On 8th November 2025, I stood on the mat, bowed, and faced my final Taekwondo grading — and passed. After years of sweat, bruises, self-doubt, and perseverance, I became a 1st Dan Black Belt.

Three days later, as the adrenaline faded and the soreness settled in, I've been reflecting on what this journey has meant — not just as a martial artist, but as a Christian, priest, and human being trying to keep faith in the midst of life's many challenges.

Why the Black Belt Matters

For most people, a black belt is a symbol of mastery — but the longer you train, the more you realise it's actually the start of a new chapter. It doesn't mean you've arrived. It means you've endured.

The black belt represents:

Commitment — showing up week after week, even when you don't feel like it.
Resilience — facing setbacks, bruises, and exhaustion, and still coming back.
Humility — realising that knowledge deepens as ego falls away.
Community — knowing that every step, every belt, every sparring round depended on others who pushed and supported you.

The moment my instructor handed me that new belt, I realised it wasn't a trophy — it was a testimony.

Beginning Again — From Black Belt to White Belt

Before I ever bowed into a Taekwondo dojang, I already held a Black Belt in Verve Kickboxing. I could easily have stayed in my comfort zone — teaching, sparring, training where I was already competent.

But something in me knew I needed to start again. So I humbled myself, tied on a white belt once more, and began the long climb from the beginning — new stances, new terminology, new expectations.

That decision was one of the most spiritual moments of my martial arts journey. It reminded me that growth requires humility. You can't learn with a full cup. You have to empty yourself to be filled again — a truth that echoes the heart of Christian discipleship.

In a small way, returning to white belt embodied that same rhythm — strength through humility, leadership through learning again.

Taekwondo and Faith: Not at Odds

Sometimes people ask if martial arts and Christianity can mix. After all, some martial arts traditions have roots in Eastern spirituality. But Taekwondo, at least as I practise it, isn't about worship or mysticism — it's about discipline, integrity, and respect.

It fits beautifully with Christian faith because:

It's not excessively spiritual. There's no hidden religion in it — only the shaping of character.
It mirrors biblical discipleship: Paul's image of running the race, fighting the good fight, disciplining the body (1 Cor 9:24–27).
It values virtue — courtesy, perseverance, self-control — the same qualities the Spirit shapes in us.
It grounds me. In ministry, so much happens in the head and heart. Taekwondo brings it back to the body: breath, movement, balance — a kind of physical prayer.

It reminds me that faith isn't just about what we believe; it's about how we live, move, and persist.

Facing Challenges

The black belt journey wasn't easy. There were evenings I didn't want to train. Times I felt like I'd hit a wall. Injury, fatigue, frustration — all of it real, all of it humbling.

But challenge is the crucible of growth. It's where faith and perseverance are tested. Taekwondo taught me to lean into the hard moments, just as faith calls us to stand firm in trials (James 1:2–4).

Every kick that missed, every sparring match I lost, every night I doubted my ability — all became part of the spiritual discipline of showing up, doing the work, and trusting the process. In that sense, the dojang and the church aren't so different. Both are places where we learn to fall, rise, and grow.

From the Mat to Ministry

As I continue ministry in Llanfaes and prepare to launch Verve Taekwondo Brecon in January 2026, I want to bring what I've learned from the mat into the church:

That faith isn't fragile — it's forged through effort and persistence.
That community is stronger than competition.
That humility and discipline go hand in hand.
That the body matters — God works through our physical selves as well as our souls.

I've learned that a black belt isn't about fighting — it's about formation. It's about living with purpose, clarity, and courage — in Christ, for others.

The Journey Continues

When I look at the belt now, it's not a finish line. It's a reminder: this is where real learning begins.

Both demand the same posture: bow low, breathe deep, and step forward again.

So yes, I'm a Black Belt now — twice over. But more importantly, I'm still a student — of Taekwondo, of faith, of life. And that's exactly where I want to be.

This article was originally published on Medium.