Run With Patience

[Soldier4Christ]

Run With Patience
by Kelly L. Segraves

I never saw him coming, nor was I prepared for the onslaught of adventures that my encounter with the runner would bring. I only remember his enchanting words, his hurried manner and his singleness of purpose as he paused briefly to help me up.

"It's late, so late," he said. "Must hurry and finish, must run. It's so late, so very late. Broad is the way, narrow is the way. Broad - destruction, narrow - must hurry, must continue, got to finish, got to finish."

Still, amidst all this rambling and continuous chatter, with his feet constantly moving, running in place, the runner took time to help me to my feet. Reaching down with his hand he pulled me from the mire and placed my feet on the solid ground.

"Come," he said, "follow. Run the race before it's too late. Hurry, you must run!"

And with that he turned and continued down the narrow road and disappeared into the eternal sunset. The runner was gone.

For the first time in my life I felt there was meaning. My feet ached for action, my heart and mind were filled with a burning desire to follow the runner. I was a changed person and yet I was the same man. Only my position had changed. My feet were now on the solid road, but I didn't know what to do.

In my hand there was a card which had been left by the runner.

One free admittance to the great meet. Free admittance. I did not know what it meant. I had no idea what to do. I only knew that I must find the answer. And so I followed the runner. Followed to find a reason for my new-found feelings -- followed to find the great meet.

My race was on.

[Soldier4Christ]

The runner had followed the narrow path which continued into a grove of trees. I had not really seen the trees before as the setting sun and the disappearing runner had been the center of my attention.

Now as I walked alone, I became increasingly aware of the ominous presence of the surrounding wood. The darkness engulfed me and the full impact of my solitude became a reality to my consciousness. The road was no longer visible in the blackness of this starless night. I can't really describe my thoughts, I can hardly bring myself to call them to remembrance. Yet I must convey them, for they are related to my encounter with the Prince of Darkness.

There I was, alone and miserable. Tired? No, I was actually exhausted. When the runner left, I followed. I had run and walked and run some more till I could go no farther. Then I collapsed beside the road. My back was up against a tree, only my heels remained on the road itself. Then it happened.

It was late, so very late and my body ached and longed for rest. I had to sleep yet I knew I had to continue. But I couldn't. I no longer cared about sunrise or about running. I only cared about quitting, about sleeping, about easing the pain in my tired and aching body. Still, there was that constant reminder which I held in my hand, that one ray of hope, my free ticket to the great meet. I wanted that, but I also wanted to rest. I had neither.

For in my anxiety and inner struggle I noticed the shoes which were standing beside me. I looked slowly at the ankles and legs of this dark intruder to my solitude. Ever so slowly I lifted my gaze up his tall and supple body till my eyes reached the glare of his stare. My eyes were locked into his eyes. Only in my mind did I see his nefarious smile and hear his honey dripped tongue as he spoke the words I longed to hear.

"Rest, my son, rest with me in the forest."

"I can't," I said, though I wanted to. "I can't, for I'm following the runner."

"What runner?" he replied with great confidence. "There are no runners in my forest. Do you see a runner?"

It is true that there were no runners here, unless one considered me a runner which I knew I was not. Yet I was positive the runner had passed this way. I hadn't actually seen him there, but the road went this way and he was definitely on the road. There were no other roads, no exits or side trails -- only the road and the forest. And this darkness. I was sure, yet I wasn't. For the words of the stranger came again.

"Well," he said, "Have you made up your mind? I offer you rest."

"Yes, I understand, but what of the runner?"

"Forget the runner. Come with me into the forest. The road will always be there, so leave it now and come with me."

"Come where?" I asked. "Where do we go?"

"To my castle," he said, "back in the forest. Come, and I will make you welcome."

"But, who are you?" I asked.

"The Prince," he replied. "The Prince of Darkness. This is my abode and I promise pleasure to all who follow me. Pleasure for the aches in your body, pleasure instead of your anxieties. Pleasure for the sake of pleasure."

Ah, pleasure. I longed for pleasure at that moment. I longed for sleep, for comfort. For an easier task than running. For rest.

"But where are we?" I asked. "That's the one thing I need to know."

"In the Forest of Despair and rightly so. Yet there is only despair to those who try to leave as you no doubt realize from your sorrows. But if you stay, there is only pleasure. There is rest and there is fame. Come with me and I will give you a portion of my kingdom. I will share with you my wealth. I will give you the desires of your heart. Come and the despair will leave you. Come, leave the road and follow me."

Pleasure, wealth, fame. The desires of my heart. Why, I wasn't even sure what they all were, but I knew I wanted them. Just think of it. Me, sharing a part of the kingdom of the Prince of Darkness. Why, even the darkness wasn't so bad with someone to talk to. Yes, I think I'll stay.

In fact, I started to. But as the stranger reached down to help me up, I opened my hand and he saw the ticket. He saw it and his whole being shrank away. His eyes closed and his glassy stare left me for the first time since our eyes had met.

My eyes left his face and returned to my hand. One free admittance, it said. One free admittance. I had it, it was mine and I knew I still wanted it and it was free.

