Wednesday, December 25, 2013

The Race

I set out on the race of life
And made my own brisk pace
My eyes upon the goal ahead
Joy upon my face.

And not too far, I passed a man
Talking on the phone
But said I’d never get there if
I tried to go that slow.

Then further on I found myself
Walking even with a bike
But soon was all alone again,
Being left behind.

I didn’t let it get to me.
I’d get there on my own
Without someone to hold my hand
Or lead me on this road.

Yet further in, my steps grew slack,
The pathway growing steep,
And lost my breath with climbing up
My legs becoming weak.

“Still,” I said, “I won’t give up.
I’ll get there if I try.”
And was relieved to reach the top
And see the other side.

But down below the way looked tough
The pathway tight and thin
It seemed too small a space for me
Too pinched to enter in.

Yet going back was not a choice.
I’d have to move along.
And so I stumbled down that path
The fear in me quite strong.

But somewhere in my darkest spot
When weather howled and railed
When death was grasping at my feet
My heart about to fail,

A light came on, just for me,
A magnificent display,
That shown forth through the blackest night
Making clear my way.

And if that wasn’t good enough
Someone took my hand
And holding firm, His footsteps sure,
Shared with me His plan.

Who is this Man who runs with me,
Matching stride for stride?
What happened to His hands and feet?
Who pierced Him in His side?

And why is it He always seems
To know where I must go?
And where my next best step will be?
And how heart should grow?

And why does He look like he has
Seen all this road before?
The thorns, the waves, the narrow place,
Distractions all galore.

Yet doesn’t slack or turn aside,
Doesn’t seem to mind,
My faltering, my stumbling,
My wavering decline.

He’s not disturbed when I mess up,
Not bothered when I faint.
He’s constant in encouragement,
Keeping my steps straight.

I turned my head to study Him,
To see who He might be
And knew right then, in one short glance,
His face so plain to me.

No longer did I depend on
My strength to run this race.
I had a Guide who knew it all
Who’d died to take my place.

He’d get me there, sure and strong.
I’d make it to the end.
Because this Man who jogs with me
Is now my dearest Friend.

Suzanne D. Williams 
Suzanne Williams Photography  
Florida, USA 

Suzanne Williams is a native Floridian, wife, and mother, with a penchant for spelling anything, who happens to love photography.

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