Stands with fist

Back then he called me Stands with Fist, the name of a young woman who was a character in the film "Dances with Wolves." He called me that because of my defiance. I thought about that today in church, in the time after communion when I was sitting in silent prayer. I pictured myself standing with my right fist clenched, my arm raised in the air like an Olympic gold medal winner standing on the award platform. My fist raised in triumph, my head bowed in reverence and humble pleading to God.

I am no athlete. I never competed in anything. I’m just a non-descript, somewhat pudgy, aging woman in sensible shoes. But I’m feeling defiant and I’m feeling awed by God’s grace. Life has been downright awful of late—just one bad thing happening after another. As much as I rhetorically wonder why life is so hard, why bad things happen to good people, I have a sense of the answer—the answer is that sometimes bad things just happen. It’s the price of being a flawed human being. But I don’t want to let misfortune own me; I don’t want to define life solely through a dark lens. I just want to stand defiantly, undefeated, with my fist in the air and my head bowed in prayer for deliverance.