When I looked up, the stranger, the Prince, was gone. Fortunately my feet were still on the road. Only my heels, mind you, but they were still grounded on the road itself. Somehow, I knew this was important, for the stranger had twice asked me to leave the road. I knew I must not listen to his words. I knew there was some importance to my keeping with the narrow way.

And so I pushed my way back onto the road with my hands. Slowly, yet purposefully until my hands finally pushed my entire body back onto the road itself. Soon I was standing again on the solid road.

It's strange, yet true. I felt instantly relieved. I was rested, safe secure. The darkness no longer bothered me. My aches and pains were gone. I was at peace with myself and once again I had found my purpose in life. To follow after my quest. To seek and find that which I had been given.

So once again I set out to follow the runner in search of my free gift which I was sure that I would find if I continued to follow the narrow way. And I was sure I saw a ray of light at the end of the road that left the Forest of Despair.

[Soldier4Christ]

The morning sun  shone brightly on the road and my journey through the forest was easier and more pleasant than my hours of trial in the darkness.

As I passed out of the forest I came to a little town crowded with busy people. Now I would find the runner, I thought, for there were still no exits and I knew he had to pass this way. He had to, there was no doubting it. In fact, he might even be here in this very town.

I was excited, to say the least, for I was drawn to follow but not really sure of the reason why. If I could find the runner, I could find the answer.

I began to ask everyone I met about the runner, but no one seemed to know anything. No one even seemed to care.

Finally, I stopped at the first hamburger stand, figuring that even a runner needed nutrition. The proprietor just stared at me when I asked my questions. One of the waitresses told me that the owner has no love for the runners. "They always cause trouble," she said. "Why, they run in and out, causing people to follow them. It's mighty disturbing to the customers and really plays havoc with the dinner hour. No, the owner doesn't like runners."

Well, I was in a quandary. Again I didn't know what to do. So I turned and slowly walked through the town, head down, just trying to think.

There was an old man sitting on the curb beside the road. He watched me as I approached.

"Sit down, sonny," he said. "Come and sit with me. You look like you need a rest."

And so I sat with him.

"Where are you headed, sonny?" he asked.

"I was following the runner but I don't know where he went."

"Which way does the road go?" he asked.

"Why, that way," I replied.

"Then why not continue in that direction and see what you find?"

"But, why? Why should I continue? No one else seems to care."

"But you care."

"Yes."

"Then continue. You have your ticket don't you?"

"Why, yes, I have my ticket. How did you know?"

"It's easy to tell. Besides I was just like you once. A runner passed me on the road and told me to follow. I, too, had a ticket. And I followed."

"Did you find him? Did you ever find the meet?"

"Yes I found him. I found the meet. I even became a runner."

"You did?"

"Yes, so you can see I know what I'm talking about. And you, too, will understand. You, too, must become a runner."

"Can I? Can I become a runner and race through towns and forests and run throughout the earth on swift feet?"

"Yes, my son. You can. But remember, there's more to running than just running. You will learn. You must learn."

"But how can that be? A runner runs. He has to. A runner must run to win."

"You'll see, my son, you'll see. But first you must continue. You must find your gift, you must show your ticket to gain admittance."

"I will, I will continue."

"Good. But hurry. You aren't ready for distractions. You aren't prepared. You must go, continue down the road and never leave it. Never take your eyes off the road and never let your feet wander off the straight and narrow path."

"I won't," I said. "I won't wander. I'll find my gift. I know it."

"Good bye, then," he said. "Good bye. I'll remember you and your quest."

"Thank you, thank you so much for showing me the way."

"You're welcome. But there's no need to thank me, that's my purpose in life -- to show you the way."

"Good bye, then. Good bye and -- and thanks." And with that I was off again on my quest to find that which awaited me. I was not sorry to leave the town of Hustle and Bustle. Not sorry at all. In fact, I think I was glad to leave.

All those people flitting around with no purpose. No purpose at all. Just doing things, but accomplishing nothing. It's no wonder the runners continue to run through the town without stopping. Why, even I was caught in the same rat race. Jumping from one person to another, asking questions but receiving no answers. At least not until I met that old man.

It's funny, though. He was waiting for me. He asked me questions, but he also gave me answers. He pointed me in the right direction. He took time to help.

Yet, he said he was once a runner. So he knows what it's all about. He recommended that I continue. He knows and he pointed the way. But I still don't understand his words about running. What was it he said? There's more to running than just running. Why, that's silly. Runners run. That's all there is to it.

At the top of the hill, I paused to take one last look at the town below me. I'm not sure why I bothered. Why, all the people were running around helter-skelter, almost without reason. They were so hopeless.

Then my eyes settled again on the old man sitting on the curb. Already he was talking to someone else. Already he was issuing instructions to a new listener. Already he was pointing the way to another wayward soul.

