Get Up and Win the Race
Ellsworth Ward, January 30, 2012
It’s
become rather popular to have stickers on the back of your car and in your back
window. Those window stickers tell a
little bit about the person or the family that are inside. Recently, I was behind a car that had
stickers of a series of numbers inside circles.
The numbers were 13.1, 26.2 and 140.6.
I figured out that the 26.2 was the distance of a marathon, and 13.1 was
a half marathon. This person was a
distance runner. I couldn’t figure out
what the 140.6 was so I googled it. I learned
that 140.6 miles is the distance of an Ironman Triathlon.
Many of you probably
already know this, but an Ironman is the ultimate endurance event where
contestants begin by swimming 2.4 miles, usually in a lake or the Ocean. I remember as a Boy Scout completing the Mile
swim in a swimming pool. A mile is a
long way to swim. I have no idea how
anyone can swim 2.4 miles in a lake. In
the triathlon, after contestants complete the swim, they get on their bikes and
cycle for 112 miles. I’ve helped Scouts
complete their Cycling merit badge by completing a series of rides, the longest
of which is 50 miles. I can tell you
that 50 miles is a long way to go at one time.
I can’t imagine biking 112 miles.
After the cycle leg, the triathletes then run a 26.2 mile marathon. Athletes that complete these three endurance
events back to back are called “Ironmen”.
I
remember watching in 1982 as Julie Moss, a graduate student raced in the world
triathlon championship in Hawaii . Julie claimed that she didn’t do any special
training for the event, but nevertheless found herself way ahead in the women’s
competition. But just a couple of miles
before the finish line, she collapsed due to dehydration. She got back up and began walking and then
running and started to wobble again and then fell again. She continued to rise and walk and wobble her
way toward the finish line. And after
falling just yards before the line, she crawled and drug herself toward the
line. She was passed by another
runner. There were people around her
that wanted to help her, but they could only encourage her to keep going. With all her might she finally crawled across
the line. Her struggle inspired many
others to train for triathlons.
I
would like to liken a triathlon to doing our duty to share the gospel of Jesus
Christ. Missionary work is like a triathlon. Just like the triathlon consists of different
activities, our efforts to share the gospel need to include different
methods. Just as a triathlon includes
constant, enduring effort, so should our sharing the gospel be constantly on
our minds and in our prayers.
Recently,
we were discussing in Gospel Principles class about sharing the gospel and a
sister commented that she had tried, a lot, and struck out. My thoughts were that this baseball metaphor
does not pertain to missionary work.
There is no “three strikes and your out” rule. It’s more like T-ball, when you’re coaching
your own kids. They get to swing until
they hit the ball. In our last Stake
Conference that was broadcast from Salt Lake Elder Holland mentioned that we
have to look to new ways to do missionary work.
The world is changing and so we need to change the way we reach out to
others. We no longer live in a world where
it is easy for our missionaries to walk from house to house and be
received. Most people are very cautious
about who they will open their doors to.
People will only receive the gospel when they are listening. They will listen when they are in a safe and
receiving environment. YOU will not
convert anyone. God’s Children are
converted when they receive answers to their prayers through the Holy Ghost. Our responsibility is simply to be friends
and invite all to come to Christ.
This
is a time of year that we like to set goals for ourselves. I would like to suggest a couple of goals
related to missionary work. Most of you
know that our Ward Mission Plan is that every family have and execute their own
Family Mission Plan. As a Ward Council
we agreed that we would expand our Ward Mission Plan to ask each family to
included these two goals in their Family Mission Plans: 1) to
invite a non-member friend or family to your home for a family home evening or family activity and 2) to invite a
non-member friend or family member to a Church meeting or activity.
In
the last General Conference, Elder M. Russell Ballard gave a talk about
honeybees and the changes that we could make if we work together. He said: “How do
we make this change? How do we ingrain this love of Christ into our hearts?
There is one simple daily practice that can make a difference for every member
of the Church, including you boys and girls, you young men and you young women,
you single adults, and you fathers and mothers.
That simple practice is: In your
morning prayer each new day, ask Heavenly Father to guide you to recognize an
opportunity to serve one of His precious children. Then go throughout the day
with your heart full of faith and love, looking for someone to help. Stay focused,
just like the honeybees focus on the flowers from which to gather nectar and
pollen. If you do this, your spiritual sensitivities will be enlarged and you
will discover opportunities to serve that you never before realized were
possible.”
As we look for opportunities to help
others we should consider their potential.
