I’ve been battling illness since the beginning of October—a complicated illness that began with a flu shot and led to a bizarre chain of events that left me feeling broken in body and spirit and more exhausted than I ever thought possible. My brother Adam texted me every day, asking me how I was feeling. I’d answer him, and he’d give me the rallying call we always give each other when we’re down or sick: “Do not go gentle! Rage!”
The words are from a poem written by Dylan Thomas. When his father was dying, Thomas wrote the poem, begging his father not to submit to death but to rise up and fight it. This is the last stanza of the poem:
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Adam told me to rage. I told him I couldn’t—I was too tired, in too much pain, and, frankly, feeling very sorry for myself. Last Saturday night, Monty and I had just gotten home from a five hour round trip drive to the hospital when I got a text from Adam: “It’s fight night!” I didn’t answer; I had nothing left to say. Then I remembered that it actually was “fight night”—the UFC fight between MMA fighters Conor McGregor and Khabib Nurmagomedov was taking place that night.
I’m a huge fan of MMA—it’s fighting using mixed martial arts. The fights take place in an octagon surrounded by a cage. A fighter wins by knockout, decision, or submitting his opponent. When a fighter’s opponent can no longer endure the fight, the opponent taps out: he taps on the fighter or the floor, and the ref stops the fight. 
My favorite MMA fighter is Conor McGregor. He’s Irish, which is part of the reason he entertains me. He’s cocky. He’s mouthy. He tends to fight dirty. He’s a rebel who breaks all the rules. And when someone insults him, Conor rages—whether or not he’s in the octagon, he fights back. He’s also an excellent fighter who trains with extreme discipline. But Conor lost Saturday night’s fight—he tapped out. I was disappointed but not surprised. Monty and I both thought that when Conor was waiting for the fight to begin, he seemed different. He lacked his usual rage—the fire that drives him to win. He seemed to have tapped out before the fight even started. And when the fight did start, it was clear that he had underestimated his opponent and wasn’t prepared to fight him.
I could relate. I, too, wanted to tap out, just to stop the pain of my fight. I, too, had underestimated my opponent and was unprepared for my fight. My opponent is the same old accuser (Rev. 12:9-10) who has whispered lies to me my whole life. He tells me again and again that I’m not worth fighting for. That I’m too weak. Too broken. Too damaged. Usually, I can dig deep, find my rage, and fight back with the truth. I can remember that I’m not fighting alone—that God is fighting with me and for me. But this time, I listened to the accuser and let him wear me down until I completely lost my will to fight—until I longed to go gentle into that good night.
Conor lost the fight on Saturday; he probably felt defeated and exhausted afterwards. But he will rally—I don’t think he could go gentle if he tried. He’ll dig deep, channel his ever-present rage, and fight his next opponent until he lies bloodied and bruised on the floor of the octagon. I had my rallying moment after watching Conor lose his fight. The accuser whispered, “You’ll lose, too. It’s time to tap out. You’re finally too broken to ever be fixed.” And I felt it—the tiniest spark of rage. It began to build as I figuratively pulled myself to my feet and spoke to my accuser: “What did you just say to me? I’m broken? I’m finished? Have you forgotten that my Defender is fighting with me? You can’t beat Him, and you won’t beat me. I’m not even close to finished. I will fight your lies with every last bit of strength I have. I’m not tapping out. I’m done feeling sorry for myself and done listening to you. I will rage against the dying of my light. I will rise. And you. Will. Not. Win.”
What is the accuser whispering to you? “Failure. Bad mother. Victim. Dropout. Loser. Junkie.” Consider this your rallying call—do not submit to those lies. Don’t go gentle. Rage with what you know is the truth. This is your fight night: get in the octagon and fight with every last drop of blood, sweat, and tears you have until your accuser taps out. Leave it all on the floor and get back up. With every fight you win, you’ll get stronger and you’ll be more prepared for the next one. No matter what the accuser tells you, know this: You are worth the fight, and you’re not fighting alone. So rage. Rage against the dying of the light. Find your inner fire. And rise.
“Fight Night”
(Every line is by a different writer;
I put them together to make my own poem.)
From the pneumonia of the ditch,
Fire is calling my name. It is whispering words of encouragement:
“Nothing in this world will kill you faster than a dying fire.
Come dance with the devil and die with the flames.”
I can’t breathe I can’t rage I can’t fight I give in:
Who cares if one more light goes out?
Burn me down ’til I’m nothing but memories.
A louder, familiar Voice calls to me:
“Do you not know? Have you not heard?
