As my daughter stepped into the ring and faced her opponent my heart was beating wildly inside my chest. I stood at the ringside, waiting with ice, bandages and water to help revive her in between rounds. Helplessness engulfed me like a dark pit. And then the bell rang and the first punch was thrown.

As I watched the violent dance, I tried desperately to shout encouragement and advice. As the words left my lips, they seemed to get swallowed in the ensuing chaos. I watched, paralyzed by fear, as blow after blow appeared to find its mark. The bell rang, and round one was over. As she stumbled back towards me, I quickly launched into action, ice on the cut over the eye, water to help revive her, and a barrage of advice and encouragement, and then the bell rang again, and it was back into the storm of fists and feet.

Round after round…with each one causing more damage and more pain. At one point, I begged her just to give up and call it a day, but she stubbornly walked back into the middle of the ring. It seems like an eternity before we arrive at the waning seconds of the final round. She stumbles and goes down. She struggles to find her footing, but the sheer exhaustion wins out. I scream at her to get up as her opponent rushes in, arm raised to deliver the finishing blow…

I lift the ropes, scrambling to try to prevent the inevitable, when the referee steps in front of her. With a lightning-quick move, he delivers an uppercut that knocks out her opponent with a single blow. The turn of events stops me in my tracks. I watch as he leans over her and begins to tend to her wounds. All the while I see him softly talking to her, I can’t hear a word over the din of the crowd. The audience begins to cheer, and my eyes are drawn away from the mat to the big screen hanging over the ring. The replay shows the fight from a different angle, and I struggle to place where the camera was filming from. It’s an up-close and personal view of the fight; I see my daughter’s eyes constantly flicking towards the camera. It appears that at times the cameraman steps in the way of the fight and protects her from some of the harder blows, almost guiding and directing. I try to tune out the noise of the crowd so I can hear the replay, but with no success. With a flash, the camera angle changes. This one I recognize right away, it’s my daughter’s viewpoint. I’m confused when I realize the first angle was from the referee; it was his eyes she kept flickering to. A hush falls over the crowd. I hear the ref’s voice deep and calming, “Step to the left, now duck. Hang on, you’ve got this. Don’t give up, keep swinging…” Through the whole fight, he’d been gently guiding, encouraging, and directing her. My attention is drawn back to the mat where I see him gently lifting her in his arms.

Too many times I’ve watched a loved one step into the ring and witnessed life pummeling them from all sides. Bloodied, bruised, and exhausted, they continue to put one foot in front of the other. From the sidelines, my viewpoint is skewed. The blows that were meant to destroy become glancing blows with the guidance of the ref. What appeared like a beat-down was actually training. The opponent was intent on destroying, but the referee was intent on guiding and developing a warrior. What appears to be chaos was under his control and supervision.

As the referee gently set her feet on the ground, he raised her arm as a declaration of victory. The crowd came back with a vengeance and the stadium shook with applause and praise. A celebration of not just my daughter’s faithfulness, but for the Referee who is the champion of all.

“The LORD will cause your enemies who rise against you to be defeated before your face; they shall come out against you one way and flee before you seven ways.” Deuteronomy 28:7