Finishing the race

I was wondering about the term "rat race". Do rats race? I have never seen a rat race, but I have seen them play basketball at our local science center. If they can master that sport, I am sure they could race if they were so inclined.

In researching the etymology of "rat race", I discovered that it was the name of a dance at the same time period as "fox trot" but then came to mean a meaningless, exhausting pursuit such as laboratory rats in an endless maze. Well now THAT is interesting- to morph from joyful dance to futile, endless wandering.... I think many people could relate to the transition from joyful, hopeful embracing life, to mechanical duty and drudgery as hopes and dreams become stale and bump into dead-end reality.

In the movie, Chariots of Fire, Olympian runner Eric Lidell tells his disapproving Christian sister, "When God made me, He made me FAST, and when I run, I feel His pleasure." I too am a runner, and when God made me, He did not make me fast. In most of the many talents God doled out to me, none are quite amazing enough to make pedestrians pause in the cross-walk. However, I love to run, and cajoled my fifty year old mother into running many years ago, shortly after she quit smoking. I remember on that first "run" with her, she huffed and puffed one block and then had to walk. So it was nothing short of miraculous when she entered a marathon just two years later.

Now inspired by my mom, I too was training for the marathon, but I had my own training regimen, which was in sharp contrast to the suggested training schedule. I basically cut it in half. I mean, really, who wants to run 20 miles as a warm up to the real thing? So when it was time to take Mom to the starting line, I was not registered, nor should with any semblance of sanity even think of running that marathon yet.... but of course decided at the starting line, I should.

And as you so correctly anticipated, at mile marker 23, I lay down to die. The end was in sight, but it didn't matter. I was done.
"Go on!" I told my mom,"Leave me here for the vultures to peck my eyeballs out. You go on!"
No, my mother insisted, I could, and should, and would finish the race.
"You may not be able to run, but you can walk," she told me.
And despite my protests, she dragged me to my feet and tugged me along. She was right, I could walk, and after a little while, I could run again, and we crossed the finish line together, holding hands, victorious.

I learned many things from that race. I learned I am missing a bone in my right foot, diagnosed after two weeks of being unable to walk after that race. I learned that mothers are always right. Obey them. Most importantly, I learned that there is something more precious than having wings of eagles that can soar effortlessly to the mountaintops. It is to have wings of a turkey, born aloft by the love of others and maybe even one's own determination to reach the heights of whatever perch God intended I land upon without giving up.
1 Corinthians 9:24
Do you not know that in a race all the runners run, but only one gets the prize? Run in such a way as to get the prize.