Post by CM Poor on Jul 1, 2014 19:37:04 GMT -5
Daniel
The path of the righteous man isn't exactly paved in gold.
It's a willfully spiritual undertaking to live one's life by the word. Even the secular would likely be willing to admit, with little to no persuasion, that the world around us is in a state of dissolution. It's easy to write it off as the age of information, and maybe faith blinds, but I'm of the mind that, for better or for worse, we are living in darker times.
It's not just the quality of creation that seems to suffer. The most shining examples of our time and place being the seemingly daily uptick of murder, rape, hostility, violence and crime notwithstanding, the human condition, even among those who consider themselves to be pure of heart, the very human spirit has fallen on hard times. I'm far from a prophet of destruction, but far be it for me to even blink twice when a roadside establishment is resorting to the unspoken four letter words of offense in their latest marketing campaign.
I'd like to tell you that I have all the answers. That a heaven for me and a hell for you has set me down the clear and driven path, and that the righteous, and those who would repent shall have everlasting life in the kingdom of heaven. That's got to be one heck of a nice safety net to help one get to sleep at night, but friends, even for a man who's seen the light and heard the good news, the world just isn't that black and white.
There are those of us - us being those who've chosen to live our lives in devotion to our lord and savior - that would use the spiritual path we've taken upon to further some other, extracurricular agenda. Dark times, indeed, for it would seem, through the eyes of the media and the world, that those servants of God make up the vast majority of a people. That's a tough stigma to shake. Call it an environmental byproduct - it's not my place to generalize, but by and large, the ones who see themselves more as an army for Christ than a messenger or an advocate were born into those roles, bred into a life that is less about what Jesus has done in our name, and more about what must be punished in his.
It's a tired old cliche - one you hear more in restitution of the weak as a loved passes rather than as a mantra for life - but I believe that God has a plan for everyone, from those of us who have sought him to those who've rejected his call. I don't think that plan for anyone involves enlisting as a foot soldier to carry out some sort of holy vengeance against those who live their lives against one individual's perception of the book as a bullet list of 'do nots'. More so, I see God's plan for me, you, and everyone else as something of a blueprint - in some ways, formulaic to fit the basic teachings: do good, sympathize, listen, help, honor, so on and so forth. From there, each plan is peppered with nuances that define us - make me me, and make you you. Our 'mission', if God truly has one, is to sort through the static and the fog to persevere, to become the best me or the best you that we can each individually attain. The plan doesn't always make sense. It leads down dark, or sometimes questionable paths, but then, so is the mystery of faith.
"Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. It's been three weeks since my last confessional."
"You signed the contract, didn't you?"
"I....wait - isn't confessional supposed to be confidential?"
"Come, now, Daniel - you'd deny an old man his last one of his last functioning senses? There's hardly a commodity for privacy in the booth for our most active...only active...parishioner."
I remember it being entirely jarring the first time Father Marshall and I sat and conversed through the screen. We get so accustomed to speaking face to face, that at first, it's almost difficult to have that barrier put up between yourself and another. You'd think that in the age of technology the jolt would be softened - I mean, how could it be any different from a phone conversation? You ever call someone, maybe in a crowd, because you find you've become separated, only to find you were mere steps from one another, and that conversation becomes entirely weird until you hang up and carry on? It's kind of like that, at first. I don't know for certain whether or not Father Walsh speaks this candidly with other members of the congregation. I have to assume either he doesn't, or that his flock has come under an immense crisis of faith, because it was his warm honesty and spiritual guidance that kept me coming back in the first place.
"Right...right. Well, um...yeah, yeah I signed the contract."
"A contract is not a sin, son. We've discussed the plan, at great lengths if I'm not mistaken."
"Well, no disrespect, Father, but if you'd have let me finish the confession, I was going to say that I've dishonored my mother and father."
"Ah, the first holy commandment. How are Walter and Maria?"
"I can't say, for certain. They won't speak to me."