[Soldier4Christ]

The road seemed easier and my way seemed clearer as I continued my journey to the great meet. I was happy and contented. In fact, I even whistled while I walked. I guess my happiness was hard to contain, my joy abundant as I skipped and jumped down the road like a child. I had accepted the words of the old man. I had received my ticket. The gift was mine. Now I was simply following the road to see what was ahead.

No longer would I look back, but only forward. I would only travel down this narrow road to receive my prize. Or at least to find out what it was.

It was a beautiful day and I had great plans for my progress. Why, I fully intended to make the mountains by nightfall. But then it happened. I met a man.

The man was standing out in front of a large building with a single tower that loomed large against the skyline. He was dressed in black but I did notice his white collar and friendly smile.

"Welcome traveler. How are you this fine morning?"

"I'm fine, thank you," I replied, warming to his friendliness.

"Come on in and rest a spell. I've got food and drink and you do look hungry."

I hadn't anything to eat for I left that hamburger stand so quickly I forgot about eating. Then, too, I was also a little thirsty though I hadn't noticed, I was so caught up in my traveling. And so I accepted the offer of this new-found friend and postponed my journey for the time being. Oh, I had planned to make the mountains, but they'll always be there. And besides, a body has to eat, you know.

It was a pleasant visit; in fact, I stayed quite a while. We ate and we chatted and we ate some more. We even talked about running.

"Have you heard of the runners?" I asked.

"Oh, yes," he said. "But it's not for me."

"Why not?" "Well, runners come and runners go. They're always in such a hurry. Always chattering about time. Always rushing around. It's just not for me. Why, I like to talk about the why of things and the how of things. I like to look for reasons. I like to search for answers to things there aren't even questions for."

"But what about the race? Aren't you concerned with the running?"

"Heavens, no. I don't believe in such nonsense. Let the fanatics do that. After all, there's so much more to life than just running."

"Like what?" I asked.

"Well, there's doing your own thing. Breaking with tradition and becoming more relevant. There are social problems. The tensions among people. Now I know, I don't have the answers, but someone's got to do something and so I do the best I can. It will all work out."

"But what about the running?"

"Oh, forget the running. It's really not important."

"But the ticket, the free admittance. Do you have one?"

"No, but I don't need one. I'll do the best I can and live my life doing what I feel is best and I'll make it. Don't worry, you don't have to be a runner. It will all work out the same. There's no need to run."

And so we talked and talked and accomplished nothing. The more we talked, the more weary and tired I became and the more his words seemed to make sense. After all, it's hard to run and I hadn't even tried it yet. But I knew it would be. I just knew it. Besides, if there was an easier way a man would be foolish not to take it, wouldn't he? Why must a man run? I wondered. It's hard to believe in running, especially if you've never been a runner.

Still, I did have my ticket. I still believed. I still wanted to be a runner. And I knew someday I would be. But as the man says: what's the hurry?

[Soldier4Christ]

Days passed and I found myself more and more content to stay put. Oh, I wasn't happy and doubts crept in, but I found comfort in the fact that there were so many people here, that the majority, the great majority of them believed as my new-found friend -- that it will all work out. That there's no need to become a fanatic, that there's no need to run.

I found myself becoming more and more like them. I would no longer talk about running because of their laughter, but instead I would nod in agreement at their claims and laugh and even occasionally ridicule the idea of running. I would sleep in later and later and eat more and drink more and I began to take pleasure in these things. I hardly even thought about running and I didn't see any runners.

Then one day, right after lunch, I saw him. The old man. Well, at least I thought it was the old man. Why, he must have gone by in the early morning and passed me while I was still sleeping. He was already to the mountains. He wasn't even tempted to stop.

I knew I must see him. I had to. For too long I had put off my journey and listened to those who questioned that which I had the answers to.

I didn't take time to gather any of the trinkets and gadgets I had collected during my stay and left the Church of Good Intentions.

After all, I still had my ticket, safe and secure in my hand and that was all that mattered now. I literally ran toward the mountains. Not as a runner, but as a follower.

When I came to the mountains, he was gone. I looked everywhere but I couldn't see him anywhere.

My eyes followed the narrow trail up and over the mountains. Then I saw him, so small and yet so tall. He was almost to the top. He was pulling himself up with his hands and pushing with his feet. It seemed like hard work, like dedicated work. Yet he made it. He made it to the top and then disappeared on the other side.

I had to follow, but he had such a head start. Then I noticed another way. Oh, it wasn't the way, but it looked shorter and quicker. Why, this way went down between the mountains and it looked as if it met the road in the valley far below. I knew I could make it.

Without further hesitation I left the road and tried it my way.

I can hardly describe the ease with which I bounded between the mountains and literally flew into the valley beyond. Why it was easy. So very easy. And when I reached the valley and reached the road I was ecstatic with joy. But it was the wrong valley and the wrong road.

The road which I had found went only 30 feet in either direction. I couldn't see that it was a dead end from up above and I was too thrilled with my ease of descent to even notice as I ran into the valley. The wrong valley.

And I was lost. There was nothing around me to guide me in any direction. I had tried it my way and I found a dead end. I had only one choice. And that was to turn around. So I did.

