Finding My Race to Run

 

I grew up as the child of two parents who were outstanding athletes, specifically in basketball. I am sure they both hoped I would follow in their footsteps. From an early age, my mother would take me to the court and try to teach me the basics of dribbling. Looking for something that would bring about commonality among the other kids. For reasons I could not understand, they seemed to eat, breathe, and sleep sports, and where I lived, that primarily meant basketball. I tried, but honestly, I didn't have much motivation. After all, who wanted to stand there and repeatedly try to make a ball go into a basket that was so far above my head I was sure it would forever be impossible? I kept trying, but my future attempts at this as well as other sporting opportunities were short-lived. At age 7, after being hit head-on in the face with a softball on my little league team, I turned in my mitt feeling as if I had disappointed my parents but knowing that my desire and interest did not include a softball, bat, or anything associated with it. At age 13, I tried again. I was so proud to be a part of the track team. Finally, I might have found my niche, but in the season, I learned that being the third leg in the relay was a strategic placement. Its purpose was definitely to preempt the inevitable - a loss if placed as another leg of the relay. The fact had to be faced; I was just too slow. I finished the season, but pursuing this activity again did not appeal to me. I could have worked at it, but it wasn't a passion; instead, it was an attempt to find a place where I could excel and make a meaningful contribution.

Track wasn't it either. Truthfully, I was satisfied with my nightly routine of 100 sit-ups and occasional walks around the school track at times when it wasn't very "peoply"! Yet, I was searching for a way to contribute and be noticed, and I would identify myself as something... - anything. I did not give up; I tried other sports, but the near-death experience with the uneven parallel bars was a clear sign. I had to consider whether it would disappoint my parents if I weren't athletically inclined. Truthfully, I didn't have the desire to work hard enough to overcome it. My interests were certainly elsewhere.

So, my quest began. What was I good at? What could I do for the good of my fragile self-esteem at this point, and also for the good of others? In short, if it wasn't athletics, what was my race? As I began searching for my place in a messy, mixed-up teenage existence, I had to face what I had known for a long time. I knew where I fit in. For some, this would have been a horrific discovery, but it brought me pure solace. Those countless trips to the library on Saturdays to check out the limit of books allowed, barricading myself in my room and reading until forced to do otherwise, and those giddy feelings each year when the teacher announced it was time for the term research paper, I had to contain myself. While everyone was moaning and groaning about the research paper and whining about how many steps it took to complete it, secretly, I was doing a pretty spectacular happy dance. However, I knew I could not let anyone know my state of sheer bliss, so I kept silent out of fear of bodily harm from my classmates if they discovered I supported the most dreaded assignment of the year.

I thought about my newfound "sport" and all the yellow legal pads filled with text hidden in my room. How could writing hold a candle to being a top shooter in basketball, a first-place track winner, or, though I hated recalling it, a top-scoring gymnast? Maybe publicly, it couldn't. Yet, all the while, I knew this was my race. The writing of the long, dreaded papers by so many was nothing short of a utopia for me. It was the place I fit best. So, with great care, I guarded my secret treasure of written thoughts and began an adventure that has lasted a lifetime.

Finally, I found my race to run. The Lord has allowed me to publish two books for women that encourage them to find their race to run in life by sharing truths from personal experiences in everyday life - something everyone can identify with, not dependent on being outstanding at any one skill.

In closing, in Hebrews 11, the apostle Paul refers to the "greats" in Scripture. He recounts men and women who decided to run the race God set for them. Noah, Abraham, Isaac, Joseph, Moses, Gideon, Rahab, and David were among the many who answered the call to run the race God designed for them. Some of these people witnessed the result of their faithfulness. Others didn't see the end of their races, but their faithfulness paved the way for someone else to pick it up and bring God's plan to fulfillment. Regardless, they were all on the same team, God's team, accepting the race God had set before them. His call on their lives empowered them to see the work set before them to the end.

In running the race God sets before us, our trainings do not look the same. Whether it's two-a-days on the football field, daily basketball practices, music lessons, or even something as far removed as writing sessions, we should all mirror this: 

 

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 12:1-2 NIV

Running... Persevering... Even Racing...

This time, I'm all in.