“I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith.” 2 Timothy 4:7
I used to race a lot. Every other weekend or so, or at least every month, I would pin a number to my middle, double knot my shoes and race. There were years when I raced hard and years when I entered races but wasn’t “racing” but merely running. At this point, if I put on a bib every two-three months, that is pretty amazing. I’m racing long next weekend and that should be a fascinating look at whether or not I’m still a game day player.
But I digress…
I feel like these days I’m on a race of another kind. The race to get it all done, to fit it all in, to make something of myself, all before the sun is up and past the sunset. The two ended candle is past burnt-it is melted flat. But it is not the race of doing that is the exhausting part-it is the race of grieving. The race of grief that spent months taking a toll on parts of me I could (my midsection) and couldn’t (my cortisol level) see. Now as I continue to move forward at breakneck speed for leading, coaching, and doing life–I am acutely aware of the way that this race has beaten me down. While I am not a daily blubbery mess as I was in those first few months, it is the layers that now suck my energy in a way not unlike the way years of training did to me in the early 2010’s.
So thinking to the Epistle today…when does the race end? How have I lived my life in a manner that allows me to pour myself as a libation to God when I am just so damn tired? Will I stand at the seat of judgement and be able to say, I fought the Good Fight? Right now, I’m just working toward lacing up the shoes and hitting the pavement. I’m working on managing and leading in climate of great change. I’m working to try to get my furbaby to stop chewing ALL THE THINGS. So where does the pour myself out for God come in?
Hopefully in the little moments. Hopefully it finds its way in the small conversations with kids, the quotes and tools I send to teachers that maybe one reads, perhaps it is in the one person (hi Mom) who reads these writings and opens up their vulnerability cup in conversation with another? Maybe it is none of these things and the race I’m running right now, like my physical ones of years past, is just the season I’m supposed to be in. Maybe the Good Fight right now is about getting up and trying despite the physical and mental weight of grief that haven’t found their way off me yet.
Either way, I will keep the face and continue to run with perseverance, this race.