The Fight That Is Life

2 08 2013

The Fight That Is LifeLife is many things to all of us.  For some, it’s an adventure.  For others, it is wonder and fascination.  For all of us, in one way or another, it is a journey.

And for all of us, though we are not all equally aware of it, life is a fight…combat…warfare.

One key to winning in life is to remind oneself that for every human being, life is a great battlefield.  For America’s finest, it is the War on Terror.  For others, perhaps a conflict for something good and noble in the face of evil and tyranny.  For some of us, the war for ideas in the political, economic or ecclesiastical arenas.  And all of us, in one way or another, must fight daily for our hearts.

Discouragement is not the only foe that seeks to silence the heart of man.  Mediocrity ranks up there as well, as does failure.

Remember this: A Hall of Fame baseball player does well at bat only 35% of the time.  Failure is never fatal unless you agree to let it be.  Thomas Edison had hundreds of such failures before he perfected the incandescent light bulb.  President Abraham Lincoln suffered numerous defeats before ascending the halls of power in Congress and, ultimately, the White House.

You may have lost the skirmish but the war is not over.  Far from it.  Pick yourself up, dust your uniform and plunge into the battle once again.  These timeless words of Shakespeare will give you pluck and resolve.

KING HENRY V:
”Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more;
Or close the wall up with our English dead.
In peace there’s nothing so becomes a man
As modest stillness and humility:
But when the blast of war blows in our ears,
Then imitate the action of the tiger;
Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood,
Disguise fair nature with hard-favour’d rage;
Then lend the eye a terrible aspect;
Let pry through the portage of the head
Like the brass cannon; let the brow o’erwhelm it
As fearfully as doth a galled rock
O’erhang and jutty his confounded base,
Swill’d with the wild and wasteful ocean.
Now set the teeth and stretch the nostril wide,
Hold hard the breath and bend up every spirit
To his full height. On, on, you noblest English.
Whose blood is fet from fathers of war-proof!
Fathers that, like so many Alexanders,
Have in these parts from morn till even fought
And sheathed their swords for lack of argument:
Dishonour not your mothers; now attest
That those whom you call’d fathers did beget you.
Be copy now to men of grosser blood,
And teach them how to war. And you, good yeoman,
Whose limbs were made in England, show us here
The mettle of your pasture; let us swear
That you are worth your breeding; which I doubt not;
For there is none of you so mean and base,
That hath not noble lustre in your eyes.
I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips,
Straining upon the start. The game’s afoot:
Follow your spirit, and upon this charge
Cry ‘God for Harry, England, and Saint George!’”

Keep fighting, soldier.  People are depending on you.

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