Struggle on! Struggle on! Victory is within sight.
Rise up and show that arsonist that fire cannot kill you.
Rise, I say, rise and look to the light, and tell it your decision.
Burn for everything you ever wanted. Burn higher–
Higher than soul can hope or mind can hide.
Burn through the skies; ignite the night like a phoenix
And, leaving behind nights of terror and fear,
Set fire to the stars.”
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Comments 8
Love that poem great job, sure hope you are doing better and getting over your shot, I know from experience the shot can make you as sick as the flu itself.
So you loved the fights wow, I have never watched one of these cage fights for very long, it looks the fighters have awesome skill, but I wouldn’t think their careers would last long that’s a lot of hits they take to the head. I think we all have a violent side I have been a fan of hockey sense 1958. It is a violent sport also only they carry sticks and they do fight a lot and I love it. I also followed sprint car racing for a lot of years. A sprint car races on a 1/2 mile dirt track, the car it’s self is not much than over grown go kart with a 850 horse power engine cable of a 150 mph on dirt. I seem to just thrive on watching some one you know racing at that speed and you get so upset at any lost races.
I think the rage you speak about helps you fight for healing and saving your live , rage gets the adrenaline flowing helps you do things that are well beyond your normal ability, actually it can be a little scary at times.
Renee I hope you are doing a lot better and you don’t have any more problems with the flu.
Love, Grover
Grover–Ugh–a flu shot. You know how it is with asthma–you have to get one. Mine got three different infections in it and when my doctor tested me for the flu virus–I had the flu. I agree with you about the MMA fighters having shorter careers. I don’t think there are many older than 35. I like hockey, mostly because it’s not in the heat! Monty grew up watching sprint car racing with his dad. I read him your description, and he said you described it so perfectly. Yes, the rage helps with healing; I hadn’t thought about adrenaline, but that makes perfect sense. Thank you for your comment and well wishes. I certainly do appreciate you! Love to you.
” Rise up and show that arsonist that fire cannot kill you”—and God says “When you walk through the fire, you will not be burned; the flames will not set you ablaze”–for I am the Lord your God, the Holy One of Israel, your Saviour”. Isaiah 43:2b,3.
The prayer send to you states ” Father, YOU are a wall of fire round about Renee, and You have set Your angels round about her”. Zechariah 2:5. Amen.
Your testimony is God’s delight and well worth fighting for Renee, you need to get angry and rage like never before and know we will rage and get angry alongside you.
God’s promises for you are solid and as a child of God he will give you the power to keep on traveling forward cloaked in His armour. Onward Christian soldier!
All my love to you!
Klara–I’ve been noticing all these references to fire–in that prayer, in the books I’ve been reading, and especially the poetry and in Scripture. So I knew God was putting it in the forefront of my thoughts. I am as you said, “angry and raging like never before” and I KNOW you are right there beside me. Thank you so much for your encouragement and love. I know they’ve been integral to my fight. Love to you.
Another wonderful post, Renee! You are an amazing writer. I’m always fascinated how you can weave different events and happenings into a life lesson that applies to me and others. I love the poem too!
That means the world to me, my Monty. And I happen to be fascinated with the way you put all of this together and make it look just like I envision. I will treasure your words.
Good morning,Sparrow. Glad to see you are strong enough, to get back in your “writing mode”. As you are aware, I pray fir you everyday day, my own prayers to God, and also my Texas Prayer Warriors. Like they say, “Prayers do work, we just have to stay “the course”.Days when you feel almost drained, you, We, dig deep down, and Pray. Your “Page is turning” I feel it. Wonderful to know, Adam keeps encouraging you, Monty encourages you, your family encourages you.As long as we have hope, prayer, You , we, will triumph. Finally, our “final triumphant” journey to be with the Lord. My Mom, never quit, always “pushed on”.Her latter years spent on praying for me daily, very strong woman. Like your MMA champ, Conor, you ‘got up”, licked your wounds, and are back in “Blog form”. Rage, can be a positive, as you are showing. Thank you for another ‘from the Heart” Blog, You Are “back in Blog form”. Prayers always. …TexGen
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Harold–I’m glad, too! I’m so grateful for all of your prayers and for your fellow warriors’ prayers. I strongly believe that I’m going to get better quickly because of all of those prayers. I like what you wrote about my “page turning.” I’ll remember that as I keep fighting. New page, one at a time, then a new chapter of health. Your mom’s legacy of faith and prayer and endurance is so inspiring. Thank you for always giving me such encouragement. And thank you so, so much for your prayers.