Yes, it’s true. I ran at the World Cross Country Championships in Tallahassee, Florida.
I suppose I should clarify. I participated in the 1.25-mile Fun Run, which was after the world-class athletes finished their competitions. This was still a noteworthy accomplishment for a non-runner such as myself.
Not wanting to be left in the dust by the young families lined up next to my husband Peter and I, my pride propelled these hesitant bones forward when the gun sounded. I ran an impressive first stretch. This slowed to a run-walk-run after I reached the big man-made hill.
Would I make it the whole way? Was I foolish doing this with osteoporosis, when last year I almost had stress fractures in my foot from doing yardwork too vigorously?
It was a challenge I had to try.
The rest of the race became a surprisingly sacred time of worship as I sang along with my phone’s praise music. The wooded splendor scrolled past me along the dirt path. I felt so free! There is something special about moving our bodies in the worship of our great God and His creation.
I would have missed the beauty along the way if I focused on how many runners were ahead or behind me. This was my unique journey.
A few weeks earlier, I was studying 1 Corinthians 9:24, 25 in my daily times with Jesus.
“Do you not know that in a race all the runners run, but only one gets the prize? Run in such a way as to get the prize. Everyone who competes in the games goes into strict training. They do it to get a crown that will not last, but we do it to get a crown that will last forever.” 1 Corinthians 9:24, 25 NIV
I was drawn to this passage because I have been thinking about life’s finish line. How do runners approach the final stretch of a race? What can I learn from them, as I draw closer to the end of my race on earth?
I thought a lot about how runners speed up when they see the finish line ahead. Does the Lord want me to work harder to leave an eternal impact behind? Or does He want me to slow down and enjoy the fruits of the years of labor behind me?
So it piqued my interest when Peter suggested going to Tallahassee to watch the world’s best-of-the-best runners compete. Signing up for this Fun Run was a last-minute lark. So here I was, one foot pounding ahead of the other.
My lungs burned, but my legs charged forward as the path curved toward the cheers. As I felt the exhilaration of drawing closer, the Lord seemed to answer my question, Should I speed up or slow down in this race? In life?
As I caught sight of others passing through the archway, it suddenly hit me that runners speed up when they see the finish line to beat someone else (or to beat their own past record). This is necessary if you are in a competition! But in the Christian life, we aren’t competing with anyone else. Our eyes are on our Lord and Master, who is leading us along the straight and narrow way He has specifically created for each individual.
Every single one of us who trusts Jesus wins the grand prize, a place in Heaven with Him! We can also earn the prize of hearing Him say, “Well done, good and faithful servant,” as we choose every day to run with Him to the finish line.
The wooded path behind me had been so worth it, but I expended most of my energy along the way. As I approached the final arch, I needed to factor in my limited reserves. My main goals for the entire 1.25 miles were to keep moving at a good pace, enjoy and worship the presence of Jesus, and take the next step after the next with my eyes on the goal. This final stretch was no different.
I experienced a great sense of accomplishment and felt years younger as I crossed that finish line. I received my impressive plastic medallion and met up with Peter, who had finished much earlier than me. Our muscles moved slowly the next day or two, but I was pleasantly surprised that my body was energized by this spur-of-the-moment jaunt.
However, the most valuable takeaway was that I realized God doesn’t expect me to speed up as the days behind me are more numerous than the days ahead of me. He removed the pressure that I had placed on myself each morning. I’ve spent a lot of energy along life’s journey, and I need to take that into consideration.
On the other hand, He doesn’t want me to stop and forget I’m still in His race. I want to make the most of every day He gives me breath. I love sharing His message of eternal life so that as many people as possible can join me in bowing before our mighty God’s throne in Heaven. And I love encouraging other believers to grow in knowing and trusting Him, and in realizing they are His messengers. He can accomplish these things with or without me, but I love the honor of being His ambassador.
He showed me that in life, as in a race:
Our main goals are to keep moving at a good pace, enjoy and worship the presence of Jesus, and take the next step after the next with our eyes on the goal. The final stretch is no different.
What helps you make the most of each day? How do you maintain the balance of work and rest?
When I offered to read them a story from my most recent book, Discover Your Great Adventure, our grandsons informed me, with a bit of healthy pride, that they can read for themselves now. After all, they are a big five and eight years old. But this book of Grandma’s adventures grabbed their curiosity, so they agreed. To one story.
(Not so long ago, before they were able to read for themselves.)
“Could you read another one?”
Austin snuggled against my shoulder and pulled the fuzzy blanket closer, spreading it across my lap and his. Beckham’s interested glance told us he was thinking the same thing. So I searched the table of contents for the next adventure.
What began as one bedtime story from Discover Your Great Adventure turned into another.
And another.
And another.
Beckham and Austin’s eyes grew wide as I read about my terrifying kayak ride past a pirate ship in the Andaman Sea, in far-off Thailand.
“Another?” they pleaded.
This time, I opened my first book, Tire Tracks. They tracked closely as an unbelievable story about their dad unfolded. Andrew, as a preteen, was miraculously protected when he flew over the guard rail while skiing and tumbled down the steep side of a mountain.
