Training for the fight of his life, a man was taking a brake while trying to bring the pain he felt a few notches down. He said, he had many "runs of bad luck" and his chance at success almost evaded him. Injured, broke, tired, alone, with little support from those who mattered to him, he remembered that he was a fighter because that's what he did best; with his fists he was able to bring milk to his children, who, otherwise, did not have much hope of a healthy meal. He had really gone through a dark night, where he couldn't even pay his basic bills. He couldn't even pray for the crumbs he ate, because he did not understand why he had to go through such difficulties. His trainer, somehow, believed blindly that this fighter had something most lack: a strong determination that could carry the fighter to places of strength that few know. Standing on this belief he sought diligently for more opportunities for his pupil to show his skills and character. Slowly, the doubters around him began believing in him.
On the big night, he went to the fight knowing that he could count on himself and his skills. He could also count on his trainer, the support of his community and most importantly, the support of his wife.
The opponent, a formidable fighter, was younger, stronger and skilled. He had built a fearsome reputation that would make most men tremble and fear. Our fighter was not intimidated by him or his spoils. He concentrated on taking one step at a time. He didn't know who would win, but he knew he wasn't planning to loose.
The battle was epic. Both fighters gave all they had, but only one won.
I remember the battles of faith I have experienced in the past six years. In the darkest moments I was not sure if I could keep the faith.
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