Wednesday, July 25, 2007

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  What Makes You Come Alive?

       Quit, give up, you're beaten! They shout at me and plead. There's just too much against you now, this time you can't succeed. And as I start to hang my head in front of failures face, my downward fall is broken by the memory of that race. And hope refills my weakened will as I recall the scene, for just the thought of that short race rejuvenates my being.

       A children's race, young boys, young men, how I remember well, excitement sure but also fear it wasn't hard to tell. They all lined up so full of hope each thought to win that race. We're tied for first, or if not that at least take second place. And fathers watch from off the side each cheering for his son, and each boy hoped to show his dad that he would be the one.

       The whistle blew and off they went, young hearts and hopes of fire, to win and be the hero there was each young boy's desire. And one young boy in particular, whose dad was in the crowd, was running near the lead and thought, "my dad will be so proud." But as he speeded down the field across a shallow dip, the little boy who thought to win, lost his step and slipped. Trying hard to catch himself his hands flew out to brace, amid the laughter of the crowd he fell flat on his face; so down he fell and with him hope, he couldn't win it now, embarrassed, sad, he only wished to disappear somehow. But as he fell his dad stood up, and showed his anxious face, to which the boy so clearly said "get up and win the race."

       He quickly rose no damage done, behind a bit that's all, and ran with all his mind and might to make up for his fall. So anxious to restore himself to catch up and to win, his mind went faster than his legs, he slipped and fell again. He wished then he'd quit before with only one disgrace, "I'm hopeless as a runner now, I shouldn't try to race." But in the laughing crowd he searched and found his father's face, that steady look which said again, Get up and Win the race.

       So he jumped up to try again, 10 yards behind at last, if I'm to gain those yards he thought, I've got to move real fast. Exerting everything he had, he gained 8 or 10, but trying so hard to catch the lead, he slipped and fell again. Defeat, he lied there silently, a teardrop from his eye, there's no sense running anymore, three strikes I'm out why try. The will to rise had disappeared, and all hope had fled away, so far behind so error prone, a loser all the way. "I've lost, so what's the use," he thought; "I'll live with my disgrace." But then he thought about his dad who soon he'd have to face.

       Get up, an echo sounded low; Get up and take your place, you were not meant for failure here, Get up and win the race. With borrowed will, get up it said you haven't lost at all. For winning is no more than this, to Rise each time you fall. So up he rose to run once more, and with a new commit, he resolved that win or lose at least he wouldn't quit. So far behind the others now the most he'd ever been, still he gave it all he had and ran as though to win. Three times he'd fallen, stumbling, three times he rose again, too far behind to hope to win he still ran to the end.

       They cheered the winning runner as he crossed the line first place, head high and proud and happy, no falling, no disgrace. But when the fallen youngster crossed the line last place, the crowd gave him the greater cheer for finishing the race. And even though he came in last with head bowed low, unproud, you would have thought he won the race to listen to that crowd.

       And to his dad he sadly said, "I didn't do too well." "To me you won," his father said, "you rose each time you fell." And when things seem dark and hard and difficult to face, the memory of that little boy helps me in my race. For all of life is like that race, with ups and downs and all, and all you have to do to win is "rise each time you fall". Quit, give up, your beaten! They still shout in my face. But another voice within me says, "Get up and win the Race!"

  Spoken By: Dave Severn
  

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