frequently chooses to speak to me through the people in my life.  It was a sweet message from someone I had chosen to be vulnerable with and it reminded me that God isn’t done with me yet.  I’ve got more to offer and He’s got much more to offer through me.

I have a friend who refuses to allow me to accept my unworthiness.  He keeps calling on me to take up projects for the furtherance of the Kingdom.  In some ways, he doesn’t even give me a choice.  He decides it’s a thing I need to do and assumes I’m going to do it.  Funny thing is that he’s right.  Those are the places I’m supposed to be.

I think that, sometimes, my shame can transform into an excuse for complacency.  I grow too readily comfortable with inaction.  Complacency is a slow death and I’m not ready to die.  I’ve still got some purpose left in me.  God’s still got a part for me to play. 

Though a righteous man falls seven times, he will get up, but the wicked will stumble into ruin. (Proverbs 24:16) 

It was a few years later when my coach and I ran into that same promoter at a Jiu-jitsu tournament.  We were all there coaching our respective teams.  Lots of time had passed and now we were all passing our knowledge on to younger fighters.

“We’re getting old,” he said to my coach and I.  “We can’t do what we used to do.”

That was accurate to a degree.

“Our time has come and gone,” he told me.  “There’s just not a lot of this stuff left for us.  We can’t even get on the mats most days.”

“I’m not sure about that,” my coach told him.  “We still love being on the mats. It gives us life.”

I was looking at my phone, trying not to be rude and seem like I was ignoring the conversation.   I had important information to get from it.  I checked the screen then turned to my coach.

“I’ve got to start warming up.  My match is in less than an hour.”

Because I’m not done yet.