President Monson told a story about how we should look at others. “In
one particular meeting, N. Eldon Tanner, who was then an Assistant to the
Quorum of the Twelve, had just returned from his initial experience of
presiding over the missions in Great
Britain and western Europe. He told of a
missionary who had been the most successful missionary whom he had met in all
of the interviews he had conducted. He said that as he interviewed that
missionary, he said to him, “I suppose that all of the people whom you baptized
came into the Church by way of referrals.”
The
young man answered, “No, we found them all by tracting.”
Brother
Tanner asked him what was different about his approach—why he had such
phenomenal success when others didn’t. The young man said that he attempted to
baptize every person whom he met. He said that if he knocked on the door and
saw a man smoking a cigar and dressed in old clothes and seemingly uninterested
in anything—particularly religion—the missionary would picture in his own mind
what that man would look like under a different set of circumstances. In his
mind he would look at him as clean-shaven and wearing a white shirt and white
trousers. And the missionary could see himself leading that man into the waters
of baptism.
He said, “When I look at someone that way, I have the capacity to bear my
testimony to him in a way that can touch his heart.”
We have the responsibility to look
at our friends, our associates, our neighbors this way. Again, we have the
responsibility to see individuals not as they are but rather as they can
become. I would plead with you to think of them in this way.
Elder Hales talked about how we can
follow Christ’s council to “Feed his sheep”.
This is the call of Christ to every Christian today: “Feed my lambs. …
Feed my sheep”—share my gospel with young and old, lifting, blessing,
comforting, encouraging, and building them, especially those who think and
believe differently than we do. We feed His lambs in our homes by how we live
the gospel: keeping the commandments, praying, studying the scriptures, and
emulating His love. We feed His sheep in the Church as we serve in priesthood quorums
and auxiliary organizations. And we feed His sheep throughout the world by
being good Christian neighbors, practicing the pure religion of visiting and
serving the widows, the fatherless, the poor, and all who are in need.
I found the poem “The Race” by D.H.
Groberg inspiring.
“Quit!”
“Give up, you’re beaten!” they shout at me and plead,
“There’s just too much against you now, this time you can’t succeed.”
And as I started to hang my head in front of failure’s face,
My downward fall is broken by the memory of a race.
And hope refills my weakened will as I recall that scene.
For just the thought of that short race rejuvenates my being.
A children’s race, young boys, young men; now I remember well.
Excitement, sure, but also fear; it wasn’t hard to tell.
They all lined up so full of hope. Each thought to win the race
Or tie for first, if not that, at least take second place.
And fathers watched from off the side, each cheering for his son,
And each boy hoped to show his dad that he would be the one.
The whistle blew and off they sped, as if they were on fire
To win, to be the hero there, was each boy’s desire.
And one boy in particular, his dad was in the crowd,
Was running near the lead and thought, “My dad will be so proud.”
But as he speeded down the field, across the shallow dip,
The little boy who thought to win lost his step and slipped.
Trying hard to catch himself, his arm flew out to brace,
And ‘mid the laughter of the crowd, he fell flat on his face.
So, down he fell, and with him, hope. He couldn’t win it now.
Embarrassed, sad, he only wished he’d disappear somehow.
But, as he fell, his dad stood up and showed his anxious face,
Which to the boy so clearly said, “Get up and win the race!”
He quickly rose, no damage done, behind a bit, that’s all.
And ran with all his mind and might to make up for the fall.
So anxious to restore himself, to catch up and to win,
His mind went faster than his legs. He slipped and fell again.
He wished he had quit before with only one disgrace.
“I’m hopeless as a runner now, I shouldn’t try to race.”
But, in the laughing crowd he searched and found his father’s face.
That steady look that said again, “Get up and win the race!”
So, he jumped up to try again, ten yards behind the last;
“If I’m to gain those yards,” he thought, “I’ve got to run real fast!”
Exceeding everything he had, he regained eight or ten,
But trying so hard to catch the lead, he slipped and fell again.
Defeat! He lay there silently, a tear dropped from his eye.
“There’s no sense running more. Three strikes, I’m out…why try?”
The will to rise had disappeared, all hope had fled away.
So far behind, so error-prone, a loser all the way.
“I’ve lost, so what’s the use?” he thought, “I’ll live with my disgrace.”
But, then he thought about his dad, who soon he’d have to face.
“Get up,” an echo sounded low, “Get up and take your place.
You weren’t meant for failure here; get up and win the race.”
With borrowed will, “Get up,” it said, “You haven’t lost at all,
For winning is no more than this–to rise each time you fall.”
So up he rose to win once more. And with a new commit,
He resolved that win or lose, at least he wouldn’t quit.
So far behind the others now, the most he’d ever been.
Still, he gave it all he had, and ran as though to win.
Three times he fallen, stumbling, three times he rose again.
