WEEK ONE - Lifting/Stretching Only
Sunday, July 22, 2012
Today is a complete rest day, which I am very grateful for as I am in the middle of two 12 hour overnight shifts. I'd like simply to share a poem with you that has effected me since I was given a book at Fellowship of Christian Athletes summer leadership camp back when I was 17 years old. This book was given to me by a powerful speaker/minister who lead some sessions at camp that summer. His name is Lincoln Murdoch, and he is an impressive triathlete as well as a effective vessel for God's word on the pulpit.
The book, written by Lincoln Murdoch, is entitled "See You at the Finish! 8 Principles of Spiritual Endurance". It is a twist on faith from the view of an endurance athlete. Applying the principles that make a succesful endurance directly toward use in competition as well as the race of faith. I hope you will give the book a read if you are intrigued, if you can't find it and want it, let me know and I would be more than happy to lend you my copy.
This poem is included in the book, but is written by D.H. Groberg. It includes no direct spiritual/biblical reference but its application to competition as well as the race of faith is unignorable. This poem truly summarizes the principles of pain, setback, and failure. I'm sure can relate some part of life to the race of this young man boy. I hope you are moved by it as much as I have been over the years. Enjoy.
"The Race" -D.H. Groberg
A children's race - young boys, young men
How I remember well.
Excitement, sure! But also fear;
It wasn't hard to tell.
They all lined up so full of hope;
Each thought to win the race.
Or to tie first, or if not that,
At least take second place.
And fathers watched from off the side.
Each cheering for his son.
And each boy hoped to show his dad
That he would be the one.
The whistle blew and off they went!
Young hearts and hopes afire.
To win and be the hero there
Was each young boy's desire.
And one boy in particular
Whose dad was in the crowd,
Was running near the lead and thought,
"My dad will be so proud!"
But as they speeded down the field
Across a shallow dip,
The little boy who thought to win
Lost his step and slipped.
Trying hard to catch himself
His hands flew out to brace,
And amid the laughter of the crowd
He fell flat on his face.
So down he fell and with him hope
He couldn't win it now.
Embarrassed, sad, he only wished
To disappear somehow.
But as he fell his dad stood up
And showed his anxious face,
Which to the boy so clearly said:
"Get up and win the race."
He quickly rose, no damage done.
Behind a bit, that's all.
And ran with all his mind and might
To make up for that fall.
So anxious to restore himself
To catch up and to win.
His mind went faster than his legs:
He slipped and fell again.
He wished then he had quite before
With only one disgrace.
"I'm hopeless as a runner now;
I shouldn't try to race."
And in the laughing crowd he searched
And found his father's face.
That steady look which said again:
"Get up and win the race!"
So he jumped to try again
Ten yards behind the last,
"If I'm going to gain those yards," he thought,
"I've got to move real fast."
Exerting evertyhing he had
He gained eight or ten.
But trying so hard to catch the lead
He slipped and fell again!
Defeat! He lay there silently,
A tear dropped from his eye.
"There's no sense running anymore;
Three strikes: I'm out! Why try?"
The will to rise had disappeared,
All hope had fell away.
So far behind, so error prone:
A loser all the way.
"I've lost, so what's the use," he thought.
"I'll live with my disgrace."
But then he thought about his dad,
Who soon he'd have to face.
"Get up." An echo sounded low.
"Get up and take your place;
You were not meant for failure here.
Get up and win the race."
"With borrowed will, get up," it said.
"You haven't lost at all,
For winning is no more than this:
To rise each time you fall."
So up he rose to run once more,
And with a new commit
He resolves that win or lose
At least he wouldn't quit.
So far behind the others now,
The most he'd ever been.
Still he gave it all he had
And ran as though to win.
Three times he'd fallen, stumbling,
Three times he rose again;
Too far behind to hope to win
He still ran to the end.
They cheered the winning runner
As he crossed the line first place.
Head high, and proud, and happy;
No falling, no disgrace.
But when the fallen youngster
Crossed the line last place,
The crowd gave him the greater cheer
For finishing the race.
And even though he came in last
With head bowed low, unproud.
You would have thought he won the race
To listen to the crowd.
And to his dad he sadly said,
"I didn't do so well."
"To me you won," his father said,
"You rose each time you fell."
And now when things seem dark and hard
And difficult to face,
The memory of that little boy
Helps me in my race.
For all of life is like that race,
With ups and downs and all.
And all you have to do to win,
Is rise each time you fall.
"Quit! Give up! You're beaten!"
They still shout in my face.
But another voice within me says:
"GET UP AND WIN THE RACE!"
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