God in the Octagon

Round 3

Blessed be the Lord, my rock, who trains my hands for war, and my fingers for battle. -Psalm 144:1

Three years later, I was still training with Firas at Tristar, and surprisingly, I was still teaching Jennifer to. She had grown immensely in the sport and had actually entered into an amateur MMA event and won her first fight by TKO 45 seconds in the second round. She was quite the martial artist, and quite the talker during training to, always asking questions about different fighters, how they fought, what they did outside of MMA, what they were like. She was a big George St.-Pierre fan so she was thrilled when she came over, shook her hand, took a picture with her and uploaded it to Instagram. Then, one day, she was going training, but hadn't said much, so I knew something was wrong.

"What's on your mind?" I asked her, after we finished her sparring rounds.

"What do you mean?" she asked, seeming taken back that I was even asking her anything.

"Usually you're much more talkative during training. Obviously something is bugging you."

She sighed and looked away for a second, then turned to me with a look on her face that was a mix of confusion and sadness.

"Have you ever felt like you belong somewhere but at the same time don't believe in it?"

"What do you mean?" I asked, she seemed like she was about to burst into tears so I was considering moving a couple inches away so it didn't get awkward.

"Well, I was raised Christian. Both my mom and dad were protestant, and my dad is a pastor in the Baptist church. After my first amateur fight, he told me that what I was doing was a sin because it was essentially human cockfighting and the bible says to love everyone and to turn the other cheek. He told me that if I continued to fight and still called myself a Christian, I was not only betraying him and the church, but I was going to go to hell."

I was shocked, stunned by the fact that this man of God, someone who preached love and was supposed to be as close to his saviour as possible, would say these things to his own daughter. He had said things that I had never considered, I guess because I had suppressed my religion for so long. After I left home, I figured if my parents didn't love me, then neither did God. And after hearing what this pastor had to say, I knew what I had to do.

"Listen, Jennifer, I was raised catholic. I know that sometimes, life throws curve balls at you and it seems like God abandons you, but martial arts will always be there for you, and so will I."

She turned to me and smiled. Her eyes shone like that first day she walked into the gym.

"Thank you, Jack. That means a lot."

She leaned in and hugged me. I was taken by surprise by this sudden act of affection. I didn't know what to do, so I just hugged her back. She then looked up at me, leaned in and kissed me, tenderly, right on the lips. I didn't know what to do. She was clearly in an emotional state, so I knew I had to handle this lightly. I pulled away and told her softly, "I think we're done her. It's time for your bag work."

Her face was bright red. "Ok. Ok." She was clearly flustered by the whole thing. She walked away to get ready for the punching bag. From across the gym, Firas gave me a look that we both knew meant "Damn man, nice catch." I rolled my eyes at him and walked away. After work, I was walking to my car when Firas came up behind up me and surprised me. He came up behind me and screamed "Gave me your back!!" before putting me into a rear naked choke. I quickly turned around and launched him on to the ground by accident. He laughed and got back up, dusted off his pants and tapped me on the shoulder.

"So," he said, with a grin that stretched from ear to ear, "you and Jen huh?"

"She was having a moment." I grumbled to him, embarrassed that he had seen me, "I was there to comfort her."