The great wide road which I had used to descend into the Valley of Desolation was gone. In its place was a narrow and rocky road. A hard road, a road that was filled with self-pity and blame.

Why did I blow it? Why didn't I follow the old man over the mountain? Why did I go wrong and fail? Why did I try it my way? Why? Why?

I didn't know the answer but I did know what to do. I had to go back up that road. I was sorry. And I was wrong and the only way to correct that wrong was to admit it and get back on the narrow way.

As soon as I had admitted that I was wrong and started back, the road opened up. The hard part was in my mind. Admitting that I blew it, but not dwelling on that fact -- not staying in the valley but turning around and climbing out of my desolation -- by simply confessing it, my guilt was gone. My feet literally flew up the passageway and once again I found myself safe and secure on the solid ground.

Now there was only the mountain left to climb. So I did.

The climb itself wasn't nearly as bad as I expected it to be. Actually, I felt as if there were wings on my feet that lifted me each step of the way. The only important thing was to keep one's eyes on the goal. To keep moving toward the top. One step at a time, without looking back but always going forward.

When I reached the top I caught my first glimpse of the great stadium and I knew that it was worth it. I really knew it.

[Soldier4Christ]

How thrilled I was to enter the great field that led to the stadium. Why, this was the Valley of Decision. I had come all this way, passed all of these doubts, anxieties and shortcomings in order to step forward into this Aisle of Conquest. I had won my battle and I was here. I had my ticket and I wanted to enter the arena, the coliseum. I wanted entrance to the Great Meet.

And entrance itself was simple. Really. I had come forward across the Mountain of Doubt. I had come to receive and claim that which was mine. And I did.

At the gate I showed my ticket and the usher greeted me with a friendly smile and said, "Enter. The price has already been paid. Admittance is yours. It's been yours all along. You had only to claim it. To accept it. And you have. Welcome."

And there was great joy and happiness. There were tears and there was laughter. And I was welcomed and loved. And I knew that I belonged. I had entered the Great Meet. I had received my gift.

And so I entered the vast arena. There was noise and excitement as thousands of people sat, and stood, and cheered. In fact, there were so many spectators that the stadium nearly overflowed with people.

I was seated next to a kindly gentleman who looked like he knew what he was doing -- as if he had been sitting there a long time. His name was Complacency. Next to him was Apathy and behind me was Contentment.

I felt at peace. For the arena, the action, the excitement was so different from the world I knew. I, too, was content, satisfied, overjoyed with my new surroundings. Nothing else mattered. I had made it, I was sitting at last.

Below me on the field, I saw many events to hold my interest. There were races and relays, jumping contests and hurdles. There were people who threw things and people who picked them up. People measured how other people did and an announcer described the action. He told us what was happening and he compared the deeds of the day with the deeds of the past in order to keep us informed of any new records.

All of this - and it was for me. I was a spectator of the Great Meet. All I had to do was sit there and watch. Just sit... but wait a minute, that's all I was doing, sitting. And I came here to run.

I asked my comrades about that and their answers were frightening.

Complacency said, "It doesn't really matter. After all, things are going just great. Besides, everyone of those people on the field is better than I am at his task."

Apathy didn't care.

Contentment just sighed.

They really didn't seem involved at all. They were spectators, not performers. Shocked and a little upset at my self for falling into the same rut, for sitting and watching, I leaped from my seat and jumped onto the field.

Things looked different on the field itself. The stadium seemed larger. The spectators seemed greater in number. The field was even bigger. And there were so many events. I was here, but I didn't know what to do. Then I met the shot-putter.

[Soldier4Christ]

The shot-putter was really very good to me. He introduced me to several other participants and explained to me the discipline of putting the shot. In theory, one must train and develop his muscles so as to be able to put the shot as far as possible.

And he was very good at it. Why, he was always carrying that shot around with him. All sixteen pounds of it. He would toss it from his right had to his left hand, building strength in his wrists. He would squeeze his fingers around it and massage it. He never let go of that shot. It was always with him. A man has to be pretty strong to carry around that much extra weight. The shot-putter taught me everything he knew.

So I concerned myself with strengthening my body. I was constantly squeezing little rubber balls and other artificial devices in order to strengthen my hands and wrists. I exercised in order to build up my muscles and I ate special foods to add weight to my body. I, too, became a shot-putter. In fact, I was pretty good at it.

When the time came, when my motives were right, when my mind was in the proper frame of thought, I would put the shot. I would spin around to gain momentum and get every part of my body behind the shot and I would put it as far as is humanly possible. But it never went very far.

Then, of course, I would always go and pick it up. After all, it was my weight and I wanted it and I was going to have it. No one else could have my shot. I carried it with me everywhere. I wasn't running, but I was performing. I was doing something. I had my weight which was always with me. And I was happy because I told myself I was happy, but I wasn't running. Something was missing and I was sad.

I felt the best whenever I threw the shot far away. But that happiness always left when my weight returned. In fact, the only pleasure I then received was in throwing the shot. But since I always picked it up my triumphs slipped into sorrow.

