finish strong

I never realized I ran that way. I don’t think I ever thought about it. Still, she didn’t have any uncertainty as she said the words.

He can’t really see, but he’s sure that was you he noticed running by last night. Nobody else we know runs like that—leaning forward.

Leaning forward? I run leaning forward?

I checked, the next time I went running, sneaking a glance at my image in a shop window as I passed. I run leaning forward. Try as I might, I can’t change that.

I lean forward as I run.

I know it’s not the best way to run. I could use my core and back muscles better if I ran with an upright posture. When I think about it, I do that.

Mostly, I simply lean forward and run.

I want to get to the goal. Quickly. Leaning forward, erroneous though the concept may be, seems to get me there more quickly.

I’m beginning to wonder though, if that will always be true. I have leaned forward all of my life.

But, things change.

Years pass.

I am tired. I’m not the only one.

In more areas than just that of physical exercise, I have begun to plod more than to run. The energy, the zeal of youth, has begun to wane.

I sat on an uncomfortable table this morning and listened to my new friend’s instructions.

You’ll want to quit before the test is finished. Don’t do it! Push on through! It may seem that you can’t go any further, but don’t give in. We won’t let you get into any trouble.

I nodded my head sagely and with confidence. In retrospect, I feel like one of the sturdy dreamers in the old hymn when the Savior asks if they are able to be crucified with him. They told Him they’d follow Him to the death.

Well, we know how that worked out for them. The day of the test came and they scattered, terrified. At least one of them swore he didn’t even know the Man who had trained him for the day of testing. (John 18:17, 25-27)

Anyway, earlier today, this sturdy dreamer got on the treadmill for the stress test—really, I get stressed just thinking about it—and my new friend Dawn started the belt moving under my feet.

I didn’t do so well—just walking. Dawn told me as much.

Why are you marching? Just widen your stride and relax. You know how to walk.

I don’t stroll much. But still, I heeded her advice and relaxed, stretching out the length of my stride and kept up with the speed and elevation changes. It was uphill all the way. Every step.

And, just when I began to think I was almost finished, the final stage kicked in. I had to run to keep up. But, I know how to run, even if I don’t walk so well.

Finally! Something I could do!

I ran.

Wow! You’re a lot better at running than you are at walking, aren’t you?

My taskmaster laughed, and I laughed with her—as much as I could with my parched mouth and heaving lungs. I was in my element now.

Except, I wasn’t.

Panic isn’t a word I like to use when describing my own state of mind. It’s the only word that fits for what followed.

I wasn’t going to quit. I wasn’t. But, there were points when I wanted to beg Dawn to slow the treadmill down to a walk again. It was irrational, I know. Sometimes you can’t control how you react to circumstances. I wasn’t in control.

But, I did finish the test and, shaky legs, heaving chest, and all, stumbled back over to the uncomfortable examination table. I sat there, grateful for a place to sit and settle my emotions, as well as get my lungs functioning normally again.

I didn’t quit! I ran to the very end. Leaning forward, hands on the bars, I had finished all of the stages.

I finished the test!

But, as I sit late at night, here in my easy chair, I wonder.

Can I keep leaning forward?

Am I going to finish strong?

Shaky legs and all, will I finish strong?

You know I can’t run the race in my own strength, don’t you? I never started it on my own either.

The Apostle—my namesake—wrote the words that echo down from centuries past and reassure just as much today as when he first penned them.

He who started the work in you has no intention of leaving you on your own. You won’t drop out. He will finish what He started. Count on it. (Philippians 1:6)

I will freely admit, there have been a few moments of panic in the last few months. More than a few.

Still, for all that, I’m going to keep running. Leaning forward, I’m going to run.

Even if it’s uphill for the rest of the way.

There’s a prize for the winner. It’ll be better than a gold medal, or even a crown of leaves. Much better.

I know I’m already in good company, but there’s always room for more on the road. Maybe you’ve been walking a ways, but it’s time to start running again. Why don’t you come along with me?

Run the race in front of you.

Lean forward.

Run the race in front of you. Run. And lean forward. Share on X

The finish line is up there somewhere.

Up ahead.

