Had one of those pinnacle moments of motherhood this weekend. One of those times where I thought–this moment is it. The choice I make, the choice she makes, in THIS moment will define how I parent her for the rest of her life.
Actually, now that I think about it, I’ve had more than one moment like this with this particular child this past month.
And I’m not so certain she’s the one who’s learning. I pray she is. I hope she is. I think she is. But really? I’m learning the hard and fast truth about motherhood, writing, life–you have to keep going even when you don’t think you can.
She fell Saturday morning barely 25 meters into the 3200 meter race at the state track meet for youth. That red-hued track ate up her knee and elbow and pride. The whistle blew for a restart because the rules allow it that early into a race.
(You know, quite often we aren’t as far along as we think, and the opportunity to begin again is right there if we take a few steps back.)
The gatekeepers let me out there as soon as I said she was mine, and I wiped the bloody trickle and slapped on a bandaid and told her to line back up. That’s the worst part of motherhood, you know. When your baby is crying and hurting and you know you have to make them finish. When you know it would be easier to say, good try, there’s always next year, you’re hurting so let’s quit.
But truth is I called up reality–we drove three hours so she could run in one race. This is her event. She’s had a tough season, but we’re finishing. It’s two miles, I told her, and you’ll be done in fifteen minutes. Line up.
I practically pushed her back to that starting line believing she might make it one round and then beg to come out. I would’ve let her. Because she got back up and tried again.
She finished the race.
We run with endurance the race that is set before us…
The preacher called up those words Sunday morning amidst a congregation that featured a woman who left her Georgia home in 1954 and served 38 years in Nigeria as a missionary. The pews were filled with her girls, come visiting for her 90th birthday. What a race she’s almost finished.
…run with ENDURANCE…
My girl might carry that scar on her knee for awhile. She has a wall full of medals and ribbons from other races she’s won, but this one–this race she lost by all the standards which measure speed–this is the race where she truly gets the prize.
This is the race I will remember in this long marathon of motherhood and grace. The one that cost the most. The one that made me set aside the instinct to coddle and press forward with the commandment to endure.
Therefore, since we have so great a cloud of witnesses surrounding us, let us also lay aside every encumbrance and the sin which so easily entangles us, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, 2 [a]fixing our eyes on Jesus, the [b]author and perfecter of faith, who for the joy set before Him endured the cross, despising the shame, and has sat down at the right hand of the throne of God. –Hebrews 12: 1-2
6 thoughts on “When You Really Don’t Want to Run the Race Anymore”
Wow. Good for you Lindsey! You’re right. Encouraging our children to finish a race they’ve begun when they’ve already been injured by the journey has to be one of the hardest things to do. It must be hard for God to watch, too, when He needs to get us back into a difficult game. Great writing.
Great reminder that often our parenting journey mirrors the Lord’s with us 🙂
Ha. Feel like you’re my mama too right now after your words of encouragement. I love this verse from Hebrews. I keep it by my computer. God blessed me so much with you. I’m slapping on my bandaid and getting back to work.
Better buy a box. You’ll need them for this writing career… and motherhood! 🙂 See you soon!
Oh, Lindsey. You really should teach a blogging class for the rest of us. You do it so well, and so beautifully, and so in the middle of everything else you do. You inspire me. And this is lovely and encouraging, as always. Keep it up, Sister.
Well, you inspire me, so there 🙂 Thank you but I don’t really know much beyond writing when the Spirit moves.