To the Finish Line

I press toward the mark for the prize of the high calling of God in Christ Jesus.  Philippians 3:14

Last week we were involved in Vacation Bible School.  The students learned about the apostle Paul and his desire to keep pressing toward the finish line.

Yesterday Charlie and I participated in a 10K race.  I signed us up months ago because I need something to help keep me motivated to get out and exercise.  There are just too many days when the excuses easily defeat me.  Knowing a race is coming up helps me.

We arrived in downtown Freeport at about 7:00 a.m.  Hundreds of people were already milling around the starting area.  Some were stretching.  Others were running in place, but most simply stood around talking.  They talked about the weather, other races they’d run, and their hopes for a personal best.  Those who had never run the course asked questions about what it was like.  For everyone, though, they had only one thing on their minds – finishing the 6.2 miles that loomed ahead.

This was our third time running this race.  I hoped I would beat my last time.  I doubted it would be the best of the three because it was certainly the most uncomfortable weather we had encountered for this event.  Minutes before the start, Charlie moved ahead in the lineup to a more appropriate place for him, and soon we were off.

The course takes a gentle downhill for the first three miles.  At one point it bumps up with a fairly steep hill and then continues downward.  I started out slowly, remembering that the last time I ran this I started too fast and was lightheaded by the end.  I felt like the slowest runner in the crowd of about 1500 runners.  It seemed everyone passed me.

Slowly the pack thinned out and I found myself running alongside two other women, both of whom were running this race for the first time.  I answered their questions about the course and we talked about the hot weather.  When the first steep hill began, I had to walk, and they surged ahead.  In my mind I kept reciting the verse, “Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy might.”  I asked myself, Am I doing the best I can?  Do I really need to walk right now?  When the answer was “yes” I had to content myself with the knowledge that I would get to the end, but I would not beat either of my previous race times.

Mile after mile slowly crept by.  Mile four seemed unending.  More runners passed.  One woman who cruised by looked like she was about six months pregnant.  A man came up behind me saying, “Clap, Virginia.”  I turned to look.  He was pushing his infant daughter in a stroller.  I clapped for them instead.  Another father, obviously a veteran to races by the “Beach to Beacon” race shirt he wore, held back his desire to compete to encouraged his teenage daughter on her first 10K.  She was beginning to feel that this race would never end.

The sun was more intense and the shady spots fewer.  I once again slowed to a walk.  By now other people around me were walking.  A spectator shouted from the sidelines, “Love the shoes!”  That was enough to get me running again and I passed as many of the walkers as I could. 

Eventually the finish line crept into view and I began to mentally sing a song of praise with a faster beat.  “O let your soul now be filled with gladness.  Your heart redeemed, rejoice indeed!”  I took off running – not full speed but faster than before.  Charlie, who had already finished, was watching for me and joined my running for a bit.  About 400 feet from the line a woman started to pass me, so I stepped it up and raced her for the finish.  She beat me, but not by much.

The race was over.  It was the slowest time I’d had.  A volunteer worker handed me a bottle of water.  After a couple gulps, we left the crowds and headed for the car. 

I didn’t do well today, I thought.  But there will be other races if I want to try again.

Through all of this I kept thinking.  There’s another finish line I have my eye on.  The difference there is that I only get one shot at that one.  There will be no doing it over if I’m not satisfied with the results.  It’s the one we talked about last week in VBS: “the high calling of God in Christ Jesus”.  It’s the race of life.

I want to get to heaven and hear the Father say, “Welcome home, child.  Well done.”  I want to know on that day that I have run the race of life to the best of my ability.  I don’t want to hear him tell me of all the times I let excuses keep me from doing the right thing.  I want to know that I kept going even when times were tough.  I want to keep pressing on until I reach that finish line.

The Soldier's Half-Marathon

On Saturday morning at 5:00 a.m., the alarm sounded, reminding me why I don’t really like early morning runs.  We got up, ate an apple, yogurt, and cheese, and drank some juice.  My groggy stomach insisted that it was not ready for food at that hour, so I ate only a little.  After breakfast, I settled down with my Bible for a while to read and pray.  Then I dressed in a pair of wind pants and a sleeveless running shirt under a turtleneck.   Just before 6:00, Charlie ducked out of our hotel room to start the car and scrape the ice off the windshield. When I joined him a few minutes later, we headed toward Fort Benning.

At the Infantry Museum, the dark, cloudless sky slowly began brightening, assuring the frozen runners that the sun’s warm rays were just below the horizon.  Under the lights of the street lamps and a full white moon that floated slowly toward earth, couples hugged each other, receiving warmth from one another’s bodies.  People bounced up and down and stretched out eager limbs as they waited for the crowd to gather.  Soldiers in uniform lined the walkway where the race would begin.

