Fierce Beauty (24 page)

I rounded the base of the slope. As expected, the difference in my poles was exacting a brutal toll. I felt as if a burning knife had been plunged between my shoulder blades. Every stride, accompanied by raising my arms over my head and driving my poles into the ice, fanned the searing heat up my neck and through the back of my skull.

Whether it was the compounded traumas of the day or seeing the hoofs of an incensed moose flash past my head, once I started up the flank of the rising slope, my entire body felt as if it were being consumed by an internal inferno. Because the first pitch of the hill did not deviate left or right but rose straight up, my heart rate soared with it.

Never in my life had I felt a lactic-acid buildup cause a more agonizing muscle burn. The pain was so intense I was certain that any minute my quadriceps would combust into flames! With a fleeting glimpse I looked down to see if my Lycra was melting off. Instead, I saw something just as troubling on my right thigh—
blood
.

A quick swipe of my gloved fist under my nose revealed the source. Apparently the strain of the day had taken a greater toll than I’d realized. Vessels in my nose had burst under the tension and were streaming bright-red blood down my face. Having never suffered a spontaneous
nosebleed in my life, I was left to wonder—again—
Why, of all days, would it be today?

Worn down by the smorgasbord of difficulties, negative thoughts began to hammer my heart like a battering ram. Together they worked to crush my resolve.
Lord, what am I doing here? Why am I even still trying? After working for so long, I never thought it would turn out like
this.

My race was an absolute disaster. I’m exhausted and traumatized. I feel broken and alone … My strength is gone … My hope is gone … There’s nothing redeeming about any of this … Who on earth really cares? Nothing that I’ve done even matters, none of it. I should just quit!

From this private incinerator of agony and under full emotional attack, I glanced up the hill. Startled by a movement, I quickly looked up again. I was surprised to see a heavily bundled figure standing alone. This person was perched approximately one hundred yards above me, near the course. Because all the other race officials had left—including the moose sweepers—I was perplexed about this one resolute soul who remained.

It was a woman. She was dressed in a large, light-colored snowmobile suit. She held a clipboard in her heavily gloved hands and was apparently the last of those who kept a tally, making sure that every racer skied every loop. Standing like a sentry on a small shelf that had been kicked into the side of the hill, she looked down on me with an unwavering gaze.

I can only imagine what she must have thought as she watched me lurch up one of the most grueling hills in the park, breathing like a steam engine and smeared with blood. What a pitiful image of a biathlete, one who was most certainly lost, certainly alone, certainly struggling to make it.

In accordance with the events of the day, I waited for her to say something obvious such as, “Girl, you look like death on a cracker!” Or, more in keeping with the attitude of others, I expected she would ignore me altogether.

She did neither.

Among all her choices to malign and despise, she chose none. Nor did she look away. Instead, the solitary woman watched me intently.

As I closed the distance between us, a final thought fell to the floor of my soul:
Lord, on this day I don’t think I can bear any more
.

When I was a dozen yards away, the woman looked down at her clipboard, presumably to write my bib number on her list. Looking back up, she fixed her eyes on mine and muttered, “Good job, number seventy-seven.”

Surprised, I stared at her, not really sure if I’d heard her right. In my haggard state I wasn’t certain she was really talking to me … encouraging me?

Our eyes locked.

Again she spoke in a serious tone. “C’mon, girl, you can do it. Get up this hill.” It took a moment for me to realize that she was … 
cheering
. for
me
.

Unable to speak, I flashed a bloody smile. She smiled back. “C’mon, seventy-seven! Fight!
Fight!
” I watched in amazement as she bit off one glove and then the other. Sacrificing her own comfort in the bitter cold, she began to clap her bare hands so I could hear them. “Go, seventy-seven. Go!
C’mon!
”

Fueled by her encouragement, I skied past her and winked. Clapping as hard as she could, she continued to cheer for me as I climbed up and away and into the forest above. Far below I could hear her voice ringing through the trees: “Gooooo, girl! Gooooo!
Don’t you ever quit!
”

As if spoken by an angel, her voice echoes in my heart to this day. Because on that day, I know I heard the voice of my King.

Spectators and officials had abandoned the finish line. I was the last to complete the race. I crossed the line and collapsed in the icy snow. While heaving to catch my breath, a lone race official appeared and stepped over my sprawled skis on his way to the range. He looked back over his shoulder and called, “Sorry, I thought the race was already over.”

Struggling to catch my breath, I lay nearly motionless for long moments. Tears slid across my face and disappeared into the snow.

Once the fire subsided and my breath returned, I scrubbed the blood off my face with a handful of snow, pulled on my warmups, and skated back down the hill through the forest.

I wanted to thank the one and only soul who sought to encourage me.

