Here’s why you shouldn’t finish strong

I’m learning a lot about what it means to walk into and out of seasons well. Right now, I’m about to finish my first year working at Adventures in Missions! In this year, I’ve mobilized hundreds of college students as they bring the Gospel all over The World. Part of my job is to support raise $6,000 of my salary a year. I need $1,100 more by September 30th. If you’ve ever considered supporting me, now would be the perfect time! I also greatly appreciate prayers for The Lord to provide. 

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In high school, my swim coach would get on to me for swimming too fast. That sentence actually makes sense when you learn that I was an endurance swimmer, and you’re suppose to swim endurance races differently than sprint races. 

My favorite and best race was the 500 yard freestyle. After every race, we had to go find our coach, so she could tell us how we did. The time matter, but our performance wasn’t based off of just that. It was at these meetings I would hear the critique that I was swimming too fast- not the whole race, just part of it. My last few 50s were faster than they should have been, which meant I was swimming too slow at the beginning. If I had that much energy at the end to swim that fast, it meant I could have swam faster at the beginning. The only reason I finished strong was because I started weak. And so often in life, I find myself doing exactly that. 

I was telling a friend yesterday how I think everyone should do some kind of endurance test in their life. Mine was a marathon. Other people climb mountains or get their PhD. Whatever it looks like, I think we all need to learn we are tougher than we think, so we can remind ourselves of that everyday after. Plus, I’m a sucker for a good metaphor.

Unlike my high school swimming events, I didn’t finish my marathon strong. I laid on the ground for half an hour after finishing. A friend gave me a piggyback ride to the car, and even offered to carry me up to our third floor apartment (I hobbled upstairs instead). My last mile was my slowest. It felt like I didn’t stop eating for weeks afterwards, and thinking about running made me cringe. I skipped class the next day to sleep. I gave that race everything I had from the very beginning, and I suffered because of that for weeks afterwards. 

So what I’m challenging us to do is to run our race just like that. Don’t finish strong; finish weak because you gave it everything you had. 

I get it. That’s not an easy thing to do. It sounds like a fun pep talk until the weight of it sinks in. Because the reality is it’ll cost you. It means sacrificing your comfort. Which sucks because who doesn’t love comfort?

And let’s be real for a second, comfort is just a prettier word for selfishness. 

At the risk of being the only one raising their hand, I confess that I seek comfort more than I like to think.

When I’m seeking comfort instead of The Lord, my gym membership goes unused, and I spend my grocery budget on Chickfila. I choose to sleep in a tent for thirty extra minutes instead of seeing the sunrise over mountains. I tend to solve conflicts by avoidance or by being passive aggressive. I am frustrated with anything that threatens my routine. I don’t commit to things, and stress about things that aren’t naturally easy. I grow impatient in my singleness, and I spend my time with God complaining instead of worshiping. I go to God for gifts instead of his presence. I give out as much grace as I think I’ve earned, which doesn’t add up to much

When I’m seeking comfort, I want you to acknowledge my sacrifice of comfort. Affirm my sacrifice. Thank me and offer me congratulations. Tell me you’re proud of me and that I inspire you. 

When I’m seeking comfort, I can’t finish strong. I’m entangled, and instead of casting it aside to run, I settle for walking to earn a time that’s “good enough”. 

We live out of a functional belief that our purpose is to arrive at death comfortably. And that’s so not what Jesus did. 

When Jesus finished, he didn’t finish strong. He finished so weak that someone else had to carry his cross for him. Few recognized his sacrifice, and instead of affirmation, God turned away from him. 

Just like my Savior, I have to take up a cross to follow him. I’m suppose to die to self. But just like Jesus didn’t carry his own cross, I’m incapable of carrying my own too. 

He carries the cross for me and reminds me that the fight against comfort and all of my other idols has already be won. He reminds me I’m not working for grace, I already have it. He reminds me I can’t throw off of the things that entangle me without his help. I can’t worship God without God, and when I realize that, suddenly I no longer care about my comfort. 

Just like a race, our seasons will end. Your four years in college, your 11 months on The World Race, and even your singleness will all be a thing of the past. So I don’t want you to finish strong, I want you to finish weak. I want us to be out of breath. I want our community to have to carry us home, because we gave it every last ounce we had. I don’t want us to finish strong; I want us to cross the finish line exhausted. And then when we do, celebrate, and run another race.