As I looked around me, I noticed the other performers. I watched as they ran and jumped and threw. There was the discus thrower. He too, carried a weight with him, but it was a different weight. A better weight for throwing. Why he could throw this weight three or four times as far as I could throw mine. And I thought about changing weights, about getting a new weight that I could throw farther away.

But I noticed that he, too, picked up his weight and carried it with him. There seemed to be little sense in changing from one weight to another. Because there was little difference, I kept my weight and cherished it, because it was mine and I thought I wanted it.

Then I watched the javelin thrower. I watched him run and throw his spear through the air. I watched it fly long and far. And when it landed, he would pick it up and put it away. He didn't carry it with him, but he still owned it. It was still his. He just hid it in his closet and took it out on game days. But he still had it. It was still his. He just didn't have to carry it all the time.

I thought of changing, but why change if there's so little difference? Why have a hidden weight which is still a weight? Why pretend you don't have one when you really do? Why not get rid of the weight entirely?

Then I watched a jumper. And he didn't have a weight. Not even a hidden weight. And that's what I wanted. I wanted to rid myself of this weight that was besetting me. But how? How does one get rid of that which he has become attached to? How?

It was then that I noticed the coach, and he noticed me.

"What's your trouble, my son?"

"It's this weight, I'm tired of it. I want to be rid of it."

"Are you sure you're through with it?"

"Yes."

"Why not give it to me?"

"Will you get rid of it for me?"

"I can if you want me to."

"I do. I do want you to. Here, take my weight from me. I don't want to see it again."

And he took it in one of his hands. He didn't look as if he could even carry it, but he said he could and he did, and I knew his hands had carried the weight of many shots.

He took my weight and smiled at me as if nothing had been added to him that he had not already borne. He took it and with just a flick of his wrist he sent it hurtling through the air. Not just sixty or seventy feet, mind you, but thousands, no, millions of feet. Why, my weight flew out of the stadium through the heavens, over the mountains, across the valleys. He threw it into the depths of the deepest sea where no man will ever see my weight again.

I was free again. I was free like I was when I entered the arena. No weight, no added burden. No shot to put.

And I hadn't done it, I couldn't throw it far enough. But he did. My coach did. He had freed me from my weight and I was no longer a shot putter. Instead, I became a jumper.

[Soldier4Christ]

Jumping was pretty easy. Oh, it required work and training, but I enjoyed it. And there were many kinds of jumping. There was broad jumping for distance and high jumping for height. There was even pole-vaulting which required a pole in order to assist one in jumping extremely high.

But I didn't want to try pole-vaulting because of the pole. Why, it seemed to me that one could get attached to the pole as one does to a shot. Now of course, I wasn't in a position to judge, but that was my honest opinion. And so I tried high jumping.

In high jumping, one simply runs to the bar and jumps as high as one can over the bar without knocking it off the stand. Now, it really is simple to jump over the bar. Really! In fact, anyone can do it. The trick comes in jumping higher than three feet. For the higher one jumps, the harder it becomes. And so I began my training to be a high jumper.

I studied the various techniques of jumping, the styles. I practiced each one until I found a method that worked for me. Then I began jumping in earnest.

I practiced every day at jumping and finally I could jump my height and then I could jump a foot higher. But that was my limit. I had succeeded in jumping as high as I could jump. Every meet I would jump and people would cheer and I would feel good for I had jumped my best. I had accomplished it all by myself. But I wasn't getting anywhere.

My running was confined to a short runway from the starting point to the bar. When I completed my jump I landed exactly four feet from the place I jumped from. And then I would get up, climb out of the pit and walk back to my starting point, run down the same runway and land in the same spot. Quite honestly, I was in a rut and I accomplished absolutely nothing. I wasn't going anywhere.

I knew that somewhere there had to be more to my running experience than this. That somehow I was missing what it took to be a runner. There was something else that I was supposed to do. And so I tried broad jumping.

In broad jumping,  one runs as fast as he can, plants his foot firmly on the board and leaps as far as he can into the landing pit. Why, on my very first jump I traveled nearly four times as far as I had ever gone in high jumping. And with practice, I began to jump over twenty feet.

But still, I was in a rut. The same rut. The same runway, the same landing pit. Always the same. Oh, I practiced, but there's a limit to how far a man can jump. And regardless of how far you jump, you never land outside of that pit. No matter how hard I studied, or how hard I tried. No matter how far I jumped, I always landed in the same pit.

There had to be more to the Great Meet than this. As I sat by the pit with my head in my hands, my eyes caught a glimpse of the scarred feet of the coach and I knew he had been a runner.

"What's wrong, my son? You look unhappy."

"I am."

"What seems to be your problem?"

"Well, it's the jumping, sir. I always seem to land in the same place. I'm not getting anywhere."

"Then quit jumping. You have learned that doing the same thing over and over again accomplishes nothing. You have found yourself in a rut, with no drive and no ambition. You are performing, yes, but you are going nowhere. You are performing for the sake of performing. And that's not good. Do you want a change?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then follow me."

