Life's Ambushes

Life’s Ambushes

My life has been a series of Ambushes.  How’s that? What can I mean? Have my troops and I waited for hours in the pouring rain for the king’s men to pass so that we could burst from the bosky foliage to despoil them?  Have I crouched low, like a tiger, and waited for my prey so that I could pounce from out the shadows and devour it?  No.  It’s actually quite the other way around.  I am much too stupid for such high strategies and stratagems.  When I say that my life has been a series am ambushes, I mean that I feel that someone or something is forever lying in wait for me to, that some mischievous and fickle fortune is forever waiting for me to drop my guard to prick me in the back with one of life’s aggravating pins.

Why ambush, you might ask?  I had often asked myself the same thing.  According to dictionary.com an ambush is “an act of lying concealed so as to attack by surprise.” So there you have it.  Armed banditti lying in wait for an innocent passer-by.  A violent, sudden, brusque attempt at a man’s life and property�" and then they’re off.  The word conveys terror, blood, alertness, and suspense�"dark, droning suspense�"suspense to take your breath away.  And if you relax your tensed muscles for even a second, then life, that notorious highwayman jumps out at you and robs you of any profit you may have obtained during the day. I wake up, I step out of bed, I stub my toe against my dresser: first ambush; I go downstairs, I sit at the table to eat my breakfast, a whole pot of coffee suddenly falls on me singeing me from head to foot with scalding black roast: second ambush; I get in the car, my father drives me to school, I come out of the car and fall face foremost on the ground while my books cascade about me like shooting stars: third ambush.  And it goes on and on for the rest of the day.

In those early days of my ambushed existence (I was, at the time, only ten years old), if you had asked me if my experiences had done me any good or taught me any valuable life lesson, I would probably have thought for a moment before saying, “ I suppose it’s taught me how not to take anything for granted.” And while it might very well have taught me that, and insofar as it taught me that might very well have been a useful thing�"yet I felt, deep down inside me, that it did more harm than good.   For example, one day at school a bully had seriously beat me up, and instead of telling the teacher on him or even getting my parents to seek out medical attention for me, I stayed quiet and told nobody, with the result that I suffered from some painful bruised ribs, a couple of barked shins, and a black eye.  Why had I told nobody?

My Ambushes had taught me to be jaded, had taught me that, no matter how hard I tried, they would never stop, so I might as well resign myself to them.  The attitude of resignation turned into despondency, from despondency into despair.  At last there came a point where I had given up hope entirely.  I was sick of trying, sick of living with these perpetual ambushes; I had had enough of life and wanted to die.  No matter how hard anyone tried, they could not rouse me from my stupor.  I was immobilized. Threats and entireties had no effect on me.

It was not until my father in thunder-tones exhorted me to rise, to take life by the throat, to be a man, to forge character though suffering, to stop whining, and get up!  I had had enough of pep talks: he might as well have been talking to a wall.  Only when he moved from exhortations to threats did I get up and reluctantly go downstairs. When my father threatened he was not to be taken lightly.

I was on my way down stairs when suddenly, I stepped on a bar of wet soap (placed in my way, probably, by a mischievous sibling), tripped, and, limbs flailing like a marionette gone mad, I tumbled down stair after stair till I hit the bottom with a horrible “thwack!” That was it. I was not getting up anymore after this, and I lay like a dead thing.  

There was, however, a spark of nobility in me (for which I thank God) that was disgusted at the idea of giving up. I could not just do nothing.  I had either to fight or run away. Since I was only ten,  I would have had nowhere to run away to. I resolved to confront life and fight the ambushes, one last time. I challenged life to show himself and come at me with all he had.  He was not slow to respond. Never in all my life had I been ambushed with such violence.  From dawn to dusk, and through the night I was assailed first by a gang of doubts, then by a horde of misgivings, then by highwaymen of misfortune, then by the robbers of hope, then by the purloiners of joy, and finally by the thieves of life.

It was a terrible day, but I carried through feeling that at any point either life or I must crack.  I went to bed sore but determined to win. I woke up the next morning with a horrible start: there was a lizard waltzing down my spine! And I don’t mean a spiritual, allegorical lizard: mean a fat, black salamander. I removed the amphibian and sighed: another series of ambushes had begun.

At about midday, after having sustained several bruises, from falling down stairs, a couple of barked shins, and a black eye�"from a conflict with the school bully,�" I wondered if I was adopting the wrong strategy.  I was determined to succeed but it seemed that determination alone would not be enough.  There was something else.

I had never before supposed that there could possibly be any other way to of dealing with the ambushes than by doggedly sloughing through them. But today I thought that perhaps there might be a weak spot in my plan somewhere. I thought about it for about ten minutes, then it struck me�"I was trying to face these ambushes alone!  No man is an island, and without the support of friends and family I was as good as toast.  I was not slow to act on my discovery.  It came as a complete surprise to me, but making friends was tremendously easy.  It seemed to require nothing but an act of the will.  Others who have had the more difficult time “fitting in” and “getting along” may look incredulously at my successes, and I cannot blame them.  Looking back on it I cannot credit myself for any of the friends I made, but turn over the praise to God’s Providence.

The idea of thinking about others when you have a problem of your own is not new: many people say that if we will forget about ourselves for a moment and focus on somebody else, all of our troubles will vanish. It worked wonders with me.  When I was in my friends’ company, the brigands of life were cautious about ambushing me.  When I was laughing and enjoying myself in their company, the bandits of misfortune were wary of springing out at me.  And when I went to bed, happy and content, the horrible life that had tormented me for so long disappeared entirely.

Now that I look back on the Ambushes of my past, I can say with almost complete truth, that I am grateful to God for them. Though, for the longest time, they were a heavy burden and a wretched weight upon my soul, they taught me the value of friendship, and the pleasures and fulfillment one can find in company. I thank all my friends for their invaluable incalculable friendship, and wish happiness and ambush-free peace on all of them.  Thanks also to my long-suffering family, and especial thanks to my father for his exhortations.

Reviews

[Adam Garton]

This was an interesting view and twist on the daily challenges one faces. Did you finally have a day without an ambush? I know I've yet to experience such a day.

[She With Eyes Like Unsh..]

Great life story with many lessons filled with truth. You should check out my other page, She of Three Personalities... You may find it more to your liking than She With Eyes Like Unshed Tears.