At least, not since I told them. It always astounded me, their opposition to my interest in professional wrestling. Well, back up. Their opposition actually makes total sense - it's just not for everyone. I get that. It's a real niche market, and if you're not sucked in, then you're not sucked in.
What astounds me is their willingness to use my faith as an argument against my chosen career path. Let that sink in - MY faith against MY chosen career path. Remember when I said there are those that are born into a life of worship and those that find it of their own volition? There are those that are neither - people like Walt and Maria Kirkbride.
I'd been to church for weddings and funerals, but I never regarded the house of God as the place of worship and atonement that I do now until my own spiritual awakening. We just...never went. We weren't specifically atheist or agnostic, or anything really. We were just the Kirkbride family. Walter, Maria, and Daniel. No Gods. No masters.
"I'm sorry to hear that, son."
"Oh, well....I mean...I forgive them, of course. It can't be easy to want one thing for someone you love, only to see them drift further and further away from it. "
"They do love you."
"I know. I don't think they'd really mention it if they didn't. It's just...you know...the doubt..."
"You doubt their love for you?"
"No...but...well, we've discussed it before, but...what if they're not wrong?"
It's hard to ignore something when it's being hurled in your face faster than a Clemens Classic, and my parents, for all their worldly ignorant bliss in regard to faith and God, sure had a firm grasp on how much of a sin the line of 'work' I'd decided to pursue was - on par with ten broken commandments and forbidden fruit. Eventually, mom cooled, at least to a manner of degree that she could explain with some rationale that they still loathed the idea, but only out of concern for my well being. Still, try casting doubt aside when the only support system you'd ever know outside of Him tosses that very notion down your throat, and, well...
"Daniel, Daniel, Daniel. We've been over this, time and time again. Can you imagine the damnation if the very act of secularity were a condemnable sin? I know the notion exists, but you and I - we've chosen to abandon that notion, to live a life more in tune with the word - John over Revelations. I mean, are you so quick to assume Peter will just turn away all of those bands you and your friends insisted I listen to on retreat?"
It never fails. So many of my peers growing up could tell you stories upon stories about how their parents, for all their...parenting....turned out to be their closest confidants, their first real friends, their moral compass.
I wish I could say the same. My parents are good, honest people. I'm a firm believer that you don't NEED Christ to be the person he'd want you be - the plan is in place,whether you accept Him or not. My parents might even accept Him - I just think they would need to find Him first. If they came to me for guidance, I'd drop it all in a heartbeat, but that's a personal undertaking, and it's not my cause nor my place to forcefully steer them in that direction.
And so, I've got Father Marshall. Where I can't talk to my parents so openly, where I may have lost them along my journey, there was always Father Marshall, to make me see reason through the fog of doubt, to steer me right when I fell off course.
"You're going to be just fine, son. He'd teach us to be a beacon - a shining light in an otherwise darkened world. Tell me how this contract is going to prevent that? In fact, give me a scenario in which you, being you, won't downright excel in that mission? His follower walk all walks of life - bringing light where there may otherwise be none. Bring the light son."
"And the penance, father?"
"Penance?"
"What will be my penance?"
"Hahaha! You're a good man, Daniel Kirkbride - a good man. No penance, son. You've done no wrong. Go. Bring the light."
Enchanted
At that moment, I could sure have gone for another round of confessional.
I think at some point in life, many of us are taught some variation of slowing down and appreciating each moment of every day for what it's worth, lest we find ourselves waking up on our deathbed tomorrow, having squandered away the simple pleasures in life.
I'd like to be able to say that in the days following my final heart to heart with Father Marshall, I took to the world with new perspective, driven with the motivation of his simple , yet invigorating words. I'd like to say that I approached each new experience with silent wonder, taking in all that I'd never seen before, the experience washing over me as I stood, betrothed to a world that was so much greater than I in a way I never quite perceived before. It would serve great testament to Father Marshall's marching orders to step out into the world and bring the light of the good news to all I'd encounter, both man and man made alike.
