Of special note in this blog are verses 7 and 8: " I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith. Now there is in store for me the crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous Judge, will award to me on that day—and not only to me, but also to all who have longed for his appearing." The first half of the passage are my marching orderers and the last half are my promise. When I think of these verses, two faces come to mind, one is my grandmother, "nanny" Mckinley. The other is the subject of that photograph I mentioned above...
This is my grandpa, James Thomas McKinley. That photo is a reproduction one published many decades ago in a local newspaper heralding the restaurant in a local hotel for which my grandpa was the chef. I have told it before, but it bears repeating that my grandparents endured much hardship for the Gospel. My grandpa spent many years away from the Lord. His altar of repentance was the body of his son who died in his mid-twenties from the effects of an epileptic seizure. After returning to the Lord and accepting his calling, my grandpa felt the need to give all he could to make up for the lost years.
He only ever pastored a handful of people. They lived in the basement of the church which was eaten up with mold. They worked multiple jobs at a time just to keep the lights on in the church. As he got older and sicker and worn out my dad asked him why in the world he continued to suffer for people who didn't seem to care. His response was swift, simple, and powerful-"some people get paid to preach and some people PAY to preach." They paid to preach.
This is the reason I count them as part of my "great cloud of witnesses" found in Hebrews 12. My grandparents are two of those of "whom the world was not worthy."
In my few years of ministry there have already been many times I have stumbled in my race. I've made mistakes. I've let my desires overtake His will. I've spoken out of anger and hurt. I've given poor advice. There are many days I wonder what I'm even doing as I fear that I'm no good to anyone.
I envision myself on a track. When those thoughts come to me, I can see myself taking my eyes off my lane and looking to the runners on either side of me and the critics on the sidelines. And then I see myself stumble. As I lie there feeling hopeless and defeated, I fix my gaze high in the stands. There is my "VIP box".
In my box you will find my "papaw" Weakley who filled in the gap left when my biological grandparents passed away. Next to him is my Nanny. And next to her is my grandpa McKinley. He's there mainly because his version would be a track. You see, when he was a sinner he loved to gamble. My dad would tell stories of his father taking him to the track. After placing his bets he would beat his program against his thigh and yell, "RRRUUUNNNN" (of course, this being his non-preaching days, he threw in a few other NSFW phrases.)
So when I want to quit, to slink off the track and forfeit, I quite my mind and listen with my heart for my grandpa to cry out "RRRUUUNNN!" He knows that the run is worth the prize. He's already reached his reward and he knows that no earthly trouble outweighs the heavenly crown.
I chose to take the baton and I will finish this race with endurance, because he reminds me to never give up.
