to run

Last week we had a tragedy in the town we live. It's a small town so a tragedy such as this, affects all of us. A young man in high school decided to take his life after his girlfriend broke up with him. At sixteen years old, he decided life wasn't worth living anymore; that his race was just too much to run any further. Rumors have it that he was part of a church family here in town; that he was involved with sports; and was loved by everyone around. Obviously, I can't help but think there was a deeper pain that no one noticed. There was a void... It seems we go through stages in our life when we begin losing those people closest around us. We all know this is the circle of life. We all know there is a time to die, but when those times come ~ expected or not, we grieve each in our own way. What was once there, is no longer and our emotions tell us there's a void. I can't help but think of Mandisas' song, "Voice of a Savior." One line in the song "you are I are not that different, we got a void and we're just trying to fill it up. Something that will give a little peace...all we want is a hand to reach to, open arms to run to. We'd give anything to hear a voice of a Savior." Whatever that "savior" looks like ~ bottom of a bottle, needle in an arm, money in a pocket, in anothers arms, victory, some place no one else has gone. But at the end of the day... it's still in the same place ~ right in the middle of Jesus' arms ~ something to call savior... something to save me from this world.

A couple of weeks ago, I lost a very dear aunt. She was my father's last living sibling. Over a couple of phone calls and a few IM chats, I could tell that my dad was taking the loss pretty hard. My dad is the middle of five children; two younger brother twins who had already passed on; an older brother and his oldest, his sister who just passed. I packed up and traveled with some of my family two states over to attend my aunt's funeral. I learned on this trip that my dad was one of six, but he had lost a brother at around nine months old along with his mother having multiple miscarriages.

At the end of day two, I wrapped my arms around my dad and asked him, "you doing okay? You look pretty tired."

He reply, "I'm just sad. I just lost my only sister."

I've never lost a sibling, but I saw the loss in his eyes. I felt his loss with him. The funeral was nice; a lot of older country church hymns. Her oldest grandson, my second cousin, spoke for a while of the memories he had built with his grandmother over the years. He seemed to gleam when he talked about his own kids building and cherished the memories they had with Vera as well... baking, quilting, her love of bingo, always building memories. She lived a full life with her family as the center of her attention. The legacy she left behind was her family and the love she taught them and undoubtedly showed them.

From my cousins' speech, I couldn't help but think about Paul's journey and the letter he wrote the Philippi church. Several times Paul refers to life as a race. In those days, Rome could relate to physical, athletic games; it was their culture. Still today, the metaphor of a race is ran by all of us. Paul knew his life was nearing the end. Timothy's letters were the last letters preparing Timothy to take on the baton; to continue the work that he had began and carry it through. Aunt Vera had left a baton of love, family, laughter, and of beauty to her family.

A lady brought a writing into our Wednesday night class that she found on a website that gave me a new perspective of how that baton is to be passed. "As Bishop Michael Baughen depicts, 'The relay runner is pounding around the track, using every ounce of energy, heading for the hand-over point. Ahead of him is the next runner in the relay, feet beginning to move in anticipation, eyes on the runner coming towards him, his hand now outstretched to take the baton at the appropriate moment and then to run and run, while the man he took the baton from collapses breathless on to the grass. Paul is pounding towards the end. His 'time of departure has come' and Paul is urging Timothy to take the baton from him and to run with commitment and determination."

My baton of life was crafted by my forefathers; passed down from generation to generation. As in most families, through each generation the baton is sometimes easy to carry, but sometimes the baton is worn or broken or just needs to be dusted off and refined. My parents took the baton at a very young age and continue to run the race of life to the fullest; standing by each other with God as their primary focus. Through the years, they have polished this baton and through their lives they have made their baton breath-takingly beautiful. The baton, although, I know will be fumbled in my hands at times, one day it will be held with pride and little refining and hopefully with God's help, I will continue to hold it firmly so it will ready to pass on to Natalie when that times comes. My parents have done a great job preparing me for the baton. I know my feet are waiting with anticipation to grab it and continue the race for Christs' sake.

Although, as in Paul's situation, we don't typically pass the baton on until we are ready to pass on, I should keep in mind that I shouldn't be wait for the passing of my loved ones to grab the baton. It's my responsibility to carry my own baton... to continue the work that has already began; to prepare my Natalie to be ready to accept the baton at a moments' notice. Paul could see the end of his race and knew his reward was waiting for him.

I can't help but ask myself, am I running the race of life in such a way to gain the prize? Will I be remembered in such a way that is pleasing from one generation to the next? I hope so. Probably not after a couple of generations, but I'm okay with that. So I can't help but ask, how's your daily race going? Are you stretching each day towards the finish line? Are you preparing another young Timothy to pass the baton to when you finish your race of life? Will they be fully prepared to accept it with a firm grip and to run when that time comes?

Lord, thank you for crafting such a beautiful baton my parents carry. Thank you for the legacy my parents have given us already. Thank you for the time I had on this earth with my sweet, Aunt Vera. Thank you for allowing me to be a part of your kingdom. I understand You don't need me, but I'm grateful You allow me to be a part of Your will. Continue to work in me, refine me, sculpt me, chisel me until You are satisfied with what you see. Grant those extra peace during this time of loss. Show them the best place to run is in the comfort of your arms. In Jesus precious, loving name.