The day was finally here. Had it taken months or only weeks to gather the girls into a somewhat organized track team? Our after-school training for the one big meet against the other elementary schools seemed to stretch out for forever. Our school playground was too tight for all of us to run, jump, or pass the baton. So, we tracked the length of the longer races by counting the garbage cans as we sailed down the alley behind the school.

It was a little hard to find a place for me on the team since I was so much larger than the other kids. I had already reached my adult height of 5’7”. So, I was at least a head taller than every other kid in the school including the boys. Usually, the teacher placed me in awkward spots like the back of the line so they could tell with a glance that the students were still together.

Running was something I loved and with the track team I was competing with others but also competing against myself. And, of course, having a crush on my coach/teacher was an additional motivator. I respected him and I wanted him to be proud of me.

I tried out for different events, but the coach decided that with my long legs and steady pace that the third runner of four in the 440-relay race was a good place for me. For weeks we practiced the run including handing off the baton. The receiving runner started running and picking up speed just as the previous runner lined up to pass the baton. Once in hand the next runner kept running to pass the baton all the way around.

The day of the meet arrived. We were excited and scared. This was before Title 9 allowed equal access to sports for girls. So, being on a team with an opportunity to compete was both a little scary and a little thrilling.

The meet was at the stadium where my parents watched high school football decades earlier. Now it was my big day, and I had my mind and heart set on victory. Each of us took our places around the track and suddenly we heard the crack of the starter gun, and the race was on!

Our runner #1 took off and sped to runner #2. Then as #1 approached, #2 prepared to match her pace and she found it easy to pass the baton to #2.

I watched #2’s coming toward me and in my mind began synching my steps with hers.  She came close and I moved ahead reaching behind me for the baton. We made a great pass but then something happened. I thought I had a firm grip on it, but I fumbled.

I dropped the baton.

This had never happened in practice. What am I to do? I hesitated and decided to leave it. I kept running. When I reached #4, she looked confused as I slapped her hand. “Go!” I yelled and she took off. We didn’t get an opportunity to pass the baton. I didn’t know I was supposed to stop and pick it up.

I thought finishing the race was what was most important. I didn’t realize that the baton was the critical part of the puzzle.

It wasn’t until the end of the race that I discovered just how serious my error was. Without the baton, we were disqualified. All that the training was for nothing. My relay team went home empty handed.

I broke into inconsolable tears. I failed. I failed my team and my coach. In my 6^th grade mind, nothing could be worse.

I just didn’t know the consequences of my actions. I hung my head in shame. The weight of the world rode on my shoulders.

Fast forward more than a few decades. That pang of shame hit me in the stomach as the hard memory bubbled up from some deep place. It was at a funeral. The preacher was preaching the funeral service and the familiar words from scripture about running a good race brought it all back.

I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith.

                                                                                                    (Timothey 4:7,NIV)

Ouch. If only I could speak so confidently of my own race.

What exactly is ‘the race’?

It’s not the proverbial ‘rat race’ of life that comes from busy, noisy lives. That competitive race of daily living makes slipping between soft sheets in bed at the end of the day feel like a moment of victory. Hallelujah! You’ve made it through another day.

The preacher wasn’t talking about the kind of race where we’re running competitively against each other in a world where the fear of scarcity motivates us to live agitated lives.

No, this other kind of race is like a stream or a current that is continually moving us forward toward a seemingly impossible prize. This prize is a life filled with love and confidence for ourselves and for others. It is a place of peace as we understand we are part of a something bigger than what we can only see and touch. There’s a greater good swirling around us. We are not alone.

Each faith has a name for this place of peace. Heaven? Nirvana? Or in secular terms it could be the Self-actualization in Maslow’s hierarchy of need – defined as a sense of inner peace and an understanding of your place in the universe.

Peace. What a beautiful word.

No, this race is more like the run to carry the Olympic flame around the world. There is no competition. Dedication and understanding of its significance are what keeps it moving forward. Each time a runner passes the flame to the next runner, they form another link in the chain.

It’s like that for you too. You are one link in a chain forged by the generation before you. It is your heritage of light that passed to you. What you received doesn’t die with you as long as you pass it on.

The baton you carry in your race is a symbol of that connection of love passed to you by your mama and daddy, grandparents, neighbors…anyone who helped shape you into the person you are today. It came to you through stories and observation of your elders. Your job is to carry it, protect it, and nourish it so you can pass it on to the next generation. That’s your responsibility.

Who gave you your baton? Not everyone grew up in families who nurtured or even remembered their own spiritual heritage but from watching the world around you may have had to craft your own. It may have been passed to you by circumstances at some point, and necessity made it yours. Did hard times help you find it?

Where is your baton now? Is it still in your care or have you dropped it? Or maybe you tucked it away figuring you would pull it out if you needed it.

You need it now. We need it now.

We need the light your faith brings to the world.

Are you afraid that you’re not good enough, faithful enough or whatever-else enough to complete the task given to you?

I didn’t know this then, but I know it now. I could have redeemed my messed-up relay race if only I had stopped and picked up that baton. I didn’t know that was permissible. I didn’t know that was possible. I thought the point was just to finish. I didn’t realize how important that baton was.

The good news is this. Not only is it permissible to pick that baton back up, but it is also critical that you do. The world needs your spark of light.

How is it possible to recover what you forgot you carried with you? You do it slowly and simply.

• Start by setting your intention for the day even before your first cup of coffee. Remember this is the day the Lord has made and by golly you’re going to plug into it.
• Look for God in your day. Listen to how God speaks to you? Does God come to you in a big clap of thunder or in a soft whisper as you think of someone you might need to check on?
• Be grateful for those moments when you recognize God’s presence. It is always there. It’s just up to you to realize it.

And here’s the really important part. If you have dropped your baton, pick it up, brush it off and be ready.

• When you pick it up, you state your intention to be a part of the race.
• It is something tangible, and it’s your responsibility to pass it on to the next runner in the race.
• Picking it up, you honor what you have received from those who came before you

In today’s world, it is more important than ever to pick it up. Have faith that someone is waiting for you to pass the baton.

It’s yours to give. Pass it on.