David Johnson watched the face of George Dean as he threw every punch and kick like a wild animal, as if his very hands were crying out for help. He looked into George’s eyes and saw all the pain that filled them. He could hear the hoarse pitch of his voice howling like a wounded dog. Even as he evaded punch after punch, David Johnson could feel the sorrow emitting from his arms.
David thought back to his own life, back to all the trouble making and all the fighting in school. He remembered the anger in his soul, how the burning never seemed to go away. David never knew why his own father had ran out on him. He never understood why he didn’t love him. He knew exactly what George Dean was going through.
Fighting always made it easier, made it feel like he was getting closer to the answers. But the real answer was never in his fists, or in his gifts or talents. It was in the voices of Carolyn Cross and Benjamin King and Turner Johnson. All of them had taught him the most important truth: The Lord God Almighty was the only father he needed.
George Dean wouldn’t stop fighting. David could see his body tiring, but Dean wouldn’t allow himself to let it go. Then David looked at the scar on Dean’s face. David caught the next fist George threw, then placed a hand on Dean’s scar. To David's surprise, the scar began to heal. However, George Dean slapped his hand away before it could heal completely.
“No!” Dean said as he kept coming at him. “What are you doing? Stop it!”
But David didn’t stop. He evaded every attack and repeatedly touched Dean’s face until his scar was completely gone. Despite this, George still kept coming at him in desperation and fatigue. Then David heard the voice.
Stop moving. The Lord spoke to David. It’s alright to let him in.
David stopped evading the attacks. It looked like George Dean was going to strike him in the face. David closed his eyes and readied himself to absorb the attack. But all he felt was George’s body falling on him, collapsing from exhaustion. David opened his eyes and found himself holding George in his arms.
“Why?” George asked with a whisper, wetting David‘s shoulder with his sweat and tears. “Why…can‘t I do it? I want to be…a winner…like you are. Why can‘t I be…a winner like you?”
“We wrestle not against flesh and blood,” David began, “but against powers and principalities. It’s time to rest, George. It’s time to submit to grace and to mercy. And you’re wrong about me. I‘m not a winner. I'm...I'm a part of a ministry. I'm just a servant. You can be one, too. But you have to make the choice.”
“I...don’t know how,” George said.
“I will show you,” David replied.
THE END.