Just Keep Looking Up: Reflections from My Senior XC Season

One cross-country race this past fall, I found myself in a silent struggle. The last-mile exhaustion had set in, but the finish line still stood out of sight.

God, please help me get through this, I prayed.

And suddenly I heard voices shout my name from above.

I looked up.

There on the SDSU bridge I recognized a pack of runners from a rival team. Their encouragement became my answer to prayer, my reminder to keep going.

I wish life had more moments like this one–clear answers, perfect timing. But lately I’ve learned a heavier truth:

Sometimes you will look up at the bridge, not because you hear your name, but because you’re exhausted. You will look up at the bridge, and you will see no one there.

To be honest, my senior year has felt full of these moments. I have hit a phase in my personal life where I believe God is testing me.

Before hitting this phase, I found a sort of confidence that made me feel like a new person. Now, I see God testing my confidence.

My latest circumstances have brought me to my knees with that desperately cliche prayer that goes something like “God, if you just make this one little thing happen, I’ll do anything for You, I promise.”

I have had moments when the things that felt stable in life are suddenly falling to pieces, when the doors that were opening are suddenly closed, and when I’m trying as hard as ever but suddenly my best is barely making the cut.

This past autumn wouldn’t have felt so hard if I had only one challenge to face. Instead, I felt caught up in a storm, with one challenge pouring down after another. When it rains, it pours, they say.

So when I caught a virus a week before the conference championships race, I wanted to give up. I had been preparing for this race since the summer. It was my last chance to break my high school 5k PR, but I ran a minute slower instead.

Although this discouraged me, I tried to stay focused on the sectional championships race that would happen the next week. But just two days before that race, I caught another virus, one made me feel even sicker than the previous one.

As I thought of all the other personal trials that had been taking place in my life, I wondered how this could be happening to me. I spent those two days asking God “why?” while also begging for His help.

And then I saw the rain on the forecast. Here in Southern California, rain rarely comes, but the forecast predicted a massive storm on the weekend of the sectional championships.

I wasn’t scared of the rain.

I could take the rain.

After all, I had been running rain-or-shine for the past five years.

As I jogged around the park for a warmup, my lungs burned deep inside my chest. I feared how much my sickness would affect my breathing.

And then I thought of the day exactly three years before, when I tried jogging around this same park and my lungs didn’t just burn, but my ankle hurt too much to run. I had been sick and injured the day of the sectional championships my freshman year, and I could still recall the disappointment I felt when I couldn’t race.

Sick or not, I could still run, and I refused to disappoint my younger self. My lungs were still burning, but so was something else within me. Long ago, my Creator had lit a spark in me, a spark that could still burn in the rain.

When I started the race, I could feel the spark burning. I could feel God’s presence. Even amid the sounds of rain pouring down and feet splashing puddles, it was like I could hear His voice.

There on the mud-streaked trails, God was with me, like He had been for my whole life.

As I ran past the eucalyptus trees I remembered racing the kids in my old neighborhood, at a park full of those trees, when I was little. As I ran past the swimming pool I remembered racing my teammates during those many swim practices in junior high. And suddenly I realized that I was leaving another stage of my life behind, and this course, the setting for so many practices and races, would forever define high school cross-country in my mind.

But after so many miles on that course, I had never experienced it like this, with rain soaking my hair and mud soaking my feet. And maybe it was the prayers, maybe it was the “you’re-a-tough-girl” pep talk my mom gave me that morning or the Bible verses she shouted at me when I passed, but I had never felt that brave during a cross-country race.

I finished in the top 20, earning myself a medal and the all-section honor. All-league, all-conference, now all-section–I had a successful senior season. I didn’t get any PRs in the major distances, and I didn’t qualify for State, but after all the challenges I’ve had to overcome in cross-country, I am so thankful that I had a memorable last race.

The ending was bittersweet. For four years, I dreamed of running in the State meet, and now that door had officially closed.

But in those four years, I saw myself become a stronger runner and a stronger Christian. Even in this testing phase, my newfound confidence is still strong. It’s a spark that will still burn in the storm.

Four years taught me that God is always there.

Sometimes He is there quietly, and His voice is just a gentle whisper instead of the motivating cheer that you so desperately want to hear.

But God is still there. He is in His whispers: the things in life that are so ordinary and overlooked that they are hard to hear, but also so beautiful and powerful that they must be God’s voice.

In 1 Kings 19, the prophet Elijah, exhausted after running through a rainstorm to safety in the wilderness, waited for God’s presence:

“And behold, the Lord passed by, and a great and strong wind tore the mountains and broke in pieces the rocks before the Lord, but the Lord was not in the wind. And after the wind an earthquake, but the Lord was not in the earthquake. And after the earthquake a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire. And after the fire the sound of a low whisper.”

~ 1 Kings 19:11-12, ESV

When we bend down in the rainstorm, God will meet us there. The gentle whisper is how He speaks to His children.

And God continues to surprise me with how He speaks. In the last mile of the sectional meet, while the finish line stood out of sight, I heard more voices shouting my name.

I looked up through the rain and saw another pack of runners from a different rival team. The moment brought me right back to that earlier race at SDSU, when God had answered my prayer at the bridge.

God is still answering our prayers, my reader.

Just keep looking up. <3

I hope you enjoyed this post and seeing the photos from my trip to the Gulf in Texas. If you want to receive emails about my next posts, you can subscribe here. I’ve missed blogging so much, but I’m so thankful for all of my readers. Have a happy Thanksgiving! Go ahead and share in the comments what you’re thankful for–I’d love to hear!