Big Elmer

He spoke slowly and softly and we gathered more closely around the towering man so as not to miss a word. “These hands,” he began, “these hands were trained to conquer and to hurt. Before I came here to South Bay Bible College, before I met Christ, I crawled through the ropes into a ring to match my brawn and wit against another human being. Wrestling was my life, the object of my love. I breathed wrestling, ate wrestling and my dreams were dreams of wrestling. It can really get a hold of a person. Everything about it, from the smell of the dressing room, the glare of the ring lights, to the response of the jeers and cheers of the crowd, these are the things you train for, work for, yes, even live for. I knew how to pretend to be hurt when I wasn’t and how to appear to be permanently maiming my opponent, while not hurting him at all. I was a proud man. Most of all I was proud of these hands.” Big Elmer was still looking at his uplifted hands: still turning them over slowly. We all looked at his hands too. As we stared, the fingers slowly curled into a massive fist. The muscles of his arms rippled into hardness. His shoulders hunched and his once dancing eyes now shot forth sparks of fire. His big happy smile moved into a snarl of hatred. We leaned far back, as real fear crept into our hearts.

He roared, “In these hand I could take a man’s head and crush it.” We all scooted back even further.