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POEM
The grace race

Mark Phillips

The starter sounded, the race is on,
    jarred my ears, his pop pistol.
I chose to run because He chose me.

Started fast in the morning sun,
    cool breeze blows at my back,
Stride is long, steps come quick,
Finishing is easy.

Longer than I thought, His race,
    ankles ache, tempted to turn,
Find shade, drink, rest, delight.
Why stay in when I might not win?
It must be easier in another arena.

Yet I stay, I run, sometimes slower now,
    When round the bend, in sights beyond,
Brushed-white barriers, hurdles appear.
Placed by friend or foe, my God or no,
Do I stay, do I run, do I leap, do I stop?
Struggling, over each I go.

Noonday rises, no breeze now.
    Red faced, sweat browed, hungry and dry.
Why long-sleeved do I run?
What are these warmups wrapped around?
    Why wear that which hinders,
Why keep that which prevents my pursuit?
Laid aside at midday, on the track they lie.

Paced now, second wind, eternal wind,
    Spirit of God empowers when
The witnesses from arena round
See dropped off that which hindered me.
    Home-stretch, home I come,
The prize appears, laurels of another kind.
Each step now, steady, sure eyes on the prize.
The tape is split, beneath His holy eyes.

Home, home, race is run, day begun.
Laid aside each hindrance, victory won.

Mark Phillips lives in Devils Lake, N.D.

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Last modified September 18, 1999.

© 1999 Mennonite Brethren Herald.
Published by the Canadian Conference of MB Churches.
Masthead and usage information.