And I did. He led me out of my rut. Out of the pit. Out of the infield. He led me onto the track itself and I became a runner.

[Soldier4Christ]

Because of my jumping  experience I thought that hurdling would be the best event for me. And so I tried hurdling. And hurdle I did.

I began with the low hurdles for they were the easiest to begin with. First I had to learn the technique and develop that technique into a style that I was comfortable with. I had to learn to run and to take the hurdles without breaking my stride. Of course, I stumbled a lot and tripped. I fell flat on my face, but I could always look at the coach and see a smile on his face and so I always got up and tried again. And again.

So I became a hurdler. I mastered the low hurdles and I mastered the high hurdles. I ran the hurdles faster and faster until I reached my limit. I was a good hurdler but I was still a hurdler.

For the hurdles were always there. They were always the same. And the race was always the same. Once you have mastered the hurdles you have mastered the hurdles. Once you have learned to run and take them in your stride, you run as if the hurdles aren't even there. You run, but you don't think about the hurdles and the hurdles don't bother you. So you might as well run without them. They are no longer obstacles and they are no longer needed. So you forget the hurdles.

But they were still there. And I grew tired of hurdling for the sake of hurdling. I knew the hurdles were no longer obstacles, I had mastered them, yet, I realized I did not need them, that I could run without them, without fear. I knew I could run and I knew I must run. So I left hurdling to become a runner.

I had already learned  to cast aside every extra weight and to tone my muscles and body into perfect shape, but I never really understood how important all that was until I really became a runner.

In running, speed is important. Especially if one is to be a sprinter and a sprinter is what I wanted to be. And so I sprinted until I became an excellent sprinter. I practiced and practiced. I exercised and prepared. I spent all of my time and effort getting ready for the race.

I knew what was needed. After all, you could never win a race if you weren't prepared. Why, just think of what would happen if three men were running in a race and one of them was dressed in his running clothes with track shoes ready. And another man was dressed in a track suit but carried a shot in his hand and a ball and chain strapped to his leg. And the third man, picture him dressed in a suit of armor. When the gun sounds, which one will win? Which one will be the victor? Why, the one who was prepared and ready.

And suppose the same three men were in another race and they were all fitted in the finest track shoes and all had on identical running clothes but one man was ready and had trained every day, the other hadn't run a race in ten years and the third man had never run at all. Which one would win? Why, the one that was ready. The one who had trained. So I trained.

And I was ready. I was prepared both mentally and physically. Soon the race would begin. For months now I had waited for this one moment. I was ready. I looked at the competition and I knew I could win.

When we entered the starting blocks, I could feel the adrenaline flowing through my body. I was ready. When the gun exploded in my ear, my feet pushed off the blocks and my body leaped in to action and I ran. I ran and I ran as fast as I could. And I won.

I won, I was the victor? I had won the race and I was exhausted and drained both mentally and physically. I had put all my effort into running and I had run and I was tired. The race was over.

Yes, I had won the race. But it was such a short race. Such a foolish race. I had trained so hard and so long for a race that lasted only ten seconds. Ten seconds of service only to fizzle out for lack of a longer goal. I was a runner, but there was more to being a runner than speed. There has to be more. There has to be more than winning. There has to be some joy in running and some purpose in all this training. There has to be. So I tried longer races, mixing speed with endurance. Races that made the training and practice worthwhile. I began running for distance.

[Soldier4Christ]

Distance running  made more sense. It was harder and took more effort and training, but I found that it got easier the more I worked at it. I was determined to be good at whatever I did. So as in all the other events in which I had participated I concentrated on being the best. I was sure the coach would be pleased.

And so I trained hard and ran long. I raced to win and I won. I ran longer and longer races and became a champion. Naturally the spectators noticed me and I was proud of being noticed. I ran harder and longer to be noticed again and again. The more I ran, the more notice I received and I was pleased with my performance and I was pleased with myself. At last I was a runner.

A real runner. A distance runner. Around and around the track I ran. Almost daily I would run, growing accustomed to the field and the acclaim. But, then it hit me.

I was running for the sake of running. I was running to please myself, to please the crowds. I was a runner all right, but I wasn't a runner in the sense that the runner who knocked me over on the road was a runner. No, sir. He was out there running where runners need to be, while I was still performing. I was running, but I was running around in circles, getting nowhere. Regardless of how far I ran, I ended up in the same place. It didn't matter how many laps I ran, I was still in the stadium performing. And I had grown to like my own performance. That was wrong.

As I paced the ground and pondered these things I noticed the coach standing beside me. "You have learned much," he said.

"Yes, I have learned that there's more to running than just running."

"Have you?" he said. "Have you really learned?"

"Oh, yes, I'm sure of it. Why, I've been running in circles and getting nowhere. I have been performing to please myself and to please others. And I've been pleased to please others and to hear their praise. But that is not what I came here to do. I came to be a runner, an out there type runner. A runner who runs with the news."

"Yes, my son. That is why you have come. That is why I called you. You have realized the folly of performing and know that you must run. But have you really learned? Do you really know what running is all about?"