When I reached her post, nothing remained but the small ledge upon which she’d stood. Even though I searched for her throughout the rest of the week-long race series, I never saw her again.

She will never know how the gift she gave me that day has permanently changed my life.

Years to ponder have given me a perspective that I’ve grown to love and appreciate. I can no longer think about the race in Anchorage without also considering how it perfectly captured the truth in the Bible’s book of Hebrews,
chapters 11
and
12
. The author of Hebrews sets the stage by simply asking, “What is faith?” He then answers his own question with the reply, “It is the confident assurance that what we hope for is going to happen. It is the evidence of things we cannot yet see” (Hebrews 11:1).

Next, he paints an unforgettable picture of remarkable, beautiful, diverse individuals whose lives demonstrated true faith. By faith, men and women did extraordinary things for the love of their King. By faith, they led nations, defeated vast enemies, and walked through oceans on dry land. By faith, they shut the mouths of lions, quenched the flames of fire, and escaped death by the edge of a sword.

By faith, their weakness was turned into strength.

Also by faith others preferred to die rather than turn from God. They placed their hope in the Resurrection. Some were mocked, beaten, chained, and whipped. Some died by stoning and the sword. Some were
sawed in two
. Others were hungry, oppressed, and mistreated and lived in terrible circumstances. They were too good for this world. All these people received our King’s approval because of their faith. Yet
none
of them received all that God has promised:

Friends, no matter how difficult this race of life gets and how lonely we might feel, we are not alone in our struggles.

Every believer who has ever lived is poised and watching. Just like that woman on the hill in Anchorage, they are cheering, shouting, praying, screaming, clapping, and doing “the wave” in an effort to continually encourage us—
you
—to keep going, to finish well, to
never quit
.

Like an Olympic runner carrying the torch, believers have passed truth to other believers down through the ages. Now they encourage
you
to run this flaming message of truth all the way home. They cheer as a direct reflection of the One who leads them all. Jesus Christ directs this heavenly assembly with shouts of victory, whispers of encouragements, peals of knowing laughter, and songs of comfort. He does this by constantly reassuring each of us that He—our King—is right beside us step for step, stride for stride to the very end.

As Christian women, we’re not racing for ourselves but for
all
believers. Every stride we take toward our King brings us closer to completing the work of faith that all the righteous men and women before us began long ago. This magnificent picture of glory will not be complete until each of us is faithful to finish the race.

Only then will we all receive the prize. Only then will the bride of Christ be complete.

This race is so much bigger than what we see in the mirror. Every narrow-minded step toward our own desires takes us off course. Each selfish stride leads us away from those we were sent to serve, the huge crowd of witnesses who are encouraging us home, and most of all … our King.

Now is the time to stay focused on what’s truly important: faithfully racing toward our God.

Like skiers on fresh snow, we all leave tracks in this life. Our every word and action marks a course for others to follow. Make no mistake, in your own unique way, you were designed to lead those around you who are staggering in exhaustion.

Because of what Christ has done for you, you are completely equipped to do much more for others than you ever thought possible: “So take a new grip with your tired hands and stand firm on your shaky legs. Mark out a straight path for your feet. Then those who follow you, though they are weak and lame, will not stumble and fall but will become strong” (Hebrews 12:12–13). Each of us is called to help lead those around us to finish this battle of faith.

Within this race of giving, leading, falling, and bleeding, each of us will know loops of deep sorrow and grief. We will all experience hills that grind us well beyond the ability to eat and sleep. These are the times when God alone is our comfort and strength.

Although we might feel too weak to fight on, we are never too weak to lean on Him.

Often it is in our seasons of greatest breakage that God’s greatest
strength, love, joy, and mercy are revealed. Despite my best efforts in the biathlon race, I’m certain I finished in last place, the position of greatest shame and scorn. But when we choose to relinquish our desire to compete for ourselves in exchange for a higher calling of running the race of faith for our King,
everyone
wins.

Since my difficult biathlon experience, I’ve learned that no matter what phase of life’s race I’m in, if I quiet my thoughts and still my heart, I can hear the voice of my King calling,
Run, girl. Run! Every step of faith you take brings you closer to Me. When you cross the finish line, you will run right into My arms. Keep running, child! Don’t you ever quit!

It was now well past midnight, and I was still working in my perch at the top of our ranch property. I was hoping to finish a time-sensitive project before morning. Reaching both fists toward the ceiling, I indulged in a long-overdue stretch.

Wanting to relax my head for a moment, I silenced the taskmaster of focused thought and allowed my mind to roam. It wasn’t long before the likeness of the woman returned. Before, her image had seemed diffused, her form softly shifting. But now she appeared with living sharpness and clarity.