Why I Walk Into the Dojo

woman wearing purple boxing gloves

Photo by ambar simpang on Pexels.com

Every Saturday morning I do what I never saw myself doing. I walk into a dojo.

I pull off my sneakers and walk onto the mats for a martial arts-style ladies’ self-defense class. During a pretty intense hour we punch, fall, roll, run, learn various ways to use everyday objects as weapons… I never know quite what to expect, but it’s always good. The class before last, we learned how to use two sizes of umbrellas to nail any attacker, causing enough pain to distract him. We learned how to double him over with groin pain, gag with a jab to the throat, legs collapsing from a blow to the back of the knees – apersonal favorite — or a good whack on a floating rib or two. Great fun to try them out on the instructor, who happens to be my bestie, Ka’en. And we train our minds into new and exciting paths: the way of a woman warrior.

The fact that I even darkened the dojo door in the first place, much less return on a weekly basis, is a bit of a mystery to me. As a kid I was a skinny, fluffy-haired outsider when it came to sports, staring at the ground when kids were picked for gym class games knowing I’d be one of the last three chosen. Chronically afraid of the ball and having a tendency to daydream seldom serves the team in the thick of a game. Joining a sports team? Unthinkable.

I was the kid literally out in left field (by choice) during gym class softball games in middle school, feeling the sun on my face, seeking out four-leaf clovers while the infield game hummed yards away. Once a ball rolled near my feet and some guy way back in the diamond hollered for me to Throw It! To whom??? So I threw it at the kid yelling, and got back to my clover quest. I was the kid staring into the gym rafters (is that a basketball up there?) when the volleyball shot my way and I caught it, stunned. I was the girl who got the basketball for our team and dribbled it with no one grabbing at it, my gym class teammates shouting what I thought was encouragement – and made a basket for the opposing team. I’d had my fill of humiliating stuff like this by the time I was in college. Fitness? I’ll work out by myself, thanks.

So why would I willingly join a group of ladies to literally throw myself on the floor, putting myself in compromising positions, sometimes with a man doing the compromising? What would make me choose to be put into choke holds, pinned to walls, or lay on the floor with some lady or guy on top of me so I could learn how to throw them off and run?

Honestly, I’m not sure. But I keep on coming back. This is what I do know:

  • I am worth protecting. This is a new concept for me. I’m a mother of four; the mama bear instinct is strong in me to protect them. And if you say something against my man or my friends, look out. But me? My go-to? Avoid conflict (run away – run away! Insert Monty Python guards here). It’s slowly seeping into my heart: God made me, so I’m valuable. I am worthy of protecting. So, by the way, are you.
  • I need tools and techniques so if I’m in danger I can use my training to overcome. I refuse to be a victim – but if I just blindly flail in the conflict, attackers will most likely have their way with me.
  • I need to do hard things to train my body and mind regularly so I’m ready for whatever comes. Going to the dojo every Saturday is often inconvenient, but it’s worth it. Heck, it’s becoming almost a compulsion, as I leave exhilarated. Every time.

When Ka’en, who’s been studying Ninpo for a couple of years now, first brandished bruises on her arms and legs I thought she was a little loopy, calling them her “training trophies.” So I smiled and nodded, indulging her — but really, that’s a little nuts, don’t you think?  And then a couple weeks ago I got a skinned elbow from throwing her off when she pinned me to a cement block wall. I found myself delighted – even proud – of my one-inch wound. I guess it’s a warrior thing, because now I love to feel the muscle pain the day after a workout, and scanning my limbs post-class for my own trophies. Another bruise? Yes!

So this scared little girl is finding her grit. In class, when we yell “Get OFF me!” and “No!” — our self-defense kiais — I feel the power surge. You will not violate me. I am worth protecting, and I need to keep disciplining myself to keep doing what seems counter-intuitive. Do the hard things in class behind closed doors, prepare for the unexpected. And keep practicing outside the dojo. Because there’s an enemy out there, and he doesn’t play fair. And I will defeat him if I stay focused and disciplined.

I still take time for daydreaming and chasing butterflies, wandering in fields of peace and joy. Because I carry the Spirit of God in me, I carry a deep well of joy under all the chaos that comes. And each day I prep for unknown, inevitable battles. This messed-up Earth’s a war zone, so it just makes sense.

closeup photo of black hilt and brown sword

Photo by Susanne Jutzeler on Pexels.com

Every morning Leoa faces Heavenly Dad, clad in spirit armor. Bowing, I lay my sword at His feet, acknowledging His Lordship, awaiting orders. Often, He draws me in for a hug and some words of encouragement. He urges me to study His word to sharpen the sword I carry with His deep truths. I bask in His smile and hide His words in my heart. Then I lift the sword, sheath it, stride out of the throne room, carrying the King Himself in my soul.

And I face what comes knowing greater is He living in me than anything this world throws at me.

Together, we train.
Together, we fight.
Lion of Judah roars through Leoa’s kiais  —
And the god of this world shakes in his boots.

nature summer yellow animal

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Continue reading