Every Trial can be Burned into the Fight.

Somewhere between hospitals and trips to the library, tachycardic runs and being told to "put twenty of those books back," I came across a handful of words that have meant more to me than I can quantify. I'm going to try anyway.

I carry a little scrap of paper in my wallet. I slid it in one of those photo sleeves behind the picture of my wife, who burns me after a different fashion. A place of honor, to be sure. Sometimes I pull it out. Carefully. It is ripped in half at one of the folds and feels more like fabric than paper. The bottom half of the last word has separated from the main body. I think someday I will give it to my daughter.

The words are hand written in black pen. The script is large and uneven. I must have written it in the third or fourth grade, though I don't remember doing it. I don't remember where I heard the words. I've searched the internet for them, hoping to find out who originally said them. Nothing turned up. Maybe I found them somewhere. Maybe God whispered it into my ear one night while I was sleeping. I don't remember a time when I didn't have it. I can't recall wondering what it meant. I knew.

It means you don't (expletive) quit. It means there is a reason, and even more important a purpose. It means this is just the preparation. It means you're in for it now. It means there's more ahead and you ain't going to die tonight. It means that didn't hurt that bad. It means no one else needs to understand why you're laughing. All of these I knew very young. Later I heard a story that gave it a finer, more definitive meaning.

It means if God tells you to push a boulder He doesn't necessarily mean for you to move the boulder.

Every Trial can be Burned into the Fight.

Copyright 2010 held by Christopher Floyd.