Being Unseen

Jeff and I like to joke about an old Monte Python skit. Sometimes it’s tempting to practice the “Art of Not Being Seen.” Entering the dojo in my white belt and gi, I found my line-up spot in the very back of the room. Good! This felt like the perfect position for me. No one noticed much when I got confused and put my left foot where my right was supposed to be. Examples next to and before me might help my memory improve. Another student could show me the way. I liked the back of the room.

For me, there is something liberating about the role of Beginner. In the learning process, all pressure is off. Accepting that I have lots of learning to do helps me have grace towards myself. 

I thought of a verse from my Bible:

“Who despises the day of small beginnings?” (Zechariah 4:10a NIV)

Things would become more challenging soon enough. My observation of the kids proved this true. Standing in the back of that dojo, I admired my strong, talented teens in the front row. They made me proud! I hoped they would guide me through my material. I counted the days until their black belt tests. They seemed almost ready, but I knew the challenge would be tough. How could I support their training and also receive assistance myself?

Ippon Kumite is also called “one-step sparring.” It is a numbered series of attacks and blocks that karate students memorize and practice. Included in these moves are wrist locks, sweeps to the floor, and well-placed counterstrikes. There are no surprises in Ippon Kumite, just repetition and coordination. The longer karate students practice, the faster and more accurate we become. As in life, patterns help us find our rhythm.

My partner and I practiced our Ippon Kumite, taking turns with offense and defense. The more we repeated the same moves, the more my confidence grew. I noticed that I needed to hear directions more times than she did, but the instructors were kind and patient. “Maybe they really can teach an old mama some new tricks,” I considered, reminding myself that there weren’t many 48-year-old ladies in class. We returned home tired, laughing, and happy to be learning together. 

In those early days, I received patience from everyone. Sparring felt scary. I think I feared hurting my opponent more than getting hurt myself, but still, I didn’t enjoy getting whacked on the side of my head! My instructors, Brandon, Ashley, and Tracy, gently encouraged me. “Use your combinations,” they reminded. “Don’t forget to kiai.” Sometimes they tried to hit me, but it was to teach me to keep my guard up. They demonstrated strength under control and saved their real skill for a few rounds against one another. I respected this self-control!

A month passed. Our dojo was preparing for a tournament. Though not all would compete, Mr. Falbo challenged everyone to present a kata in class. As soon as he announced this, my heart began pounding. My memory evaporated. I couldn’t remember any of the material at that moment. I felt like a deer caught in the headlights. 

Liam presented one of his strongest katas to our class. I felt Mama-pride push some of my fear out of the way. He looked so strong and sure! Next, Emme presented to our class. Her high kicks and piercing kiais commanded respect from us all. 

Wow! That’s my girl!” 

But then, tingling jitters raced down my arms to my fingertips. Jostling butterflies flipped around in my stomach. I counted 3 three people until my turn. I didn’t see any way to escape embarrassment. Each of the other students took a turn. With a few small mistakes and constructive feedback, they took this valuable learning opportunity in stride. I paid less and less attention to them, focusing inwardly on my panic. 

“Miss Anna?” It was my turn.

“I’m sorry. I can’t remember a kata yet,” I confessed to my teacher and my class. 

“Not even the first one, niju-sichi-no-kata?” He gently suggested?

“Not yet,” I mumbled. My shoulders drooped. I wanted to slink out of the dojo and hide. I wished I had just stayed home. A few more students took turns. Then class ended.

Later, as I developed my confidence and ability, I would find surprising encouragement from this memory. Though it felt like failure at the time, I still showed up to the next class, and the one after that. Being a beginner was not failing. I could take my time. When I was ready, I would demonstrate a kata to the rest of my class. 

Those days of small beginnings kept pride far from my heart. I could learn a new application for the truth,

“My grace is sufficient for you, for My power is made perfect in weakness,”(2 Corinthians 12:9 NIV). 

Like that Ippon Kumite rhythm, I find myself returning to Christ for strength again and again. He helps me persevere. Fear might win the battle, but with God’s help, courage wins the war. I could become more than a conqueror in this learning journey I had begun.

Faithfulness Discovered

2024 (9 years later)

Once again, a tournament approached. I arrived at the dojo and noticed tape marking out boundaries and nervous classmates practicing katas.

“Didn’t you hear? We have a practice tournament tonight,” My young friend, Ally, full of anxious enthusiasm, announced the news.

Oh great! I thought. Just what I need. Something to get nervous about! I guess my week hasn’t been stressful enough.  I tried to put on a brave face and laugh. At least I haven’t had time to get very worked up I thought as we entered the dojo. 

I only knew a few katas advanced enough to qualify at my new level. I practiced for a few minutes and then lined up to wait my turn.

The higher-level students amazed me with their skill and intensity. The students at my level completed their karate wholeheartedly, hoping to win one of the medals Mr. Falbo contributed to our mock tournament. Then my turn arrived.

“Judges, my name is Anna Gibson, and my style is Yoshukai. My kata is Rohai-Dai. With your permission, may I please begin?”

After a few minutes of my best tries, and a couple of flub-ups, I sat back down next to my younger classmates. They grinned, high-fived, and encouraged me.

As our attention turned to the next presenter, I remembered some words from Mother Theresa, one of my faith heroes:

“God has not called me to be successful; He has called me to be faithful.” 

The Holy Spirit brought joy as I observed some students receive medals and others try to celebrate without. I was perfectly positioned to encourage each and every classmate. No one was jealous of me! 

Remembering those early days, I felt the satisfaction of growth. Never mind that “Art of Not Being Seen.” I had a new goal: faithfulness. Was I perfect? No. Could I improve? Probably. But fear no longer paralyzed me. I could step out before judges and demonstrate a kata with all of my heart as unto the Lord. And I felt His pleasure at my willingness.

About the author

Anna Gibson is a teacher and writer who is passionate about helping others wrestle hope and meaning out of their struggles. She shares her blog posts on faith, family and philosophy at hope wrestles.com and she will be publishing her first book, Karate Mama in the near future.

Comments

  1. Well written, Anna.
    Loved “Fear might win the battle, but with God’s help, courage wins the war,” as well as Mother Theresa’s words–“God has not called me to be successful; He has called me to be faithful.”

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