Ethiopian runner Genzebe Dibaba set a new world record recently. You can--and should--watch it here. Dibaba covered 1500 meters (about 100 meters short of a mile) in just over 3 minutes and 50 seconds. What a girl!
But as you watch the race unfold, you can't help but notice another woman, Chanelle Price, who paced her through 800 meters. Price is a world-class runner, as well. She has run faster than 2 minutes for the 800 on the track on her own. With Price as the pace setter, Dibaba was able to follow her lead more than half the race without thinking about pace or splits. Her job done, Price dropped out at 800, with Dibaba finishing the race alone. Victoriously.
Pace setters, sometimes called rabbits, are used often in elite track meets to help one or more athletes come through a certain point at a pre-appointed time. Pace setters sometimes stay in the race and finish, but primarily they're there to give the leaders a strong start. The pace setters keep racers from starting out so fast they don't finish well. The pace setters do the thinking for the racers. The pace setters are well-prepared and know exactly how to run the splits they're given.
Many successful races at the elite level use pace setters.
Few of us Prize Runners have ever been called "elite." Few (and maybe none) of us have ever had a pace setter in a race. But we all need one in this spiritual race known as "life."
In Titus 2, Paul is explaining the idea of a spiritual pace setter, specifically for women. He says, "...teach the older women to be reverent in the way they live, not to be slanderers or addicted to much wine, but to teach what is good. Then they can urge the younger women to love their husbands and children, to be self-controlled and pure, to be busy at home, to be kind, and to be subject to their husbands, so that no one will malign the word of God," (Titus 2:3-5, NIV).
You need a pace setter. So do I.
I remember well the pace setters I had when I had my first child. I thought I was ready; I had read multiple books and had great websites bookmarked for everything I might encounter. (Or so I thought.) I was ready. Hahahahaha.
Luckily, I had about 10 friends who had lived through motherhood and would walk with me through those early days. I would send frantic emails at midnight, desperately asking them all, "Why won't he sleep? Why won't he eat? What am I doing wrong? When will this get better?" My friends, my pace setters, were loving and gracious and kind, running with me through the first few laps of motherhood. Thinking for me. Guiding me. And I was comforted, knowing they had been there are could get me through.
Motherhood isn't the only area I need pace setters. I have women who help me through all areas of life: cooking, being a godly wife, sanity in the face of busyness, ministry, hospitality, and much more. Sometimes God just drops a loving, wonderful friend or family member into my life who has been that pace setter as long as I can remember. And sometimes He has let me pursue someone for a particular purpose so that I can learn from her in her area of expertise.
On the other hand, I'm also called to be a pace setter. So are you.
Regardless of our age, we've all been through something that enables us to be a pacesetter for someone else. Abuse. Addiction. Anxiety. We've got talents and skills and a knack for something that can bless another woman seeking to honor God. We didn't get to the end of a season so that we could cross the finish line and wander off into the stands. Our struggles--and victories--have enabled us to be a pace setter, confident in helping another runner make it around the track a few times.
You're an "older."
And you're also a "younger."
You need help. You can give help.
Be a pace setter.
Get a pace setter. (Or twenty, like me.)
Let's run this race together, to God's glory!
Victoriously.
I know this is the Prize Runners blog, and today's post is not about running, per se. But it is about hiking, and the effort I put into this hike was more than any I've ever given to a run or a race.
I was in Colorado, and when in the Rockies, do as the Coloradans do: Hike a fourteen-er.
[Just in case you don't know: a 14er is a mountain whose peak is 14,000 feet or more above sea level. There are over 50 in Colorado.]
We decided on Mount of the Holy Cross, a massive peak named for the cross outlined by the snow that settles down one side. The ascent to the peak began beautifully: gorgeous evergreens and aspens dotted with flowers and creeks. We made much better time than we anticipated because the first three miles or so were filled with mosquitoes, so our stops for food or breath were 30 seconds or less so that we wouldn't be attacked by the swarms of blood-suckers.
We finally cleared treeline and the mosquitoes left us alone. The trail changed from a well-worn dirt path to steps of stone and piles of rocks (called cairns) that let us know we were headed in the right direction.
From treeline, I could see the peak. The face of Mount of the Holy Cross. It loomed massive. So tall. So imposing. So breathtaking.
SO FAR AWAY.
The rule for hiking 14ers is this: be off the peak by noon. The reason for that is the storms that roll in regularly in the afternoons; you surely don't want to be above treeline--exposed--against the rain, lightning, and hail that pelt the tops.
I looked at the peak and wondered if we would make it by noon. We had a few hours to scale an initial "false" summit and then what looked like straight up to the top. This was my sixth 14er, so I thought I could gauge how much more we lacked. And though I had mentally prepared to get to the top, I just didn't know if my legs and lungs were as tough as my brain.
Adding to this challenge was the fact that I was not alone. I was with three other college-aged girls who desperately wanted to make it to the top. Well, they did at first. When they got out of treeline, the talk went from "when we get to the top" to "if we get to the top" and finally, "I'm not making it to the top." I felt their pain. I questioned if any of us would get there. We hurt all over, we'd already been going uphill for hours, and the face of that mountain was bigger and farther than ever.
The next two hours had little talking for a normally chatty group. We knew we had to save every precious, oxygen-thin inhale for our lungs. So I had much time to think. I began to pray, not only for the hike but for our courage. Our endurance. Our bravery. I was determined not to let the face of that mountain scare me, even though it was imposing and terrifying and mighty.
Luckily, God's Word is there for any struggle:
"Search for the Lord and His strength; seek His face always," (Psalm 105:4).
I was looking at the wrong face. Though the face of the Mount of the Holy Cross was right before me, I chose instead to seek God's face. To seek His strength.
"My heart says this about You, 'You are to seek My face.' Lord, I will seek Your face," (Psalm 27:8)
When I consciously decided to seek God's face, my strength was renewed. I was able to encourage and spur on the girls. I told the story of Joshua praying that the sun would stand still (Joshua 10), privately praying that God would pause time long enough to get us to the peak by noon.
We kept going. We would set attainable goals with the agreement to stop at that point, but we would simply press on. Though our legs were dead and our lungs exploding, we chose to go forward. We could look back and see all that we had gained; surely we could make it.
The last 30 minutes or so had no trail; we were purely scrambling up boulders. (Another reason to be off the peak before the rains hit! Slick boulders spell certain disaster!) We knew there was no pre-determined trail; we just needed to go UP. So with hands and feet and knees and elbows bleeding, we kept on. I was beyond wondering if we would make it.
I KNEW WE WOULD. And I told the girls over and over. "YOU. WILL. MAKE. IT."
And we did. By the skin of our teeth. The last of the four girls made it to the peak at exactly 11:58.
In tears.
The view was fantastic. The pictures gorgeous. But it would not have meant anything without the struggle that it took to get there. There are a few 14ers (Pike's Peak and Mount Evans) that have roads you can drive to the peak. They're great. But there is little reward in it because it took so little effort to get there.
I want the view that came with literal blood, sweat, tears, and mosquito bites.
I want to conquer my mountains with strength that came from God alone.
I want to look at my friend and hear her say, "I'm going to make it," and believe her.
I want to watch friends make it over mountains they never thought they'd peak.
I want to seek God's face and find it. To receive His strength. I believe His promises. To know He is the God who revealed Himself to Moses--and me--on the mountains.
I want to ponder the truths of this hike forever. And I want to remember seeking God's face more than anything else.
I want to remember the struggle of the mountain with joy, not because I made it to the top but because God met me there.
I want to do it again :)
