Understanding the Enemy

[MikeF]

absolute construct....


On Compassion

In mountaineering school, a Special Forces soldier learns the power of patience. A knuckle dragger would love to run up the mountain, but he will inevitably become exhausted. Instead one learns to traverse back and forth along the route in a seemingly never-ending spiral, a casual pace until the peak is reached. Henceforth, a soldier learns the power of mental toughness over physical shortcomings. We still have so much to learn.

We scaled Mount Manuel. I scanned the Big Sur website to find an appropriate day trip for hiking. As usual, I choose the most difficult trek- eight miles, 3300 feet in elevation, strenuous. My ego naturally ascends my capabilities. Five hundred meters from the summit, my legs were exhausted- stick a fork in me, I was done.

Rob reminded me that at least I can feel the pain.

Rob recently ran the Big Sur marathon, and he was surpassed by a one-legged soldier. Here’s a kid who has had his leg blown off in an IED, and he’s running a marathon. Here we are wallowing in our sorrow. I continued to walk; I did not quit.

As we continued to march, we ran across a Canuck descending the trail. It seemed like a reasonable excuse to stop and chat, and I could rest for a moment. My boy was out of water. I gave him a liter, and we continued along the path. At the crest, we paused for a moment to enjoy the view- it was simply amazing. You could see forever- the Big Sur lighthouse, the kids frolicking in the stream, the campsites, and the $1000 a night resorts. We were in nirvana. However, we did not plan for the mosquitoes. They ate away at our skin.

Reality set in.

We began the march down; we worked our way home.

An hour later, we ran into the Canuck again. He was sitting down resting in the shade. He was brawny- about six feet, a little pudge in the center, and broad shoulders. He was hiking alone. Rob and I approached with broad smiles. As we engaged in seemingly nonchalant conversation, we scanned his pupils and his complexion for signs of heat exhaustion. He was fine. He was simply tired.

After a few minutes, we determined that he was out of water. I gave him the remainder of mine. Without trying to dishonor his ego, we kindly asked if he would like to walk we us. He smiled; his face lit up, and we worked our way down the mountain. All was well.

It felt so good to help someone who was hurting. That is how I grew up. That was how I was taught. Jesus lived amongst those that suffered. As Paul instructed the restless men and women of Corinth, there are but three gifts- faith, hope and love. Yet, I constantly wrestle with the destructiveness and self-serving nature of man-so fickle. I have seen man in his most primal state, and it was not pretty. I am more betwixt than in between. I long for the tenderness of my youth.

Is this irrelevant?