Over the weekend, I attended my grandson's elementary school cross country state meet. When it came time for his race, I bypassed the beginning of the race with all 330 boys lined up, each one vying for a faster time. I also avoided standing in the screaming crowd by the finish line, so many phones trying to capture those last historic moments.
Instead I scurried to the back of the course, where a long gradual downward slope ended with a steep ascent, climbing to a ridge that overlooked the finish line.
That is where he needed me. It is the hills where gravity pulls at their confidence and the long upward slog makes the runners wonder why in the world they ever signed up for this.
I saw him coming in that colorful river of boys. I called out to him to pass yet another runner on the hill. And he flew past, his face flushed, his mouth set. He didn't even look. He was unaware I was even there. But somehow I think he knew I was.
I started walking back up the hill to return to where this race both started and finished.
I walked alongside the course, approaching a small copse of trees that hid the top of the ridge. The dusty trail still headed uphill, marked by small plastic flags, and seemed to never end.
As I was walking, I happened to glance over to the course, just a few feet away. A young boy, appearing about nine years old, dressed in his team's red tank top and shorts, had stopped running. The hill was conquering him. He was sweating. He began walking. Others were slowly passing him by. He had given up on this race. I could see defeat written on his face and in his dragging feet.
I turned to him and said quietly, only to him, "You know, you are almost done."
A mere few seconds passed, the words soaking in, and suddenly he was gone, pulling out of nowhere his last remaining ounce of strength, running up that final vanquishing part of the hill. And then, flying down to the crowds at the finish line where hundreds of people were cheering for their boys with shouts of acclamation that could be physically felt.
I thought about that race this morning when I was trying to encourage a young mom at church who was so discouraged and weary. Because this season, this hard task, this difficult day, week, year, that long steep hill doesn't last forever.
It just feels that way.
God puts people on each of our paths those who need encouragement through the miry bogs of life. We can't do everything to help, assist and support, but we can always hand out kindness, hope and an good energizing word along the way. And sing over them the psalms of ascent.
And then, we look back and see God's faithfulness all the way through.
I know. I have been a recipient of those affirming words from the sideline over and over again. On countless and strategic moments, God has placed many saints, strangers, friends and family literally and figuratively on my own marathon route through life. And it always surprises me the incredible strength embedded in just a few encouraging words that all of us are able to bring, helping someone run the course set before them. Even today. Even in this.
The Lord GOD has given me
the tongue of those who are taught,
that I may know how to sustain
with a word
him who is weary.
Isaiah 50. 4
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