Have you ever run a race?
In high school, I was the girl in the back of the gym class, who finished the mile in exactly twelve minutes. My only goal was to pass the class. I was capable of running faster, but why would I willingly want to my body through such a painful experience. I was not a runner.
Fast forward five years, one of my friends challenged me to run a 10k with her. Reluctantly, I agreed. Running was still not my favorite past time, but with each mile of training I got stronger. Refusing to give up, I pushed my body through the pain. Running began to feel familiar. Instead of dreading the run, I learned to enjoy it.
Now eighteen years later, I’m still not an avid runner, but occasionally I will chose to participate in a race. Each race requires training to push past my body’s natural desire to quit. Quitting would be easier, but over the years I’ve learned perseverance leads to growth.
Lately I’ve been feeling like we’re all running a race. In March, we put on our theoretical running clothes. We sheltered at home, bought our toilet paper, and whether willing or not we were entered into a race that we hoped would be a short one.
As I began thinking about our current season as a race, I was reminded of something I wrote two years ago. I signed up to run a 10K with my thirteen year old, two months after my mother passed away. What I didn’t consider is that the season of grief I was in was already like running a race. Unexpectedly one evening, while we were visiting, my mother had died of a stroke and overnight I had been thrown onto the track, and I was running a race another race for which I had not willing signed up.
So as the day of the 10k approached, I threw what can only be considered a tantrum.
This is what I wrote…
Tomorrow is race day, and every fiber of my being is dreading it. Running, which I have grown to love, once again feels like a root canal. I’ve run this race before. It’s not that I believe I can’t, but that I just don’t want to! I can see my son stamping his foot and screaming as I interrupt his play. “No! Please, no!”
I’ll run it for my daughter, to whom I made a promise. One foot in front of the other, I’ll run it as not to disappoint my family. One more mile, just one more. I’ll run it because I made a commitment. Keep running, don’t give up. I’ll run it because tomorrow is race day, and once you start the race the only way to finish is to run.
Perhaps this is like our faith. We get caught in races or paths that we’d rather not walk, needless to say run. Yet the only way to get through them is one step at a time, one foot in front of the other. We don’t always get to chose our race, but the only way to finish is to run.
Life can feel like a series of races – seasons of grief, heartache, or even simple busyness. Sometimes we sign up for the race, knowing that the days may seem long, but the finish line is worth the work. Other times we are thrown unwillingly into a race – illness, loss, a pandemic… Today’s race involves “safer at home” orders, a virus yet to be understood, and our wants and desires disrupted by cancellations and uncertainties. We’re in a race that none of us chose and most of us are too tired to continue running. If you feel like I did a few years ago and would rather just stomp your feet, scream, and ultimately give up, you’re not alone. I’d rather not still be carrying the burden of grief, the fear of uncertainty, or the fatigue from fighting to take each next step. I’d rather not be wearing masks, canceling plans, staying at home, and wondering what new challenge I’ll wake up to tomorrow. I didn’t choose the race, but I still have to chose to run.
I can approach the race of life like I did in high school. I can do the bare minimum to get by and just hope the time will pass quickly. Or I can approach it with a desire to persevere like a runner training for race day. Each day making me stronger. Each challenge being an opportunity to learn and grow.
Three months ago, I heard this pandemic described as a marathon, not a sprint. Now I think it’s safe to say we’re running an ultra-marathon. The course is brutal. The finish line is no where in sight, but the way to finish it is the same – one foot in front of the other.
The advantage we have in the race of life is that we have a course training plan in God’s Word. Hebrews 12 exhorts us to “run with perseverance the race marked out for us, fixing our eyes on Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of our faith.”
Jesus is our running coach. When we fix our eyes on Him, we can finish strong. He lays out a training plan that makes the race more manageable. Instead of water, we need to refresh ourselves with God’s Word. Instead of training workouts, we need extended time in prayer and communion with our Father. Instead of a running group, we need brothers and sisters in Christ surrounding us with encouragement and truth on the days that the course seems too tough. Christ is our Coach and He knows the track. He’s already seen the finish line.
You may be ready to throw in the towel. You may be craving the comfort of “normal.” Believe me when I tell you how often I have taken those requests to the Coach. His response remains clear. Stay the course. The track is set. The race has begun, and we have a choice to make. Let’s choose perseverance. If we fix our eyes on Jesus, He promises to encourage us and provide the strength for us to run and not grow weary.
Keep running, friends! Find strength and hope in each step forward!