Are ye able, said the Master,
To be crucified with Me?
Yea, the sturdy dreamers answered,
To the death we follow Thee.
(from Are Ye Able ~ American theologian/poet ~ 1892-1976)

Crossing the starting line may be an act of courage, but crossing the finish line is an act of faith.
(John Bingham ~ American marathon runner/author)

Go, bid the hero who has run
Thro’ fields of death to gather fame,
Go, bid him lay his laurels down,
And all his well-earn’d praise disclaim.
(from The Captive Ribband ~ Robert Burns ~Scottish poet ~ 1759-1796)

Late one recent night, fallen prey to a short-lived spasm of conscience brought on by too much time spent in front of one screen or another, I took up a volume of Robert Burns’ poetry and determined to wade through it. Or, at least a portion of it.

My resolve—along with my guilty conscience—was in the final stages of relenting when I came across the jewel which contains the passage quoted above. I had slogged through too many lines of the bewildering Scots dialect, but it took only a line or two for me to grasp the poet’s meaning here.

Mr. Burns speaks of a single ribbon he has saved from the woman he loved, a ribbon he prizes as much as love itself. Thus the comparison to a hero’s fame and acclaim. He will never surrender it.

It is a familiar concept.

Some men can struggle through a lifetime and never be acclaimed a hero or even have their fabled fifteen minutes of fame. But, many people, given just one such opportunity, will hold tight to their proof of superiority for the rest of their lives.

I have to admit, I don’t know many old war heroes. I do know a fair number of old musicians. Young ones, too.

You wouldn’t believe the stories I hear.

I played with .

My band opened for .

I wrote music for .

Fill in the blanks. Big names. Huge stars. Crowds cheering and screaming for more. All in the past.

All of it, in the past.

A memory only, except for those who have mementos. Photographs, recordings (vinyl and otherwise), signed napkins, all are saved and clutched tightly as if they are more precious than gold.

And I, listening to the tale, may be accorded a quick glance at the talisman, as if a pilgrim at a holy shrine.

I find myself both fascinated and saddened by the stories—and the souvenirs. The joy—the pride—is all in the past, with none left for the future. Success achieved, aspiration is shed like a suit of clothes, never to be worn again.

Consider the words of the humbug Wizard to the Tin Woodman:

They are called phil. . .er. . .phil. . .er. . .er. . .good-deed-doers, and their hearts are no bigger than yours, but they have one thing you haven’t got! A testimonial!
(The Wizard of Oz ~ L Frank Baum ~ American author ~ 1856-1919)

Without diminishing the importance of heroic acts—and they are not to be passed over lightly—I want to suggest that if we must look only behind us to see the deeds worth celebrating, we are a sad and hopeless lot.

The Apostle who loved to write long letters (he shares more than just a name with me) had a mountain of mementos and testimonials. A mountain. (Philippians 3)

He called the mountain garbage. No. He called it. . .well, I won’t write out the word here, but in the dialect of his day, it was a coarse word for dung.

Some folks have used that passage of Paul’s letter to the church at Philippi to prove that God has no use for our good works. It’s not what He was saying.

In the journey to our real home, the things we do will not earn us safe passage. They won’t earn us entrance into Heaven. There is only one thing that guarantees eternity with God. Only one.

We rely on what Jesus has done for us, having no confidence whatsoever in our flesh. (verse 3) Salvation is complete, without one iota of effort on our part.

The high calling is just that, a call to come up higher. Share on X

Still, we are called to better things than what is in our past. The high calling is just that, a call to come up higher.

The goal still lies ahead.

The trophies and accolades of the past are nothing to what lies ahead.

If. . .

We must finish the course with integrity and with courage if we aim to win the prize.

If we must grip honor in a clenched fist to retain it, we have not yet earned it. Share on X

If we must grip honor in a clenched fist to retain it, we have not yet earned it.

Let the past go. Nothing in it is anything compared to the trophies and testimonials that are to come.

Nothing.

Better things lie ahead.

So I’ll cherish the old rugged cross,
Till my trophies at last I lay down;
I will cling to the old rugged cross,
And exchange it someday for a crown.
(The Old Rugged Cross ~ George Bennard)

There are far, far better things ahead than any we leave behind.
(From Collected Letters ~ C.S. Lewis)

He's Taken Leave

Random wanderings with Paul Phillips

Leaning Forward

Holding Loosely