We've had a very busy summer.
It's been a summer of trials, and I am tired.
I am emotionally exhausted.
It's been a summer of putting my nose to the ground and plowing through affliction.
It has been a summer spent on my knees.
It has been a summer in the refiners fire.
I am an emotional wreck and yet...
I haven't felt more blessed.
There is a scripture that has been in my heart this summer. And I feel like I need to share it. Because these are hard times for so many people lately. It seems like everybody is dealing with something. And I am reminded of when Joseph Smith was in Liberty Jail in Missouri and he was suffering much affliction. And though his trials were by far MUCH greater than mine could ever be... he was tired. He was emotionally exhausted. After crying out to the Lord with his "why's", this was the Lord's answer:
In Doctrine and Covenants 121:7&8
My son, peace be unto thy soul; thine adversity and thine afflictions shall be but a small moment;
And then, if thou endure it well, God shall exalt thee on high; thou shalt triumph over all thy foes.
The words endure it well keep coming to mind day after day.
I don't know if I've ever shared my favorite poem on my blog before. I probably have. But in high school I had a coach, Coach Allen who recited this poem to us many times. And after hearing this poem for the first time in the locker room before a JV volleyball game, I took the time in the weeks after to memorized it also. And it has stuck with me. And sometimes, to keep me calm when I feel like I've been dealt a bad hand, or when I'm driving, and I'm about to explode with my "why's", I say the words of this poem. They keep me calm.
The
Race
by
D.H Groberg
“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 start 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!”
I often call my mom when I'm upset about something. And my mom is always telling me, "Teddy, you've got to stay calm." In fact, my sis gave me this historically significant poster that is framed in my bedroom:
Endure it well. I have a choice. And so that is what I've been up to this summer. Striving to carry on and endure it well. And in the next post, I'll update you more on the blessings and memories of the summer.
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