Sometimes, it really matters who’s first.
Sure, you say, like in the Olympics, or the Miss America pageant, or maybe, to include the educational realm, at the National Spelling Bee.
But no, none of those is what I’m talking about.
I’m talking about far more important events, like the race across the parking lot to our van as we’re leaving the YMCA.
I have four children, three of whom are old enough to run, at ages five, three-and-a-half, and two. Watching them, I have learned that apparently, it really, really matters who gets to the van first. I’m not sure why; I just know that it does. I know that for some reason, it’s fairly close to the end of the world to be last—unless you’re my two-year-old daughter.
Let me explain.
The other night, after playing a game of racquetball at the Y, I picked up my children from childcare. In one hand, I had the baby carrier. The other three kids were walking—until the race began, which happened almost as soon as we hit the sidewalk outside the building.
My oldest two, Ellie and Kenny, started running toward the van, while Lindsey, the two-year-old, ran along behind in her adorable version of running that’s equal parts bounce, trot, and run. “Don’t run in the parking lot!” I shouted, or some variation of that, not wanting them to get hit by a car.
They didn’t listen, so I tried to hurry, lugging the baby carrier, and staying close enough between Ellie and Kenny in front and Lindsey behind me so that if danger threatened any of them, I could do something about it.
Unsurprisingly, Ellie and Kenny wound up at the van first. I reached them and prepared to deliver my “I-don’t-want-you-to-run-in-the-parking-lot-because-you’ll-get-smooshed-by-a-car” speech for the hundredth time, but Ellie spoke first.
“She’s last,” she said, looking back toward Lindsey.
I looked, too, and saw one of the most precious sights I will ever see—my adorable daughter, loping along, a huge grin on her face, watching her feet as she bounced/ran/trotted through the parking lot so that she wouldn’t trip. The sunlight was shining on her hair, turning it golden. Her grin was melting my heart.
Lindsey had no idea that anyone had reached the van before her because she wasn’t paying attention. Or if she did know, she didn’t care, because her attention was on her own journey.
Maybe that’s a lesson we need to learn.
Dear friend, have you ever felt discouraged because you were last?
Maybe you were the first one eliminated in the spelling bee. Maybe you would never think of entering a pageant. Maybe the closest you will get to the Olympics is watching them on TV.
Maybe these aren’t the kind of arenas in which you compare yourself. Maybe being beautiful or athletic really isn’t that important to you. Maybe your “race” is to be known as the most spiritual, or know your Bible the best, or be the most sought-after person for leading things at church.
Most of these goals aren’t necessarily bad. It’s admirable to want to train for the Olympics and win first place. It’s great to want to know your Bible well. The problem comes when you turn everything in life into a race where who’s first matters, and when you can’t even enjoy the journey unless you’re first.
Out of the three kids who ran to the van, who had the most fun? Lindsey.
She’s last.
Oh, yes, but she had the most fun.
She didn’t feel bad about herself at all.
Friends, how do you think God wants us to look at life? As if it’s a race where being first matters? Does he want us to race so fast that we forget to enjoy the blessings he has given us along the way?
In the race at the Y, Ellie was first, and Kenny came in a close second.
Lindsey was the one who enjoyed the race most. Lindsey was the one who enjoyed God’s blessings along the way—the fun way her body moved, the sun on her head, the freedom to run through a parking lot (under Mom’s watchful eye). She was also the one who enjoyed these things longest, because for her, the race wasn’t about getting to the end, but simply about being in the race at all.
Now don’t get me wrong—I’m not suggesting that you shouldn’t strive for excellence in life. When you’re in a race where the outcome matters, you should run to win the prize. What I am saying is that maybe sometimes, the results aren’t the most important part of the race. Maybe sometimes, you need to turn a race into a simple journey. Definitely, you shouldn’t hinge your feelings about yourself, or about the race, on whether or not you come in first.
Think about it. Are there areas of your life that you can’t enjoy because you’re not first, not perfect, not the best or the most?
Why don’t you try running the race like Lindsey?
Lope through the parking lot grinning and doing the best you can, and be happy with that.
2 Timothy 4:7—I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith. (italics mine)