The Finish Line

"Runners, on your marks!"

The athletes readied themselves in a runner's stance, anticipating the sound of the starting gun. The sharp pop reverberated through the air and the row of athletes sprinted out of their frozen poses, the sound of their sneakered feet pounding against the track. It echoed across the field and up into the bleachers where my husband and I were sitting. We watched them in reverential silence.

The young man in the lead was tall and muscular and unnaturally fast. His larger-than-life presence swallowed up the expansive track. Michael commanded attention. His voice was as verbose as his hulking presence. As he sprinted toward the 100-meter mark, he called out exuberantly to anyone who was listening.

"Feelin' strong! I'm feelin' strong!"

Michael barreled toward the finish line, a blur. A gentle giant, he was a powerhouse.

I turned my attention to Sam, awkwardly progressing down the track. A small man, wiry and ungainly, he ran, clearly unencumbered by his obvious disability. His left shoulder sat noticeably lower than his right, dramatically hunching the right side of his back. Arms tucked against his body in an effort to abate the involuntary jerking of his hands, Sam pressed on. His slight frame looked as though it could faint from the effort. My heart would have broken at the sight of him had it not been so inspired.

Mary, a little girl with Down Syndrome, slowly jogged down her lane, head down, eyes to the rust-colored track, tightly hugging a green five-foot long stuffed snake. She ran for the joy of it. Mary gave it her all. Crossing the finish line, she rejoiced at her victory, the green stuffed snake bobbing behind her like a tail. Her face beamed with pride, revealing her irrepressible spirit.

Markie didn’t run. Each step awkward because of his severe disability, he limped down the track, slowly but steadily, one leg at a time. First his left, then his right, his gait stiff and wooden. Flanked on each side by friends, his arms were supported as he journeyed on, unfazed by his slow pace. Markie's excitement was punctuated with sudden verbal utterances, loud and unintelligible. He was happy, and that much was obvious. He was pitiable and at the same time altogether captivating.

Before my eyes, they transformed into living parables. I thought about this journey of the Christian life, following hard after Christ, as it presses back against me with its many adversities. The message to my heart was clear. They persevered to the end despite everything that was against them. They did it all with joy, grit and determination canceling out anything clumsy or awkward about them.

Some days, like Michael, I feel strong in my faith, like nothing can get me down. I run like the wind. Other days, I can identify more with Sam, laboring greatly under the weight of life’s challenges. The Mary in me holds tightly to Jesus like she did her beloved friend. But most days, I am most like Markie, clumsy and unable to take a single step without support.

Not burdened with a physical impairment, I contend daily with the disability of sin. The Enemy set me up to lose, to never cross the finish line into eternal life, but because of His victory at the Cross, His death, burial, and resurrection, Jesus stands at the end of the race holding up the flag of redemption and forgiveness. Like these runners, there is no giving up. I will keep going in this marathon of faith until I reach the finish line into His waiting arms.

"...and let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us, fixing our eyes on Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of faith" Hebrews12:1b-2a (NIV)

Forever Young

Say the word owl."
"Owl."
"Say the word play.
"Play."
"Sign."
"Sign."

Here I was, seated in a soundproof room, no bigger than an oversized telephone booth. Headphones press against my ears, just tight enough to be bothersome. Surveying my temporary confinement, I make a mental note of the dark-gray and maroon patchwork of Styrofoam lining the walls around me. Mildly disturbing, I close my eyes. 

“Say the word cool.”

More words. Separated by a small window, the audiologist feeds me more words to repeat. I get them all correct. Excellent! Maybe I’m not hard of hearing after all.

Lately, I have trouble hearing clearly if the person speaking is too far away. I’ve lost count at how many times I say “What?” in a day. A recent ear procedure hasn't yielded the outcome the doctor and I were hoping for. I can hear, but things are terribly muffled, and have been for months now. My private lament is that I’m too young to be struggling with my hearing. This recent setback with my hearing, a few more noticeable aches and pains, subtle changes in the face in the mirror, all this and more, brings one thing into sharp focus: The days of my youth are behind me. I never envisioned myself at 51 with a hearing loss. Truthfully, though, I never envisioned myself at 51, period.

I’m a skilled procrastinator, so in my 49th year, I began to mentally prepare myself for my next birthday. I was then steadily moving towards “the big five-oh,” our cultural dividing point between youth and maturity. I was soon going to be considered by some as “over the hill.” I barely saw it coming. And then, there it was, and I was over it.

A Daughter of Eve, I struggle against the effects of time. The curse of sin is now a visible one. The face in the mirror looking back at me is mine, but it’s showing signs of time. The gray hairs are coming in faster than I can dial my hairdresser. Young women walk past me at the mall, vibrant, energetic, and I forget for a moment that I’m 20 years their senior. I still feel 20 years their junior. 

Our culture does not embrace aging well. Especially women aging well. We are assailed on all fronts with social messages that youthfulness is king, and growing older should be avoided at all cost. Anti-aging serums and supplements is a multimillion dollar industry, selling a lie that we can turn back the hands of time. I guard my heart against deceit prettied up as truth, deceit that can gradually and insidiously erode my confidence in God and His plan for my life — if I believe them. 

“Above all else, guard your heart, for everything you do flows from it.” Proverbs 4:23 NIV

We were made to live forever. We have eternity in our hearts. We are under a curse of sin and death, and our hearts know it very well. It was not in the original plan.

“Teach us to number our days, that we may gain a heart of wisdom.” Psalm 90:12 NIV

The wisps of smoke were still dissipating in the air from the “4” and “9” candles on my birthday cake as I thought ahead. I avowed that with God’s help, His grace, and His wisdom, I would arrive at the door of my 50th birthday with joy, not lament. And I wouldn’t knock. I would throw it wide open, inviting myself in.

And, with not a lot of fanfare, my “year of jubilee” came and went. Then 51. All along this hilly journey I’m learning what matters, like the things I can take hold of that won’t degrade, and what things God is loosening my grip on because they are corruptible and fleeting. I was made for eternity.

“For you have been born again, not of perishable seed, but of imperishable, through the living and enduring Word of God.” 1 Peter 1:23 NIV

“Say the word eternity.”

Yes, Lord. I hear You loud and clear.