“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.” – 1 Corinthians 9:24
most days I don’t think I’m running the race to win it.
Quite the opposite, I’m walking. And not even speed walking. Just . . . walking. I’m walking and yet the days are speeding by so fast. I wake up and it’s Sunday and by afternoon it’s Friday. Today my daughter is 11 but next month she’ll be 12.
I’m torn. How do I balance taking our days slow and running the race well? Pausing. Savoring.
Sometimes I’m not sure I’m even on the racetrack. But my finish line is always God, even when the path veers, even when there are hurdles, even when I don’t look like the other runners, the ones with their spiritual sweatbands and well-toned theological muscles.
God is still there, at the end, waiting for me. Cheering for me. Even when I slow. When I stop. When I sit down and look at my feet or chase a rabbit trail. It’s not that I don’t want to finish well, really I do. It’s just that sweating, and panting, and discipline, well – they seem hard.
And I have a lazy streak.
But I’ll finish the race. Eventually. I’ll finish.