Running is awesome. I love it. I gotta admit it. And that’s
a little surprising, coming from me. It’s absolutely astonishing for several reasons.
First, I am an admitted gym class dropout. Throughout the
elementary and middle school years, I was the last one chosen for basketball,
dodge ball, floor hockey, softball, or pretty much any other sport the gym
teachers suggested. I hated gym class.
Plus, I have never been a fast runner. When the physical
education department recorded students’ times for the 50- or 100-yard dash, I
would cringe to see my name and time listed – way at the end of the list.
But here’s the kicker. Well into adulthood, I was diagnosed
with multiple sclerosis (MS), a major medical condition that causes balance
issues, crazy-extreme fatigue, limb numbness, loss of coordination, and
crippling vertigo. The MS symptoms come and go without warning.
So what do I do? I take up running. (This
is where you are welcome to jump in with a little “What, are you kidding?”)
And there it is.
It started with a mile or two, plodding along close to home.
That led to a few 5K races and a couple of half marathons.
That brings us to the
emotional part.
Recently, I ran a half marathon in a nearby city. (That’s
13.1 miles, if you’re tracking with me here.) Joining thousands of runners
(most of them drastically more fit than I am), I followed the route all the way
through the downtown area, over bridges, along railroad tracks, up and down
hills, and so on. The course finished with a lap around the track inside the
city’s professional baseball stadium.
I gotta admit it. I am a long-time fan of a different city’s
team. But, when I jogged into the tunnel under the stadium and out onto the
track, I became a little choked up. I picked up my pace a bit, despite the
fatigue of the long race, and I scanned the stands for a few familiar faces. I
spotted my daughter and her friend, cheering for me and taking photos. I glanced at
the scoreboard and saw myself projected there.
Crossing the finish line, panting with exhaustion, I bowed
my head to allow a race volunteer to hang a finisher’s medal around my neck. Volunteer
hands reached out next with a cold water bottle, a banana, a cookie, and a bag
of salty snacks. (Trust me. Nothing ever tastes as good as those finish line
snacks.)
Someone guided me to a finish line backdrop and snapped a
picture of my teary-eyed and flushed-face self.
It was an emotional
moment – maybe almost spiritual. At least, I caught the spiritual parallel of
it.
Therefore, since
we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off
everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles. And let us run
with perseverance the race marked out for us, fixing
our eyes on Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of faith.
(Hebrews
12:1-2b, NIV)
I wasn’t gonna win. I didn’t even finish in the top third.
But I completed the race, after a whole lot of huffing and puffing and praying – plenty of
praying.
“Your race, your pace.”
That’s a motto among long-distance runners. But it fits the
Christian walk too, I think.
I have fought the good fight, I have
finished the race, I have kept
the faith.
(2 Timothy 4:7, NIV)
Running a long race makes me think about Heaven. One day, we
will finish the race, however long it takes and however hard it is. We will step into God’s glorious
kingdom. The great cloud of witnesses will cheer us on. We will receive our
reward for completing the course.
And then we will feast on the best finish line snacks ever.
It will be OK to cry a little. The relief will be immeasurable, and the joy
will be unspeakable.
Ahhhhh.
Image/s:
Sneakers – public domain
Here's the first verse, to get us all started on this journey of intercession for those we love so deeply. 
Great God, Your Word
clearly says that Your desire is for Your creation to rise up in righteous
praise to You. Please draw our children to know You, to love You, to desire the
righteousness that only You can bring about in their lives. Rain down Your
righteousness upon them, and let Your salvation spring up in their hearts. Be
glorified, as our sons and daughters come to adore and honor You. 
