We fight...

22. July '10

 

It’s not a popular topic to talk about fighting in these days when the whole world cries “peace”. We long for peace… in the world, in our lives and especially within ourselves. “Peace, peace, they cry. but there is no peace.” (Jeremiah 6:14, 8:11) Life is not about obtaining peace… it’s about fighting for it. “I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.” (John 16:33) And so we fight… to obtain purity, integrity, authenticity… and then to maintain it. Sometimes we even win some fights. And a lot of times we lose. We get wounded. That’s what happens in battle. 

 

This is a song I wrote back in the eighties and couldn’t seem to find the right music for it… until now:

 

The Fighter

Don Newby  ©1985

Fighter (clip)

 

I saw him stumble down the stairs

that led from the spot-lit ring.

His eyes were swollen, almost closed,

he could hardly see a thing.

I saw the scars of a thousand gloves,

while his hung at his sides.

A fighter fresh from the boxer's ring

isn't hard to recognize.

Is this the man they blessed and sent

to stand and be their light?

In his eyes a strange conviction

returning from the fight.

 

He is the fighter

not the applauder in the crowd.

He is the boxer

not just a fan who cheers out loud.

With every breath he breathes

the prize is all he sees

and his all is all he gives.

 

It's not been very long ago

since the cheering from the stands

was dulled by the pounding in his head

and the heaviness of his hands.

The haze that had filled his head and thoughts

begins to disappearÉ

Like the jet that flies him home slips through

the clouds into the clear.

His friends won't see what he's become.

They'll only see the scars;

Just like prisoners who have no freedom ‘cause

They only see the bars.

 

He is the fighter

not the applauder in the crowd.

He is the boxer

not just a fan who cheers out loud.

With every breath he breathes

the prize is all he sees

and his all is all he gives.

 

 

And now he steps down from the plane

in the town he knows and loves.

Forgotten for the moment is

the pain, the opponents’ gloves.

But he knows it won't be long before

he's in the ring again;

The pounding pain, the gloves, the crowd

that seem to hem him in.

But what he knows now he'll not forget

even when that fight's begun:

It may well be he'll lose this fight,

but he knows the match is won.

 

He is the fighter,

not the applauder in the crowd.

He is the boxer

not just a fan who cheers out loud.

With every breath he breathes

the prize is all he sees

and his all is all he gives.

 

 

The day I stop fighting is the day I die. So… fight on!