"Yes, I know. I'm sure I know. And I want to run. I really do."

"Then run, my son. Run the race. Finish the course." And run I did.

I took nothing with me but the track suit I wore and my shoes for running. And, of course, a book of tickets. I was prepared to go and eager to leave, in fact, I was in the process of leaving when one of the trainers tapped me on the shoulder.

"Are you ready?" he asked.

"Yes, I'm ready."

"And you are sure you know what to do?"

"Why, of course, I'm sure. After all I once met a runner who led me here. Why wouldn't I know?"

"I just want to be sure you've had the proper training. So few ever receive it. So few ever really care."

"Well you don't have to worry about me. I know what to do. I'm a runner now. Worry about them, the participants and spectators. Turn them into runners."

"I do worry about them. Every day I talk to the coach about them. There are so many who enter the stadium and so few who ever leave. Why, the stadium is so full. So full with those who have received the gift, who have received the call to run and yet refuse to do so. Yes, I'm concerned about that. Very concerned."

"But what can be done? What can be done to make them run?"

"Nothing can make them run. They must want to run as you want to run."

"And what of the coach, can he make them run?"

"No, even he won't make them run. They must run on their own. They are supposed to run, all of them. But they must want to run. They must want to."

"The coach, wasn't he a runner?" I asked.

"Yes, he was a runner. The best runner. The very first runner. He ran where no one else ever ran. He ran when there was no thought of running. When the world hated runners, he still ran. When they rose up against him he refused to quit running. He refused to stop.

"Even when the world tried to stop him from running, he kept on and on. He is the runner of all runners. The pioneer. Why, he made the course, blazed the trail. He is the one who formed the narrow way. There are no obstacles that he has not faced, no problem he did not solve, no force he did not move, no instance that he did not foresee. He has done it all. And he finished the course.

"He finished it as no man could ever finish it. Yes, he was a runner. The greatest runner. And he ran that you might run. He finished the course that you might finish it. He did it all and all you must do is follow his leading.

"Remember, he was there before you. Nothing you encounter will be new. He has already had the victory in it or over it. Remember that and your running will not be in vain. You will make it because he made it. You will make it for his spirit, the Spirit of the Great Runner, goes with you. In his strength you can do it. Remember, in his strength you can finish."

"I'll remember. I'll always remember." "Then go, go and run. Run the race that is before you. Run and never forget."

And so I ran. I turned and ran out of the great stadium, out of the Great Meet. I ran towards the Mountains of Duty and the World of Need.

[Soldier4Christ]

As I ran from the stadium I was excited and thrilled with my task. I was carrying the message of the coach. I was imparting the gift. And those who were in need would see me run and they would know I'm a runner and surely they will want what the coach has given me.

As I ran I was happy. Truly happy for the first time. I was happy because I was doing that which I was meant to do. For in a race, one must run and if we are all in a race then surely we must all run to win the prize, the reward.

So I ran to receive the prize. Up the long trail toward the rim of the mountains. Upward and upward without tiring, without sweating, without pain, for I ran with the strength of the one who forged the trail. Nothing was too hard or too difficult, for he had gone on before, he made the trail and he knew what was needed and he knew what those who followed would need as well.

When I reached the top of the mountain and came to the rim that surrounds the great valley, the trail veered sharply and I caught a glimpse of the great stadium below. Immediately my thoughts returned to the words of the trainer. Many are called, he said, but so few respond. Very few indeed, ever become runners. Now why is that? Why is it that so few choose to follow in the way they should go?

They all have come to the meet. Why is it that so many choose to watch? And even criticize those in the field? What causes a man to sit and fill a stadium seat when he should be running, when he should be doing that which the coach wants him to do.

And what of those on the field? Why are they busying themselves performing? What do they expect to gain by entertaining those in the stands? Do they do it for cheers, for applause, as I had done? And why can't they see through the phony facade of performing for the sake of performing? Why can't they see their responsibility to take the message of the gift to those in need of the gift rather than perform and entertain those who already have received it.

Why?

I honestly did not have an answer. Yet I knew that I was just like them. I had sat in the stands and I had performed. I had carried and thrown weights and learned to jump and to hurdle anything in my path. I had learned to do all those things because I wanted to do all those things, not because it was necessary.

After all, the trainer told me that the coach would provide all I needed. I only had to be willing. I only had to accept his call, to listen and let him do it for me. There was no need to learn to do all those things by myself or to try to master everything in my own strength. For he is the master and the teacher and the provider of all that I need. I only had to trust him and obey him.

I only have to run.

And I am.

As I continued  running along the rim of the mountain. I again saw the great stadium. As I ran, I looked down at the great coliseum and I saw the road that led into the arena.

There on the road I saw a man. The old man who had helped me. The old man of the mountain. He was bent over but he was still moving forward. He was tired and he was old, but he still walked steadily toward the open gate, toward the playing field.

As I ran I watched him enter and saw the faces of every spectator and the faces of every participant as they watched the old man stumble across the field.

