The other day I was driving when I ran into a few storms.

I take it for granted that most mornings are dry and dark as I weave my way through a few country roads, then enter the highway and mesh with the oncoming traffic.  It’s not too difficult and not too stressful.  After doing it for so many years it is a habit, and I don’t think much. Music on, usually loud to keep me motivated, I settle in to the drive with one knee bent, one hand on the steering wheel, and a bottle of water by my side.

This particular morning was a little different.  Without realizing it, I was headed into a strong storm.  It popped up not long after I started my commute. Suddenly my relaxation was disrupted. I was taken by surprise, and I wasn’t prepared. Normally, when I start my commute in a storm while driving, I sit up with both hands on the steering wheel.  On this day it was calm when I left, but when the strong wet drops started to splash uncontrollably on my windshield, they jolted me out of half-paying attention to full-scale focus.

It’s not easy on a dark, thunderstorm-driven morning to see clearly, never mind navigate a vehicle.  My wipers brilliantly flapped across the windshield, although they didn’t seem to make much difference as far as clarity was concerned. I did what I always did and crossed my fingers and my heart and kept on going.  A few moments later, it stopped.  Then, it started again, and so was the cycle all the way there.  I was weaving in and out of mother nature’s wrath, until I finally made it to my destination.

I know.  It’s a bit of a lengthy tail about driving through the rain.  What’s the big deal?

The deal is, friends, that life is full of these setbacks and storms that take us by surprise.  You should realize by now the possibility that changes may take place that are out of your control,  and they may be changes that shake you up.  They may even get in the way of your goals because they misplace your comfort zone.  You can flap your windshield wipers as hard as you want, but the rain keeps pouring down.

As a martial artist, I’ve experienced many situations where I had to face a challenge that seemed insurmountable. Of course a test is one.  When I found out that I would be testing in martial arts when I was several months pregnant, that shook me a little.  I had an exemplary pregnancy and had practiced my martial art all the way through, but test? I didn’t particularly like that news, yet it turned into just another martial art challenge for me.  I couldn’t do jump kicks but I could still throw others, perform forms, and all the regular skills, too.  I gathered up what courage I had and gave it a go.  It’s one of my memories that I always turn to when I question myself or my abilities.

My own personal obstacles or setbacks were not the only ones I witnessed during these years when I was developing as a martial artist and an instructor.  I saw storms hit others who seemed like they had seen enough damage already.  These were people whose lives were daily struggles filled with fear, violence, and worry. When my husband and I started teaching our volunteer program in a low-income area in our town, it was not because we were out trying to change the world.  What we really wanted to do was get good teaching experience under our belts.  We had been teaching for years, from green belt up, for our own Sensei and we wanted to see how we would do on our own.

The result was unexpected. We weaved in and out of the storms of our students’ lives and we had no warning that would happen.  The local newspaper featured me in an article teaching these students.

The recreation center where we volunteered offered assistance to people in the area, from career counseling to mental counseling, to activities and babysitting.  Everything was free or suited to the salaries of the people in the area.  For our martial art program, students paid a fee of $5.00 if they could and we provided the uniform.  By paying a small amount, they were more likely to be serious and want to learn.  We figured out how to apply for grants and we received some assistance for equipment purchases.

We were the minority at the center. We stood out.  It was the first time I ever felt that way and the first time I ever realized what it was like to be different.  At first, the residents wondered what we were doing there.  Not long after, they started to respect us because we were helping and making a difference in their children.  We updated our own personal mission unknowingly from “learning to be better instructors” to “teaching martial arts to kids from broken families surrounded by violence and teaching them tools for defense.” That realization was the first bucket of rainfall.  Our mission naturally changed because of our experience in these surroundings.

The next storm we witnessed in our martial art world at the center was more unsettling. Brother and sister, Paul and Crystal, were students in our class. They were already in their “tween” years at the time. Their father went in went in for back surgery and passed away on the surgery table. This was a hurricane-force hit.  There was no recovering from the belligerent winds and the fierce devastation for these two kids who were now alone.

When life is changed in one single moment, it is difficult to comprehend.  I am sure you have experienced this in some way, too. Life is moving along as usual then the unexpected hits.

Two kids abandoned.  Two martial art instructors.  I was watching the strength and power of loss hit young lives and a community as hard as any monumental storm.  I couldn’t let it go.

At first, there were no relatives stepping forward to take Paul and Crystal in.  My martial art mindset was in full swing. Responsibility. Compassion. Dedication. Commitment. Devotion. These were the true techniques in my arsenal.   I had one son at the time and I turned to my husband and shocked him with this bolt of lightning:

“We should adopt them.”

I admit, it was hasty, but when a storm hits and devastation is in full swing, there is no easy answer. My sense of duty and loyalty to my students could not be swayed.

At the funeral, young Paul stood in front of a large congregation of people in a suit and a pair of dark sunglasses to hide the rain that fell from his eyes.  He told everyone to “not worry,” that he would step up and be the man that he was called to be. And, I cried.  I had never experienced loss through a child’s eyes, and I realized that my martial art had prepared me for this moment. I was facing motherhood from a different, unexpected perspective.

I saw my vision as clearly as the sun peeking through the clouds.  I am a martial artist, a leader, and a mother and all of these things intertwine.  I was ready and willing to soak up the responsibility and make the necessary change. The days following were like a whirlwind, like driving in and out of constant storms with the winds shifting so frequently that I didn’t know where I would end up.

One thing was for sure, teaching martial arts at this center had nothing to do with me or gaining experience. It had to do with changing lives.

I don’t have to tell you how the story ends if you know me, because I have four of my own children and Paul and Crystal are not a part.  As the skies cleared and things settled down, relatives from out-of-state received word and took Paul and Crystal in.  I never saw them again.

Slowly, I started to settle back into my life. We continued to teach and watch storms pass through the lives of our students on a daily basis, but none was as challenging to maneuver as that particular storm that swept me off my original course.  We taught at this center for seven years in the 1990’s.  The other part, in its quiet and subtle nature, was that my martial art guided and directed me to a path I never considered.  I was awakened.  If I am not willing to allow martial arts to infiltrate my life, then I’m not truly practicing.

I have never liked driving a car. I don’t know why.  Some people are perfectly fine jumping in the car and heading out. For me, it’s an added burden, a waste of time, a nuisance.  Throw in a Florida thunderstorm and there’s nothing good about a drive headed anywhere.  Truth be told, every rainstorm brings to light another circumstance in my life that I’ve had to overcome. It’s like a little reminder,  drip-drip-drip, that trickles ever so slowly and constantly in my life.

Another drive is in my near future. I’m hoping for a dry, dark morning when I can comfortably drive without much effort or thought.  If there is anything for which I am truly thankful, it is that I don’t have to drive through too many storms at any one time. The highway is straight and clear on most mornings, and I usually know exactly where I’m headed.  How I get there is a completely different story.

I can deal with the rain and the lightning that strikes every now and again.  What I really want, though, is a good ending to every story, and to every storm. Life is not all that easy when you unexpectedly hit a rough patch.  Rest assured, you will find a way through it and things will work out exactly as they are meant to be.

Andrea

 

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