How I See The Enemy In My Children...

As we near the end of my first week in the desert a few things come to mind, a few lessons. A few little nuggets of truth I've uncovered, even a story of reminiscence if you will.

A few days ago I was in the gym with some of my kids playing JJ's Parking Lot. It's a roudy run around game where all the kids stand on one side of the gym and pick out a car they want to be. The "tagger" or the unfortunately fast kid in the center calls out car names and dares the other kids to run the length of the gym without being tagged by him.

The thing I noticed about being in a school with kids who grow up believing basketball is the only sport known to man is that they all think the can shake up the tagger. Kids who know full well they are disgustingly slower and far less graceful then he will walk up to him until they are about five feet from his face. Then they do this little hop and wiggle deal in front of him. Bouncing from one foot to the other trying to get him to guess in what direction they are going to sprint to. I've seen it done and occasionally work in a professional basketball game but with a few over tired kids they don't stand a chance. And I keep watching them for a good fifteen minutes. Every kid has tried it and been tagged out, every kid! And yet every time they still just walk up to him and try to trip him up and get him to run in the direction they've leaned instead of the direction they intend to run to. And I'm watching them and thinking, why don't they just run? Why don't they just set off from the black line as soon as they see him and just run for all their lives are worth? Some of them, most of them in fact would have a chance that way. Because by now the tagger has gotten so used to them thinking they are his equal. He thinks he still has what it takes to take them out, but if they were to pull from this untapped supply of strength and energy he wouldn't' know what hit him by the time they had all left him in their dust.

And I'm the same way with my enemy. But I wonder if most of us are. I stand on the black line at the end of the gym. Like your average fourth grader I'll find every excuse not to run when I'm supposed to. Tie my shoes, run to the bathroom, get a drink. It's too cold, I need my hoodie on. It's too hot I need my hoodie off. And when I finally go I've already proved that I'm scared. I walk up to him. I think maybe by my own strength I can bounce from line to line. Side to side, hoping my false genius and own great ideas can throw him off. And the thing is, most times I'm so busy looking like a fool he doesn't even have to try. All he does is reach out his hand with that smug look of completely undeserved satisfaction and touch me. He didn't even have to move, and it wasn't even a struggle. Instead of making him work for my downfall, I walk right into it.

And I wonder why I live a life where sometimes it doesn't dawn on me to start off in a sprint from the line. Because the honest truth is, sometimes he's going to be faster. Even if I'm running with my short legs blazing he's still going to be fast enough, seeing me fall is still going to be worth it and he'll catch me.

The day I'm referring to, one of my 5 years olds had his little mind made up he was going to tag one of my 10 year olds. My ten year old happens to be the resident speed demon in our program but my little blond 5 year old, that's he wanted. He wanted to take him down! Dethrone him. So the little guy calls out for the older one. He knows it's not a challenge, Jacob is 5. So he does the song and dance number I've been telling you about but he breaks out of it! He takes off running to the left, not full speed but enough to leave Jacob in his dust. Except my older one has no idea how badly Jacob wants him out. He looks behind him quick and sees the little toe head right on his heels and so just as Jacob reaches out his little hand to grab him he loses his balance and comes crashing down. Chin straight into the heels of the kid running in front of him. Bringing our hero down with him. I can hear little bones rattle against the hard floor and close my eyes waiting for their first yelps of pain. But I don't hear them. I hear with utter glee the yells that the tagger has won. Our Hero lies dejected, shattered pride in a pile around him.

Sometimes the enemy is willing to risk taking my heels to chin just to pull me down. But I know that most times, if I call him out for who he is. If I chose how to the game will be played and start off running from the time I'm called. If I run with all my might, legs spinning, arms pumping, heart beating against my chest so hard it might actually rip out from the spaces where my ribs don't touch. If I don't look back. If I refuse to satisfy the fear of looking behind. I can hear his evil cackles, and feel his dirty breath on my neck but if I refuse to satisfy the deep desire to turn around, to look at what I'm facing and just KEEP GOING. I might actually win. I might make it into the arms, clapping and screaming and cheering for me on the other side. A battle won.

And so the odd title of this post was to hook you and get you to read. I don't think I see the enemy in my children. Just their flesh and this awful human condition known as the fall. I see myself in them...their innocent childhood fears so perfectly reflect my hidden ones. Wounds and sins long pushed down. Scabs that keep getting picked off and played with until what should have healed nicely has become a grotesque and painfully obvious scar.

And so I continue, if maybe I have slowed ever so slightly to a walk. I move into week two of my wilderness.