noun: pinnacle; plural noun: pinnacles
the most successful point; the culmination.”
When I hear “pinnacle”, I think of a mountain top. The very tip and highest point. It is the “turning point”.
A lot of work was put in to get to that point, the Pinnacle.
Right now, in my life, there are two battles raging. Well probably many more than that… Some very personal, some very public. All very spiritual.
On June 9th, my husband turned 30 years old, and stepped into the cage as a professional MMA fighter. It was a big day. It was his birthday. It was exciting. It was a “pinnacle”.
Prior to this even set in the outskirts of Pittsburg, PA, I was sitting in the ER with my mom, my dad and my grandma. My mom was laying in the hospital bed, an IV flowing into her arm to rehydrate her. She had decisions to make, since it seemed to have grown worse.
My mom, you see, for the past 6 months has been believing for a miracle. My mom’s battle is with this tyrant and intruder in her body… otherwise known as “cancer”.
Later that same evening, I sat in another state, miles away, to cheer on another battle. We walked away victorious with more than one winner. You see, my mom and I both recognized that it wasn’t just my husband in the cage. It was also my mom. She had a vision that afternoon of Jesus in the middle of the cage, my mom and husband on either side, and lifting up their hands in victory. The battle is won. Jesus said it is finished.
Throughout the night we prayed. But the future was already laid out. We win. We knew it.
Round one looked grim. My husband had previously been told to “not think, just do”, but wound up missing the “do” part…
Hands down, he threw very few punches the first round, while fighting the hometown hero from Pittsburg.
After a quick break between rounds, and a swift realization, he stepped into the second round alive again, and quickly ended the fight with a series of punches taking his opponent down, and finishing the fight with a TKO/KO in less than 30 seconds. As the ref called the fight, I fell to my knees. I wept, knowing the battle is that easy. Knowing that it’s already won. Jesus holds up our hands in victory. Hundreds of miles away, my mom was waiting on our home couch for the text that we had done it. That it was finished.
As they began to play the victor’s song, they played “Lord of Hosts” by Shane and Shane – my husband, “the Militant Gentleman’s”, theme. It comes straight from Psalm 46:
“God is in the midst of her, she will not be moved;
God will help her when the morning dawns.
The nations made an uproar, the kingdoms tottered and were moved;
He raised His voice, the earth melted.
The Lord of hosts is with us;
The God of Jacob is our stronghold. Selah.”
Miles away, my mom rejoiced with us, playing his song on her phone. It was a joyous occasion, and a promise of HOPE.
So we continue to fight, knowing our battles are not with flesh and blood. And that the Lord of Hosts is with us.