She Intended to Finish the Race--One Slow, Painful Step at a Time

"Sometimes the greatest act of faith is faithfulness, staying where you're planted." Craig Groeschel

And sometimes it is about running the race--

even if you are lame,

even if you know you will never be in first place--

or second place,

or even third place.

Even when you know you will come in last,

somewhere down at the bottom of the totem pole,

and the end of the pecking order.

Yesterday my mother shared on email a challenging story she heard in church from a man named Jason. When he was 18, he experienced his first tragedy; his girlfriend's mother was killed in a vehicle accident.  That's when he learned that bad things happen to everyone, not just others.  Some years later his mother died, then his father soon after.  Those hit Jason very hard, and he found himself doubting, even rebelling against God. Shaking his fist at the ceiling and God, he cried out, "Why do you hate me so much, God, that you've done this to such wonderful people in my life?"  His life began to take a downward spiral. 

Then one day he was at a friend's house. The friend's son was a metal worker, and Jason was intrigued with the beautiful piece of work that the son had made from twisted metal. As he gazed at it, it occurred to him that in order to create that masterpiece of twisted metal,
it had to be heated,
 beat on, and twisted to do what the worker wanted it to do.

As he began to think seriously about these things in relation to his life,

one day he was helping at a Special Olympics event where he worked.  

His job was to stand at the finish line and place the medal around the neck of those who finished the races.  On the last race, he saw a woman wheel her daughter onto the track to do the race; she helped the girl (age 12 or so) out of the wheelchair.  At the gunshot the others began for the finish line. 

But this girl could only take one step at a time, 

step, pause, step, pause.  

All the other contestants finished the race and received their medals.

  But there was that girl, way back there. 

When her mother pushed the wheelchair out to get her daughter, the girl refused, saying that she started this race, and she intended to finish it. 

 Jason watched with growing emotion

as this girl, 

painfully,

 slowly 

kept taking one step at a time, finally approaching the finish line.  

Young man that he was, Jason bawled along with her as he placed the medal around her neck.  

In those moments, he began to realize that what he needed to do was 

simply to go one step at a time

 until the finish.
Tragedies had happened, his heart walked with a limp, but he must keep plodding.

It is the beginning of a new year.

Some of us have experienced tragedies or difficulties of various kinds.

Some of us walk with a firm step,

and others of us limp,

while still others must run the race in a wheel chair of sorts--

needing help from others just to keep going.

Some of us, still growing and learning and eating the others' dust, 

limp while they cross the finish line for the blue ribbon.

We limp while others win the medals.  

We limp while others are cheered and slapped on the back and carried on shoulders and paraded around.

Limp on, my friend with slow and painful step. .

Limp on.

After the darkest hour comes the dawn.