RUNNING LIFE'S REAL RACE

My town's high school track (now fenced, I presume, to prevent vandalism) has served generations of students and local “walkers” who made their way around its red oval. It's no surprise that running has been around for a long time as a competitive sport. Nor that the Bible used that skill and sport to illustrate spiritual principles, like perseverance, faith, and the Christian journey. Among them:

RUN YOUR ABSOLUTE BEST. Of course getting first place is “the best,” but there's also an honorable goal called “your personal best.” Not everybody can stand on the top podium at awards time, but a race means you run. Thus the apostle Paul observed: “Do you not know that in a race all the runners run, but only one receives the prize? So run that you may obtain it” (1 Cor. 9:24-27).

FORGET—BUT DON'T FORGET—THE WATCHING CROWD. Yes, I know that seems to contradict itself. The watching, cheering crowd send energy and determination into our performance. They want to see us do our best. And when I read Hebrews 12:2, I think of more than just the spectators at an athletic event. Instead, in the great Race of Life, we're representing family—that on earth and that in heaven: “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 of us, fixing our eyes on Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of faith.”

RESIST DISTRACTIONS. It's easy to get sidetracked when you look off to the crowd. “Where are mom and dad? Where's my girlfriend/boyfriend/best friend?” Or, moral choices, like: “That little sin won't make a difference. Who will know? Who will see?” But God sees it all, allowing us in His wisdom to make stupid choices. Galatians 5:7 speaks to this: “You were running well. Who hindered you from obeying the truth?”

SEEK THE ENDURANCE GOD CAN SUPPLY. Those who run to win somehow reach deep inside to do better than their former best. “They who wait upon the Lord,” begins Isaiah 40:31, “shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings like eagles.” The movie industry gave us a picture of that in re-enacting the 1924 Paris Olympics run of Scotsman Eric Liddell, portrayed in the 1981 film “Chariots of Fire.” He'd trained for the 100-meter race, but before race day learned its heats would be held on a Sunday. A devout Christian, Liddell refused to compete on the Lord's Day. Instead, he signed for the 400-meter race—far more grueling. Yet, he won, with an Olympic record. And then, he retired from Olympics training to become a missionary in China.

Years later, while in China, someone asked if he regretted not making another try for Olympics fame. He replied: “It's natural for a chap to think over all that sometimes, but I'm glad I'm at the work I'm engaged in now. A fellow's life counts for far more at this than the other.” He would die in his 43^rd year of an undiagnosed brain tumor. But his testimony of honoring Christ in life's Real Race still inspires.

Well affixed

Mona Lisa, move over.  “Bob the Tomato” enjoys prominent display at the Zornes art gallery, aka refrigerator door.  “Bob,” from a Christian cartoon series featuring vegetables and fruits, was delivered with great flourish to our house about a year ago by its artist, grandson Josiah. Never mind that “Bob” (Josiah calls it Bob the “ToTAto”) has a mere hint of red crayon instead of the intense red of the edible real thing. Bob is a winning piece of art in its creator’s eyes. Recently, after 4-year-old Josiah removed “Bob” to show a visitor, I noticed “Bob” was re-affixed with extra security. You can never have too many decorative magnets to hold up a pre-schooler’s art—or at least Josiah must think so. 

While I chucked over Josiah’s extra-magnetic-security “affixing” of “Bob the Tomato,” something from the Bible clicked in my heart about the word “affix” and its relative “fix,” in the sense of “securing” something. I found it in Hebrews 12:2 (NIV): Let us fix our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy set before him endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God.  Consider him who endured such opposition from sinful men, so that you will not grow weary and lose heart.

This verse reminds me how I need to keep Jesus—and especially His suffering and victory—front and center on my spiritual perspective. Especially this past year, in the midst of bewildering spiritual challenges, I’ve realized how hard and how necessary it is to “not grow weary and lose heart.” Through adversity, He disciplines and “grows” me.

No discipline seems pleasant at the time, but painful.  Later on, however, it produces a harvest of righteousness and peace for those who have been trained by it. (v. 11)

“Fixing my eyes” requires that I guard against the busyness of life (like those random magnets) which could cover up:

*The “skull”—the grotesque, skeleton-like hill in Jerusalem where Jesus was nailed to the cross for my sins as part of the “sins of the world.” I don’t need to confine that remembrance to the season of Lent.

*The “scowls” and “scorn” of sinners who had no idea how much He loved them. As part of my spiritual training, He’s allowed me to experience “scowls” and “scorn” from  troubled people I’ve tried to reach out to—though certainly what I experience is a speck compared to the burden He carried.

*The “sweetness” of knowing, through faith, the Author and Perfecter of my faith who helped me to understand and have a relationship with God.