But thou shalt not lie.
That's not to say that Father Marshall's words didn't carry great weight with them. Were it not for sit downs with him, I might have never made it into the cab, let alone mustered the wherewithal to hand over the money and instructions regarding my destination. I'd have never been able to approach the skycap, boarding pass in hand, to hand over the lone, single traveler suitcase jam packed with my every last, meager worldly possession, and you could bet the house that I'd have never made it through security, to the gate, and down the loading ramp to aisle seat 17 aboard the massive commercial jetliner that would whisk me away to all that awaited on this new journey I'd undertaken. Without Father Marshall's words of encouragement, the beratement at the hands of my own mother and father regarding the choice I'd made to venture out on this journey would have held me back before the cabbie had a chance to pop the trunk.
No, instead I spent the majority of my final hours in Austin a mewling, puking mess. Mom and dad planned a late dinner after work, perfectly content to disregard the fact that my imminent departure would be something of a long term relocation, certainly showing no interest in accompanying me to Austin-Bergstrom and seeing me off. To this day, I'm still not sure where the divisive lines were drawn in the mess I'd made of myself, separating nerves from conscious guilt. While we've covered the ground acknowledging that I made the venture from home to cab to check in to plane, I still couldn't quite tell you how I managed to make the traverse from point A to point B.
At cruising altitude, I found the shakes dissipating. The nausea had faded, in no small part thanks to my seat neighbor offering his sick bag to me, after the one provided to me had exhausted its usefulness. I suppose at that point, the internal imbalance inside me finally clicked into synch - at tens of thousands of feet above the surface of the Earth, closer now to the Heavens than to the daily commodities of man, en route to snag the side of a traveling road show as the train comes rumbling past the nearest connection, there isn't exactly any turning back, is there?
I wasn't expecting any sort of fanfare, so it was little surprise to me to find no mention of my signing plastered across the depths of WFWF.com - a kid from the indies isn't exactly the Earth shattering type of news that Chalice or Ice Dogg, the guys I grew up watching, would warrant. Still, for every last bit of every last meal I'd expended, for every dry heave I'd forced, for what little bile was left in my stomach, seeing my own name in print sure would have leant some validation to all my worries.
Maybe if I'd have been in a more relaxed mindset, I'd have come across the "Events" page much sooner rather than later. Still, a single click was enough to figuratively blow my hair back. You ever exaggerate your motions to convey the real feeling inside - maybe overdo a subtlety to compensate for a situational ability to jump up screaming for joy? Mine was the exasperated exhalation, dropping me back into my seat with a dumb little grin growing across my face. There it was, in black and white for all the world to see.
WFWF presents "Twisted"
Enchanted versus Daniel Kirkbride
I'd made it.
I shut my eyes and said a quiet little prayer of thanks then and there. Thanks for the prosperity to overcome my doubters. Thanks for the wisdom to see those that would support me in my endeavors every step of the way. Thanks for putting them on this Earth. Thanks for putting me on this Earth, for the good graces and athletic acumen to pursue my dreams in an industry I'd come to love.
Hard times were ahead, for certain. If I knew then what I know now, I'd still do it all over again, but my outlook my vary some. Nevertheless, in that moment, nothing else mattered. For better or worse, win, lose, or draw, I'd made it. I'd be wrestling on the biggest stage in the industry in a short matter of days. Head to head, toe to toe. Enchanted.
Against Enchanted.
It always baffles me, to watch a new guy step through the curtain and purport to "not know much" about his first few opponents. I mean, I suppose I can't speak for everyone, but I happened across my passion for this industry on account of a very early, very rabid state of fandom, and the pursuit of a life in the ring never deterred from the fact that I always was, and always will be a fan first, so I wasn't about to step out on to the WFWF stage and spout some nonsensical rambling about not knowing much about Enchanted but for the fact that I am going to win. The fact is, I knew just enough about Enchanted, and her main squeeze, Slanted. It probably shouldn't surprise you to learn that I wasn't a fan.
