Hurdle Race.

I remember my good old track days of junior high when I thought I enjoyed the sport of running. (I know that it is a complete mental thing that I do not like running.) I quickly learned in the early days of track that I do not enjoy the long distance treks around the track with distances of 200, 400, 800, or more meters. Just writing those words still makes me cringe at the thought of running those laps. The shorter sprint options did not scare me so and those I quickly volunteered for. I was assigned the hurdles and set out to learn the art of jumping over a waist-high barrier while never losing my stride or footing. Sometimes I flew over those hurdles with such precision that every jumped worked great. Other times I jumped too early and lost momentum, and other times I jumped too late and hit it. I suffered a few scrapes and bruises from those days. Red dirt definitely is not the color for me. But despite the hurdles that I could see, I always knew that the finish line was a short distance away and that finish line was my goal.

The memories of those days have come back to haunt me when I received an email from a friend. I know there is a lesson to be learned somewhere in the midst of those memories of days gone by so let me see if I am willing to learn today. My friend, who has been an amazing source of prayer and encouragement for me, wrote that he was excited at what the Lord is doing and will do in my life. Should I tell you what my first thought was? My first thought was, “well, I am glad someone is.” because right now, I am not jumping up and down with pure delight and excitement at the stage that is ahead. Do not get me wrong. I am looking forward to what is ahead but I see the hurdles that are there. These hurdles are not surprises nor are they hidden. They are plain, big, and right before my eyes. They do not hide the end; they will just make the finish line a bit more challenging to reach.

I am grateful for my friend who is cheering me on in the journey ahead. He reminds me of those teammates who would stand at different points along the track, rooting, cheering, and yelling me on during the race. As the one running, there are times that I did not want to get to the starting line. I did not want to get myself set to go. I did not want to even take a step. Sometimes I wanted to get a false start so I would not have to run, but those were the moments I closed my eyes, erasing the world before me, focused on the end, tuned my ears to the hear the voices cheering me on, and waited for the signal.

I know my race. The starting line has been drawn. The finish line has been stretched. The hurdles are placed. I have been trained, prepped, and encouraged to run it. My heart still pounds because I know I have to run it and overcome the hurdles. But I am willing. I take my place, I close my eyes, I wait for my signal.