Run Your Race
The clock. That smite. That tasteless, vain despot. TIME: The sword of life’s existence. The liberator and the prison guard. The watch and the bell. The clock.
Twisted braids tightly caressed her neck falling past the name on her grass-stained red and gold running tee. Sweat pulsed at her temples, bled down into her stained, breathless cheeks. The clock read 2 hours, 45 minutes. Her heart felt heavy and her willpower wavered. Her soul rushed backwards. She had four miles yet to run and her blistered feet winced for relief. Time ticked. It’s just a race, she thought. It’s only me against myself.
One jettisoned step too late she crossed that finish line. Propelled by friends and fans she intentionally collapsed, then blacked out, evaded all sense of self-pressure and aggravated, perpetual doubt.
There wouldn’t be another race if she never had to face another morning. Never enough. She felt she would never be enough.
She had trained perfectly. Honed her focus on eating well, being the deserving athlete she knew she was. But failure stung like poison. Motivation waned like rising crime rates. “Run your race,” the refrain beckoned. “Run your race!”
The purpose of this short anecdote is to demonstrate that no matter what the race – a marathon, chasing a job, a dream, a life – it isn’t going to be easy. There are going to be blistered feet and pestering thoughts of self-doubt. There will be times of failure and times of success. There will be moments where existing seems the only option and living a secondary afterthought. There will be spaces and seasons in the race of life that go by too quickly, while others pass too slowly. Yes, it’s going to be hard. Each day will not produce a smile, but on that race day, the morning you wake up, look up, talk to God, pray, lace up those shoelaces and prepare yourself for the race of your life. God has given you the gift of living a beautiful life, racing an unchartered course that only he can see.
Those twisted braids, and sweaty legs can only continue their work through walking, running, and hoping in Him. In Christ alone our hope is found and in Him we find our footing on solid ground.
Treat every day as though it’s race day! Not in the sense that you have a will to be the best or be the fastest, but that you have an ongoing purpose. You have a goal and you have the steadfast hope that in Christ alone the race will be a beautiful one. It will be glorious and lovely in each and every way. If you’ve ever competed in a race you know the anxiety, the tension, the weeks and months of training you so desperately hope will pay off. There’s fear, but there’s also excitement and anticipation for an outcome yet unknown. And somehow that keeps us going. The mere challenge of the mystery and the journey of what’s yet to come during the race. We can’t do it alone, though. We rely on the support of others, an internal drive towards personal success, and a need to have Christ with us through it all.
For to race without Christ? That’s not racing at all. That’s existing without living, that’s breathing without taking in oxygen. That’s the very epitome of wasting life.
So live for Him. Race for Him. Run each day with purpose towards Him. For the the finish line of life’s still uncertain race, will always remain growing closer to Christ.