Mormon Message: Win the Race.

Recently I posted about being afraid to share my testimony when it wasn't something I was fully confident in.  I mentioned that I felt like I was trying to run when I had just learned to walk, and was too unsteady to accomplish such a heavy task. 

Since then, I've received my patriarichal blessing and in it it mentions two different times that I need to not let my past keep me from teaching others and keep my from sharing with others.

That got me thinking.
...and I've been thinking a lot ever since then.

My belief about the church is what it is because of some awesome people in my life.  These people are people who weren't afraid to share their stories and weren't afraid to be themselves.  Often, in any religion, you find the ones who try to portray their perfect christ-like attributes.  That's not always how a person is all the time.   In fact, my testimony grew and continues to grow more for those people who are imperfect.  I learn from those who struggle, those with trials, those with a past that is like me. 

I was inspired by my high school seminary teacher who used to drink alcohol and smoke cigarrettes.  I was inspired by a friend who tells "off color" jokes in class and makes everyone laugh.  I was inspired by a boy who struggled with addiction his entire life. 

It's these people and it's their stories that let me know the church is a safe place to be.  After hearing where they have been and what they have done, I felt more accepted into the church.  I felt more invited and I felt like I belonged.  I am not a perfect saint.  I don't always remember to say my prayers and I don't always understand my scriptures.  I don't know all the answers in Sunday school and I can't tell you how all the stories in the bible end.   

But I can tell you that I'm getting better.
...every single day.

And I hope that I can inspire someone, anyone, to do the same.  
Maybe, for that person, getting better isn't through the church.  Maybe getting better doesn't have to mean quitting drinking.  Maybe it just means being a better person,  a better mother, a  better friend, a better wife... However that may be.

Here is my most favorite poem of all time.  And I cry every single time I read it.   ...but it makes me want to be better.  Always.

Whenever I start to hang my head in front of failure’s face,

my downward fall is broken by the memory of a race.

A children’s race, young boys, young men; how 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 that race

or tie for first, or if not that, at least take second place.

Their parents watched from off the side, each cheering for their son,

and each boy hoped to show his folks that he would be the one.

The whistle blew and off they flew, like chariots of fire,

to win, to be the hero there, was each young boy’s desire.

One boy in particular, whose dad was in the crowd,

was running in the lead and thought “My dad will be so proud.”

But as he speeded down the field and crossed a shallow dip,

the little boy who thought he’d win, lost his step and slipped.

Trying hard to catch himself, his arms flew everyplace,

and midst the laughter of the crowd he fell flat on his face.

As he fell, his hope fell too; he couldn’t win it now.

Humiliated, he just wished to 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 that 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 his 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 that he had quit before with only one disgrace.

“I’m hopeless as a runner now, I shouldn’t try to race.”

But through the laughing crowd he searched and found his father’s face

with a steady look that said again, “Get up and win that 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, then ten...

but trying 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 anymore! Three strikes I’m out! Why try?

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, “you haven’t lost at all,

for all you have to do to win is rise each time you fall.

Get up!” the echo urged him on, “Get up and take your place!

You were not meant for failure here! Get up and win that race!”

So, up he rose to run once more, refusing to forfeit,

and 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 like he could win.

Three times he’d fallen stumbling, three times he rose again.

Too far behind to hope to win, he still ran to the end.

They cheered another boy who crossed and won first place,

head high and proud and happy -- no falling, no disgrace.

But, when the fallen boy crossed the line, in last place,

the crowd gave him a greater cheer for finishing the race.

And even though he came in last with head bowed low, unproud,

you would have thought he’d 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.”