"She's cute."
So caught up in the fray of seeing my own name in print, on a WFWF card, no less, I hadn't even noticed my aisle seated neighbor co-perusing the bios listed on WFWF.com out of his right side glance.
"Friend of yours?"
"Not as such, no. I'm afraid not."
"Aw, that's too bad. She's a bit of a looker, isn't she?"
"I suppose. Ha ha. Ahh...not really my type though. Hard to explain."
This candidate for understatement of the year seemed enough to sate my neighbor's curiosity enough for him to settle back into his own seat and frame of mind for the remainder of the journey.
It took some time, but with the whirlwind of thoughts and emotions swirling through my mind over those 72 some-odd hours, before we'd landed, I'd finally settled on a sort of personal satisfaction with how my debut had been booked, come trial or triumph. I'd always been a fan of circumstantially coincidental booking. Polar opposites across the ring - it makes for an increased level of tension, either for the viewer, the competitors, or across the board.
Enchanted and I couldn't be more unlike one another if we tried, I think. I've always tried to avoid putting myself on a pedestal on account of my faith - pride should only run so deep, lest it lead to vanity - but to stack someone like me next to someone like Enchanted, or her beau Slanted, I think, makes a pretty waterproof case for the celebration of faith. Their lifestyle, however careless and fancy free it may seem to them in the moment, has not done them any favors where it all counts - the ring. Their aim is all off - no direction, save maybe that of promiscuity and recreational drug use. It has never been, nor will it ever be my place to scold anyone for the choices they've made - as we've established, I find that we're all on this Earth to traverse our own personal journeys at our own personal pace, and we'll do so over the course of a million different paths. I will, however, be bold enough to say that, without judgement upon the individual, some paths traverse brighter, more well paved roads than others.
The path that Slanted and Enchanted have chosen to travel hasn't exactly led to prosperity, except for, perhaps, the simple joy of having found one another. I wouldn't be so brazen as to try and predict the outcome of our match at Twisted. I was, and still am, but flesh and blood. However, there on that plane, thousands of feet above the surface of the Earth, I instantly found myself more at ease with all that had come to pass those past few days than I might have ever been prior. I won't ever pretend to know the specifics of the plan that had been laid out for me - often times, it's better to consider the minute details as secondary to the grander scheme, but in that moment, even if just as a guide, I saw the hands that made that match, and I understood, or maybe just accepted that perhaps I had found my way, and that all this worry and guilt would come to pass.
Enchanted would be but a hurdle. We've all faced them before, and this poor girl had perhaps been placed in my way as a very personified embodiment of the types of hurdles I'd be meant to face. The world of professional wrestling brings with it a very eclectic blend of individuals who may serve to cast doubt into the minds of those whose faith may waver. Enter Enchanted - a near winless, hopeless wreck who chose not the way of athleticism or servitude, but rather self indulgence - sex, drugs, and rock 'n' roll, perhaps.
I'd come here, the future unwritten, to shine light where darkness may prevail. Folks of the same ilk as Slanted and Enchanted may speak poorly of the notion of being a "sheep" to be guided, rather than a force that moves mountains. I reject that notion for the very reason that in life, we all need a little help, whether a wretch, a dragon, or a champion. Enchanted had the potential to stand in my way, an insurmountable hurdle on the road to whatever The Lord had deemed me worthy, and I would stand to learn from that fall, guided back to my feet by His presence and care, and yet, if he saw fit, Enchanted would be but a speed bump. A traffic light. By the very virtue of His presence and light, I saw a road beyond Enchanted, win, lose, or draw, The Lord at my side.
The Lord is my shepherd. I shall not want.
I dont know good luck 
) is and how and why he's here. And on top that you still focused a lot of attention on the match itself and it's significance. Going to enjoy seeing where you take this.