“That couldn’t happen!” my scientifically-minded grandson exclaimed. I could see the wheels churning in his mind. It led to a deep conversation about God’s ability to protect us and His mysterious ways of not always doing so.
I was pleasantly surprised they understood my book’s humor. The boys laughed at my trying to smash my way out of a bathroom stall because I didn’t know all I needed to do was press a little button.
They snickered at my being stuck holding a store mannequin arm when I was four. Beckham inquired with a slightly sarcastic tone, “Now let me get this straight. You would rather hold onto a plastic arm than go find your mother??” We discussed how four-year-olds who are caught off guard don’t always have the best decision-making skills.
“Do you have any more stories about our dad?” Austin asked, leaning closer. They were silent in thought when I read about the very specific answer to their dad’s confident prayers for a basketball net when he was three years old.
“We’re going to ask our dad if these stories are true.”
I encouraged them to do so! I imagined the meaningful conversation they would have, as Andrew recalled these evidences of God’s care over the years.
“Can we read that story again?”
“Can we read the story again, about our dad rescuing his sister from being kidnapped?” By now, it was getting late. We didn’t want their parents to arrive home expecting a quiet house, only to find their two oldest children still wide awake.
“We can read that next time!” we promised, as I ended our time with the nail-biting account of my almost becoming a truck’s hood ornament.
As Peter and I tucked them into bed and rubbed their backs, they drifted off to sleep. My heart overflowed with love and joy. I marveled that my stories were clear enough to be grasped by their impressionable young minds, these dearly loved ones to whom I dedicated my books. Intertwined in each story are precious seeds of God’s faithfulness, now planted in the next generation.
Seeds of God’s faithfulness
Prayerfully, the seeds planted will sprout, grow, and bear fruit that bears fruit that bears fruit. Perhaps someday they will be telling their grandkids these exciting tales of their great great grandparents, as well as accounts of their own faith adventures: the ongoing fruit of seeds planted one quiet summer night, snuggled next to Grandma.
“Let this be written for a future generation, that a people not yet created may praise the Lord.” – Psalms 102:18
What stories were passed on to you from your parents or grandparents?
Is there something God has done, in your life or someone else’s, that you can share with a friend or family member whose faith needs to be strengthened?
Would I have published two books if I had known? These statistics I came across last week were thought-provoking.
Only 3% of those who start writing a book finish it.
Of those 3% who finish writing their book, only 20% will actually publish it.
That’s about .6%: one person in every 200 wannabe authors.
I’d like to think I would have written my books even if I knew the odds were against it. But apart from the Lord’s working in and through me, I don’t have a good track record.
For example, as I neared high school graduation, I considered a career in Advertising Design. But as soon as I heard it was competitive and difficult, my mindset shifted from “Could I?” to “I can’t.” What about a medical career? I read that pre-med classes were very hard and only a few were chosen. My lack of confidence caused me not to even try.
And years later, I swallowed the world’s opinion that Chinese is the hardest language to learn. I never got past my fear of failure to really try.
Publishing my books was a different story. The only explanation I can think of is that God gave me the simple faith of a child. I “whacked my way through the publisher’s jungle” one step at a time, and while I had discouraging moments, it never occurred to me not to finish. My friend Maggie’s being there made a tremendous difference, keeping me on track and encouraging me at low points.
My eyes weren’t on what others were doing or not doing, how many others were successful or not, or how much hard work it would be. I was convinced that He was calling me to write these books, and that He would be glorified by my telling the stories of His faithfulness. I thought of you and how I had to let you know what a good and trustworthy God He is!
There are decisions every day in which I can simply take God at His Word and follow His leading; or I can fill my head with the world’s opinion on how likely it is that I will succeed. It is kind of like being surrounded by a bunch of mirrors that are all distorted to some extent or another, like carnival mirrors.
There’s only one mirror that is completely accurate, and that is the one that reflects what our heavenly Father says about us. Since God is the God of the impossible, it is irrelevant how difficult something is, as long as He is behind the idea. Jesus is much more interested in helping us succeed at what He calls us to do than we realize.
Life is simpler when we say, ”Lord, what do you want me to do?” and then do it. This is not promoting the power of positive thinking; it is promoting the power of the powerful God when we step into His purpose for our lives.
What negative statistic have you sabotaged your success with? What Bible truth could you replace that limitation with?
Last month I was so excited that the bruised bones in my foot had recovered enough to enjoy Jazzercise again. It took a long five or six months. But finally, I was free to move with the beat again.
My newly established exercise routine was interrupted by a conference in Thailand. Only ten days, I told myself. When I return, I can jump back into Jazzercise.
Floors in Thailand have many ups and downs. I’ve been told they are designed that way in hopes of tripping evil spirits. When I entered my hotel bathroom, I noticed the three-inch step-down. But I forgot to step up when I left the bathroom and slammed my big toe into the raised threshold.
“Probable fracture,” the doctor concluded when I had it checked out back home. “Limited walking and tape it to the next toe for three to five weeks,” he ordered. Three to five weeks! No Jazzercise again.