Too far behind to hope to win, he still ran to the end.
They cheered the winning runner, as he crossed the line, first place,
Head high and proud and happy; no falling, no disgrace.
But, when the fallen crossed the finish line, last place,
The crowd gave him the greater cheer for finishing the race.
And even though he came in last, with head bowed low, unproud,
You would have thought he won the race, to listen to the crowd.
And to his dad, he sadly said, “I didn’t do so well.”
“To me you won,” his father said, “You rose each time you fell.”
And now when things seem dark and hard and difficult to face,
The memory of that little boy helps me in my race.
For all of life is like that race, with ups and downs and all.
And all you have to do to win is rise each time you fall.
“Quit!” “Give up, you’re beaten!” They still shout in my face,
But another voice within me says, “Get up and win the race!”
“There’s just too much against you now, this time you can’t succeed.”
And as I started to hang my head in front of failure’s face,
My downward fall is broken by the memory of a race.
And hope refills my weakened will as I recall that scene.
For just the thought of that short race rejuvenates my being.
A children’s race, young boys, young men; now I remember well.
Excitement, sure, but also fear; it wasn’t hard to tell.
They all lined up so full of hope. Each thought to win the race
Or tie for first, if not that, at least take second place.
And fathers watched from off the side, each cheering for his son,
And each boy hoped to show his dad that he would be the one.
The whistle blew and off they sped, as if they were on fire
To win, to be the hero there, was each boy’s desire.
And one boy in particular, his dad was in the crowd,
Was running near the lead and thought, “My dad will be so proud.”
But as he speeded down the field, across the shallow dip,
The little boy who thought to win lost his step and slipped.
Trying hard to catch himself, his arm flew out to brace,
And ‘mid the laughter of the crowd, he fell flat on his face.
So, down he fell, and with him, hope. He couldn’t win it now.
Embarrassed, sad, he only wished he’d disappear somehow.
But, as he fell, his dad stood up and showed his anxious face,
Which to the boy so clearly said, “Get up and win the race!”
He quickly rose, no damage done, behind a bit, that’s all.
And ran with all his mind and might to make up for the fall.
So anxious to restore himself, to catch up and to win,
His mind went faster than his legs. He slipped and fell again.
He wished he had quit before with only one disgrace.
“I’m hopeless as a runner now, I shouldn’t try to race.”
But, in the laughing crowd he searched and found his father’s face.
That steady look that said again, “Get up and win the race!”
So, he jumped up to try again, ten yards behind the last;
“If I’m to gain those yards,” he thought, “I’ve got to run real fast!”
Exceeding everything he had, he regained eight or ten,
But trying so hard to catch the lead, he slipped and fell again.
Defeat! He lay there silently, a tear dropped from his eye.
“There’s no sense running more. Three strikes, I’m out…why try?”
The will to rise had disappeared, all hope had fled away.
So far behind, so error-prone, a loser all the way.
“I’ve lost, so what’s the use?” he thought, “I’ll live with my disgrace.”
But, then he thought about his dad, who soon he’d have to face.
“Get up,” an echo sounded low, “Get up and take your place.
You weren’t meant for failure here; get up and win the race.”
With borrowed will, “Get up,” it said, “You haven’t lost at all,
For winning is no more than this–to rise each time you fall.”
So up he rose to win once more. And with a new commit,
He resolved that win or lose, at least he wouldn’t quit.
So far behind the others now, the most he’d ever been.
Still, he gave it all he had, and ran as though to win.
Three times he fallen, stumbling, three times he rose again.
Too far behind to hope to win, he still ran to the end.
They cheered the winning runner, as he crossed the line, first place,
Head high and proud and happy; no falling, no disgrace.
But, when the fallen crossed the finish line, last place,
The crowd gave him the greater cheer for finishing the race.
And even though he came in last, with head bowed low, unproud,
You would have thought he won the race, to listen to the crowd.
And to his dad, he sadly said, “I didn’t do so well.”
“To me you won,” his father said, “You rose each time you fell.”
And now when things seem dark and hard and difficult to face,
The memory of that little boy helps me in my race.
For all of life is like that race, with ups and downs and all.
And all you have to do to win is rise each time you fall.
“Quit!” “Give up, you’re beaten!” They still shout in my face,
But another voice within me says, “Get up and win the race!”
May we
all seek for inspiration to make and carry out goals to become better people
this year. My we include in those goals,
goals to share the gospel with others.
I know
that the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is true. That is contains the power and authority and
covenants and ordinances to execute God’s plan for His children. That plan is that we will all have joy – in
this life and for eternity. In the name
of Jesus Christ, Amen.