Me and Muhammed Ali

The year was 1974.

For me, it was the year of Raggedy Ann, mommy & me matching sundresses, and the arrival of a new baby sister.

For Ali, it was the infamous Rumble in the Jungle match against George Foreman.

And the move that would forever live in infamy: the rope-a-dope.

Much controversy has arisen over the years as to whether it was a calculated plan or a force of necessity, but the end result was the same. After battling repeated blows while languishing on the ropes, Ali came out swinging and beat a tired, and likely confident, Foreman.

Forty-two years later, I feel like I've replicated that move.

It wasn't calculated; in fact, I thought I was still in control. At least at first.

But looking back, the devil has had me on the ropes for months. My halfhearted jabs and fancy footwork were no match for him; he could see me steadily withering. As the attacks grew stronger, I retreated even more.

I was still doing the work, but at a safe level. Trips on the street became routine, almost formulaic, as I rushed to accomplish my tasks and return to the safety of my home.

A lingering cold provided a valid reason to stay home with a barrage of books and blankets.

How could I write? It would be dry, textbook accounts of my day. There'd be no message, no resonation throughout my audience. In short, there'd be no Spirit.

It was ironic almost, because in times past when I'd found myself feeling so far from the Lord, there was usually an identifiable stronghold involved. Mostly addiction.

Yet here I was, still DOING all the right things. SAYING all the right things. Really NOT doing anything wrong. Yet within me I knew the difference. I'd quenched the Spirit; I'd affected the anointing.

First I had to figure out why. It took a couple of days but I got it.

I'd been discouraged.

I felt defeated.

And I believed the devil's lies when he told me I wasn't making a bit of difference in the world.

I had gotten so discouraged at the people who'd returned to their own vomit (Proverbs 26:11) that I stopped seeing those who became new creatures in Christ (2 Corinthians 5:17).

The realization created my own spiritual "rumble in the jungle" because I came out swinging.

How dare the devil tell me my ministry is pointless?

And how stupid was I for believing him! Especially when I KNOW that he only messes with people who are a threat to him anyway.

I guess that's where the problem began. I didn't see it as an attack of the devil. I thought my own intellect was showing me that I was wasting my time.

In the flesh is no good thing, right? (Romans 7:18)

While a cut man treats physical damage to a fighter during a fight; the Holy Spirit can repair spiritual wounds. All He's waiting on is the green light from you. You don't even have to wait til the bell rings and you retreat to your corner. Call on Him mid-fight, or better yet, before the bout begins.

Maybe, just maybe, the reason addiction is so powerful with the homeless in my area is because no-one has stood up to the devil and refused to back down until this particular battle is won.

Bring it on.