By the way, speaking of  “sweet,” our little “Bob the Tomato” artist (in contrast to many preschoolers) enjoys eating real tomatoes, especially the walnut-size “Sweet One Hundreds” from our tomato patch.

Grin & share it!

Here’s my second grandson, Zion, doing a “test drive” on a baby-safe rocking horse my husband found at a yard sale.  I’d say he liked it. Now nine months old, he’s a jug of joy. Maybe those smiles are extra special because during the first four months of his life, until his first cleft lip surgery, that little mouth had a split up through his nose and he had to endure pre-op treatments of mouth-molding devices and taping.  Often when I hold him, if I smile at him, he brightens up and returns a 100-watt grin.  Of course, like any baby, he has his fussy times. But the pure joy we sense in his smiles certainly overcompensates for the times we get the “baby grumps.”

“Joy” is one of those misunderstood virtues of the Christian life.  It’s not the shallow “happy-all-the-time” personality.  It’s the deep sense of being settled in the love of God, knowing nothing that happens is outside His wisdom and permission.  Joy faces the worst—in trust.  Jesus “for the joy set before him endured the cross” (Hebrews 12:2).  James wrote, “Consider it pure joy...whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith develops perseverance” (James 1:2-3). With chains dangling off his wrists, Paul wrote the Christians at Philippi: “Rejoice in the Lord always” (Phil. 4:5—the entire letter, in fact, has 15 uses of “joy” or “rejoice”).

Someone once tried to define “joy” with an acrostic of its English letters, of loving “Jesus, Others, Yourself.” I once bristled at that, thinking that loving “yourself” was quite ego-centric and didn’t belong in the mix.  Now I realize that J.O.Y. is a triangle, with all points reaching to each other. When we love Jesus, we love ourselves (meaning have a healthy view of we are in Christ).  When we love ourselves, we reach out and love others. Back again, loving others reveals our love for Christ.  I recall having someone ask me, “Why is so-and-so unfriendly at church? They never smile or talk to me.”  Knowing a bit of the background, I tried to explain that this person was on the journey of loving others and loving God, and needing some life skills in reaching out to strangers.  Hey, haven’t most of us been on that journey? 

That’s where smiling babies like Zion and his toddler brother Josiah have a built-in advantage.  In those times when the joy-factor peaks in their little lives, we can enjoy the moment with them.  Such joy is contagious, let this grandma assure you! You should see ME grin when I hear a little two-year-old shout in glee, “Nana!” Yes, I'm enjoying the "ride" of investing in this next generation.

In the Pink

Two memories stand out to people who know my mother-in-law, Doris. The first is her big smile. The second is her love of pink. Only one navy blue dress hung in her closet, and that to be “respectful” at funerals. Everything else was pink. Tops, pants, dresses, nightgowns, robes, coats, shoes, slippers—her closet glowed like a sunrise. Her dear late husband also endured pink dishes, pink towels, pink bedspreads, and a pink couch and recliner. In summer, pink roses graced the table. After his death we painted her bedroom a bright pink, and I sewed her curtains splashed with pink roses.

A lot has changed in her life in the last few years. Now 89, she’s in a memory care facility with late-stage Alzheimer’s. She can’t walk or take care of personal needs. Her vocabulary has shrunk to a few words. Others must feed her. She sleeps a lot.

But the smile is still there. And every day, caregivers dress her in pink, still the only color in her wardrobe.

Curious about the phrase “in the pink,” I did an internet search. The common meaning, referring to rosy cheeks, denotes someone with good health and ready to go. But another meaning derives from English fox hunters, who wore scarlet jackets called “pinks.” Hunters “in the pink” were ready to chase the fox.

I thought about that as Doris inches toward her last day on earth.

The other day, when I helped feed her breakfast, I thought how life isn’t fun any more. Because of swallowing issues, her food is pureed. Her plate held yellow glop (eggs) and brown glop (sausage)—a far cry from the strawberry syrup over waffles I used to fix for her breakfast at home.

As I urged her to open her mouth for another taste of glop, I said, “Doris, just for you I wore a pink shirt today.” At the mention of “pink,” the corners of her indifferent mouth widened and she gave me a big-wattage smile. (And no, I didn’t try to “zoom” another spoonful in there. I just savored the moment.)

For some reason, that vignette reminded me of what Hebrews 12:2 says about Jesus—who “for the JOY set before him endured the cross.”

The indignities of a failing body are now Doris’s “cross” to bear. But even in the darkened shell of her mind, there are bright corners where that joy still beams out. The smile. The joy of “thinking pink.” And the hope of being “in the pink”—ready to go—when the Lord says “enter My joy, child, and come Home.”