Then the wait was over.  The cannon’s burst caught me by surprise, and we were off.  Well, sort of.  The people at the front of the line, elite runners and those qualifying for the Boston Marathon, were off.  The rest of us began shuffling toward the starting line as row upon row of runners cleared the starting line and headed down the street.

At the first hill, I heard them before I saw them.  One drill sergeant shouted words of encouragement from the left sidewalk.  “Good work, ma’am.  Keep going.  You’re going to make it.”  On the other side, another drill sergeant used negative reinforcement.  “Why are you walking up this hill?  This hill is nothing!  You call that a five-hour marathon pace?  At that rate, you won’t make it.  You might as well give up now.”  I smiled, trying to discern which one was motivating me to pick up my pace.  Perhaps it was just the humor of it all.

At every bend in the course, soldiers in uniform stood to keep the runners on the path.  At the top of another hill, they shouted, “It’s all downhill from here.”  Well, it was, for a while. 

Mile after mile crept by.  I noticed a young woman in green.  She passed me.  Then I passed her.  She passed me.  I realized that she would be a good pace keeper for me.  I kept my eye on her, not letting her get too far ahead of me.  Then I noticed a black glove fall from her side.  She didn’t notice.  I stopped to pick it up and ran after her, but her pace was fast enough that I didn’t think I would ever catch her again.  When she slowed to a fast walk, I caught up and handed her the glove.  We exchanged names and found out about each other’s fallen heroes for whom we were running.  Then she was off again, and I was once again following.

At mile 12, two full-marathon runners sped by me, headed for their mile 25.  I wasn’t even to the half-marathon mark, and here they were about to finish their full marathon!

When I finally crossed the line, I melted into Charlie’s arms.  It was so good to be done.  I felt like I had accomplished something, even though I knew it was just a race that won’t matter much one hundred years from now.  So I looked for the woman in green.

“Thank you for being an encouragement to me today,” I said when I found her.  I went on, “Since you were ahead of me most of the way, I was praying for you.  Is there anything special you would like prayer for?”  She mentioned a couple generic things.  We hugged and parted. 

It was a good day.  It taught me things I hope I don’t forget:

• There is joy in the journey.  
• It’s easy to get lost if you don’t follow instructions.  
• I am not a marathon runner.   
• Running is a blessing many people don’t have, so I’m grateful for legs and health and time that has allowed me to do this in this season of my life.  
• Running has benefits, the most important for me is that it bonds me to my running-loving husband. 
• I can bless others with my prayers when I run.  
• But most important of all, God runs with me.  His voice and companionship during a run are the best part of it all.

Running the Race with Patience

“Wherefore seeing we also are compassed about with so great a cloud of witnesses, let us lay aside every weight, and the sin which doth so easily beset us, and let us run with patience the race that is set before us,” (Hebrews 12:1 AV) 

 On the Fourth of July Joan and I celebrated in a different way from most Americans. We ran in a 10K race. We both finished, although far from the front. I am reminded of what Paul (at least in my opinion Paul) wrote to the Hebrews so long ago. 

 There was a “cloud” of witnesses. People were on their front lawns and at the intersections cheering us on. People were manning the water tables. The last mile was down Main Street Freeport, Maine and there were people on both sides cheering the runners on. There were the other runners, we were never running alone. The runners laid aside the weight of extra clothing, some even shedding items along the way. The shoes we wore were not hiking boots, but purpose built for running. Many of us had intentionally lost body weight as part of our race preparations. 

 Most reminiscent however is patience, or as the word is sometimes defined: endurance. The race started with over one mile of steady down hill course. It was easy, we were fresh, cool, adrenaline stoked. Then there was the small stream that crossed under the road, the tidal creek on the other side; and the first hill. It was short, not too steep, but it was a taste of things to come. After a few more miles of gentle ups and downs there were two short steep hills, nothing big, nothing long. Then after the fourth mile the course went up, for about one mile, with no relief, and then the longest steepest hill in the whole course. The road was heating up, the air was heating up, and the humidity had been high the whole race. This is where endurance was needed. We needed to endure the hill, endure the scream of muscles wanting to rest, endure the last mile. 

 It's not so different from our current situation. Right now we are in the easy first stage of this ministry. We are excited, financially solvent, and mostly contacting churches that we know and that know us. But the road ahead will have challenges and we know that. I had two advantages in the 10K; I had walked the course two days before and I knew exactly where the finish line was. In this ministry we don't get a look at the course before hand, if we did we might not run the race! We also do not know where the finish line is, only God knows. Yet, we are to run the race. This implies pressing forward. Trying to charge up the hills, lengthening stride down the hills. Never burning out, but always pressing forward until we hear those blessed words: “Well done, thou good and faithful servant...”