Some laughed and some cheered and some cried out in loud voices. For forty years he had been gone, forty years ago he left and now he returns, old and battered and beaten.

I heard their cries but I didn't understand. If one runs fast one could surely finish quickly. One could easily do this course in a very short time. A short time indeed.

Then as I watched the old man, I saw the coach walking, no running toward him. When the old man saw the face of the coach and saw the coach's smile, his stumbling ceased. His staggering was over. And the old man wasn't old any more. He leaped, no, he bounded into the arms of his coach.

There was joy in his face and joy in his heart. There was joy in the heart of his coach. But the people watching, the spectators and the participants didn't notice. The novelty of the old man had faded. They amused themselves with cheering and jeering and concerned themselves with other things.

But I noticed as I ran how the coach lifted up the old man in his arms and the old man was young again. The coach held him up in the air as if to show the people the great joy at he had at the return of his runner.

As I ran I noticed for the first time the great clouds that hung over the arena. The kind of clouds that looked like faces, faces which were glad. Faces which smiled down on this joyous reunion and the coach who rejoiced at the return of his runner.

Then I ran behind a large stone precipice and lost sight of the arena for a few moments. When it returned again to my eyes I noticed that the man was gone. The coach was still smiling, the crowd was still busy, the participants were still playing, and the clouds were still watching. But now there was a new face among the clouds; the old man had gone home.

And so now I knew. Yes, I knew what was in store for those who ran and I understood what it meant to finish the course.

That is the last glimpse I have had of the great meet, for the road turned sharply in the other direction away from the arena and away from the cloud of witnesses.

My heart was heavy for I thought again of the great crowd, of the spectators and the players. For every 1,000 spectators there was one who became a participant. And for every 100 participants, there was only one who became a runner. It was a sobering thought. A staggering thought to a new runner. It was quite a responsibility to be one who runs, one who carries the news. I vowed to carry it everywhere. As fast as I could I would carry the news of the gift. I would be the best and maybe the fastest runner to ever run his course. For I knew what was in store for me at the finish.

Yes, I was a runner. And I ran and I ran shouting my warning and passing out tickets. I ran through the meadows and over the hills and down in the valleys. I ran in the city and in the country.

Then one day near sunset, I ran into a wanderer and knocked him over as I had once been knocked over. As I bent over to help him I heard myself say those same enchanting words, "So late, so late. Broad is the way, narrow is the way. Hurry, must finish. So late, so late."

I, too had still been guilty of running -- of running for the sake of running. Taking pride in who I was. Yes, I was doing the same things which the first runner had done to me. I didn't have time to help for I was too concerned with winning. But there's more to a race than winning. In fact, this wasn't a race of speed, but a race of endurance. Of patience. I knew that now. I really knew it.

I wasn't running the race properly. I was frustrated trying to be first when my task was to finish. To run a good race, to finish the course. To do that which was set before me.

As I reached down to help the wanderer, I realized my true mission. My true purpose. "Come," I said, "let me help. Let me show you the way." That old man who had taken the time to show me the way was right.

There's more to running than running. A lot more, and he, too, though he was gone forty years, was still a runner. A runner who finished his course as I must finish mine.

[Soldier4Christ]

And so I continued  to run the race. Not to win, mind you, but to finish. I had learned to run with patience the course, my course. For now, I was a runner with a purpose.

I ran my race as my coach had run. I talked about running and demonstrated what running was all about. I ran through the highways and byways of life, pointing the way to those who were lost. For I knew now what running was all about.

For 35 years I ran my race, through forests and the cities, through the darkness and in the light, in sickness and in health, I ran because I was made for running - I was prepared for running, because I was designed to run.

And I, too, have run my race and finished my course. I, too, have felt the tender embrace of my coach and heard his gentle voice say, "Well done." For I have already re-entered the stadium of eternal life and finished my task. Now, I too, have taken my place beside the smiling face of the old man in the eternal clouds of the heavenly sky.

Below me I can still see the race. I can still see the stadium with its thousands of spectators. And Apathy, Contentment, and Complacency are still seated. Backbiter and Bickerer are still in the crowd. The shot-putter still carries his weight and participants still perform for the sake of performing. And still I wonder why.

But from here I can also see runners out in the world running the race. There's another one beginning and here comes one more finishing his course.

And there are hundreds more entering the arena with their tickets. Coming as a result of the runners and there are many coming who I have talked to. And there are even runners who are running because I ran and there are those who have finished their course and caused others to run as the old man had caused me to run.

Yes. I understand the running but not the sitting. The stadium should be empty and the world should be full of runners. The flow of people coming into the stadium should equal the number who run out prepared. The world would understand running and know what the race is all about if that were so.

And of course, the only witnesses would be the clouds.

"Wherefore seeing we also are compassed about with so great a cloud of witnesses, let us lay aside every weight, and the sin which doth so easily beset us, and let us run with patience the race that is set before us, Looking unto Jesus the author and the finisher of our faith; who for the joy that was set before Him endured the cross, despising the shame, and is set down at the right hand of the throne of God."
Hebrews 12:1-2