When my foot was healing earlier this year, I joined the YMCA to use the pool. But it was too expensive and too far to be practical. I discontinued it. So with my disheartening toe diagnosis, I was back to wishing for a pool.
Lord, I wish there were a nearby swimming pool! Could you please help me find one?
A thought popped into my mind. I wonder when the local community pool, which is only five minutes away, opens for the summer? I had taken our children there for many years, but as far as I knew, it was only open when school was off for the summer.
Checking their website for summer hours, I was thrilled to discover it’s open for adult swim all year round! I hurried over the next day and my heart overflowed with thankfulness as I kicked and stretched in the refreshing crystal waters.
I marveled at how God responded so quickly to my simple prayer. Had I even thought of asking for His help when I searched earlier this year? All those months I longed for a pool to use, it was right there, waiting for me—only five minutes away. I had everything I needed and wanted; I just didn’t know it.
It reminds me of the rivers of living water flowing inside of us (John 7:38). God has placed His supernatural power—the same power that raised Christ from the dead— right at our fingertips. We either don’t realize the incredible treasure we have inherited as believers, or we are so busy doing things our own way that we forget who lives inside of us.
When we want to overcome a challenge or temptation, we can embrace the endless source of help available through the Holy Spirit who dwells in us. We can dive into His deep waters and find refreshment, strength, and victory, 24 hours a day and 365 days a year.
It began with the Orlando weather forecaster’s ominous hurricane warning. “Prepare for the storm of the century! Never before have winds been potentially so catastrophic!”
My husband Peter and I flew into a tizzy of activity. We bagged up debris and piled sandbags. We prepared our refrigerator and cleared our porch and yard of anything and everything that could become missiles.
Did the Lord want us to stay and help others after the storm passes? Or should we leave?
When my brother’s family invited us to shelter with them in North Carolina, that settled it. We threw together our necessities, nestled our seven-pound poodle in the backseat, and headed north.
Our first stop was at our friends’ home in Savannah where we were replenished with laughter and deep conversation. Then we found out that my brother’s cats in North Carolina had a virus our dog could catch. We needed a Plan B of where to stay. But where? I suddenly remembered our friend’s lake house on Lake Wateree, South Carolina. A quick phone call revealed that it was available for the three days we needed it.
When we opened the lake house door, I was caught off guard by an unexpected rush of God’s presence. The owners dedicated this place to the Lord’s glory, and He has made Himself at home.
Plus the wall hangings, the furniture, and even the dishes stood frozen in time. So instead of being immersed in disturbing news of the upcoming storm, my thoughts traveled back to many family vacations our friends allowed us to take at this sacred place:
shadows of me as a young, harried mother trying to prevent our toddler from tumbling down the back porch steps
the smell of popcorn as I read missionary adventures to our elementary-age children
the boys, proudly holding up the catfish they caught
our youngest child squatting at the rugged shore, filling seashells with sand as her pretend “beauty mud”
Pulling myself back to the present, I skirted up the wood-paneled winding stairway to the front bedroom. How could I have forgotten the sweet moments I spent with Jesus on the second-floor balcony? In days gone by, I would often wake up just before dawn and God would share His sunrise with me.
Then the thought hit me like a bombshell. Did God also affectionately remember those early mornings together?
I remembered how we recently rented a house for a reunion with our four children and seven grandchildren. We hoped that if everyone was away from the busyness back home, we could just enjoy being together, not distracted and pulled in our separate directions.
Did my Heavenly Father feel this way about me, as His dearly loved daughter?
I was floored by the thought that the Lord treasured undistracted visits with me in the same way I value time with my family. Had He brought me to the lake house because He missed our special times?
I am a doer. Sometimes I stir up my own self-made hurricanes then struggle to survive the winds of busyness. I tend to assume God is on the lookout for more work for me to do. But sometimes His greatest desire is to take me away from rescuing the world, just to be still with Him.
So that’s what I did. For three glorious days.
At the Todds’ lake house, there are no clocks, just unmeasured time. The long dock led my husband Peter out of his flurry of to-do lists to a place where time is marked by when the last nibble on your worm was. I spent my days reading and admiring Peter’s increasingly larger catches. We ate when we felt hungry and listened to crickets at night while we gawked at the panorama of stars splattered across the black sky.
While time stood still, Milton made landfall. I in no way want to minimize the tragic impact this hurricane had on countless others. But for us, it did little damage to our home. It was far less than the storm of the century, and I suspect prayer had something to do with it.
This peaceful interlude from our loving Father passed far too quickly, and soon we gathered our belongings and little poodle at the back door. We gazed around the room once more and sensed the overwhelming, tender love of God. Peter and I joined hands and sang the doxology together. Tears of gratitude unexpectedly slipped down my cheeks.
As we approached the church at the last fork in the country road, it was as if God had left us a final reminder on the billboard, which read, “Time Spent With God is a Blessing.”
It took a category five hurricane for Him to get me there. Thank you, Hurricane Milton.
What was your experience with bad weather this year? How did God show up in the midst of a storm in your life?
