Sometimes Life Calls for Learning Things the Hard Way

In many ways, life can look like a map perfectly drawn out for us. We have God’s Word and our mentors to guide us. We’re given all these warnings about what we shouldn’t do and where we shouldn’t go—

The race would all go smoothly, if we would only follow that map.

And that’s the problem. We don’t follow the map.

Somehow, it’s in our nature to wander down the fenced-off paths.

And sometimes, we’ve just gotta learn things the hard way.

I know. Life would be so much easier if we could just follow the map in the first place and avoid getting into scrapes.

But truly, I’ve seen that the scrapes can help us grow so much. They can teach us lessons that we wouldn’t learn otherwise, and etch that lesson into our hearts through the experience.

I’m not saying that you should go running down all the marked-off roads, trying to throw yourselves into as many pitfalls as possible.

And I’m not saying that these situations are okay. Those roads are fenced-off for a reason, and there are certain paths that we should especially avoid.

Instead I want to remind you that, when it seems that you’ve burned all your bridges, it’s not hopeless.

It all comes back to the Gospel story: God made a way.

And sometimes, our human hearts just gotta learn that the hard way.

The promise in discipline

I remember finishing the last race of my eighth-grade year, breathless and discouraged, hiding in the bathroom because I didn’t want to show my weakness. Where I was then was so far from where I had started, and…

Suddenly it hit me: I had brought myself there.

I had ignored all the warning signs, plain as they were. The pain in my body, the frequent injuries, the breathlessness that I got from walking up the stars, the weight I had lost…

I was malnourished, and I had brought myself into that valley. I hadn’t cared for my body properly. No, it wasn’t intentional. No, it wasn’t a sin.

But I had allowed my health to get to that point, and I deeply regretted it. At one point, I hated myself for it.

I had brought myself there.

Somewhere in all of that, as the months passed, I processed this regret through the Gospel story. Because God never said, “You brought yourself here, and now I’m going to leave you to get yourself out.”

He didn’t look at humanity and say that.

No, He gave humanity His Son.

He gave you His Son.

And now He calls us His sons and daughters when we surrender our lives to Him. Recently I was reading Hebrews 12 again, and it left me with a promise about discipline.

“It is for discipline that you have to endure. God is treating you as sons. For what son is there whom his father does not discipline?”

~hebrews 12:7, ESv

When we bring ourselves into the valley (or even when uncontrollable circumstances bring us there), we will come out of that valley.

And we will come out of that valley having learned a lesson the hard way, because that’s the beauty of discipline.

“For the moment all discipline seems painful rather than pleasant, but later it yields the peaceful fruit of righteousness to those who have been trained by it.”

~Hebrews 12:11, ESV

It’s our Father training us to run our best race for Him.

Life is a battle, and you have to be wiling to put up a fight. To want to get yourself out. The way you win is by surrendering.

Because our God has already won the war, my reader.

“Therefore lift your drooping hands and strengthen your weak knees, and make straight paths for your feet, so that what is lame may not be put of joint but rather be healed.”

~Hebrews 12:12

I remember looking in the mirror and seeing only weakness, but then walking out of that bathroom with the sense that maybe… maybe, I was stronger than I thought.

Because I was still there. I was still running.

Somehow I could just feel in my heart that I wouldn’t quit this sport, even though it had caused me all this pain. Every heartbeat seemed to add up to the amount of times that I had wanted to stop, and I sensed the many more moments when I would consider quitting.

But somehow, I knew that I wouldn’t quit. God willing, I would find myself crossing the finish line of another race that autumn, and even running on the track again come the next spring.

It was like I had failed enough times to realize that I could survive failure, even if it hurt. I could survive failure, and somehow, I would be able to start again.

I had learned this the hard way. You have to fail in order to realize that you are strong enough to bear it.

It’s by losing that we learn just how hard we are to defeat.

And the reason I was stronger than I thought, the reason that I’m still running, is because I learned to trust in God for my strength. Just last weekend, as I prayed yet another silent prayer on yet another start line, I had this thought:

If it weren’t for my faith in God, I don’t think I would even be able to race.

I find a sense of peace in how the finish line is never the end. In terms of racing, the results of one race can’t determine the results of the next. But also in terms of life, the hope of eternity keeps me grounded.

It may not make any sense, but I don’t think I could race without that security.

I can’t race without that security. I’ve tried to run while placing my security in something else, and I learned—the hard way—that it didn’t work.

Because we were made to place our security in Christ alone.

Surrendering to His way

When I ran track my freshman year, I found myself alone in the bathroom again, this time before starting an 800.

I hadn’t raced the 800 since that last one in eighth grade.

After saying a prayer, I looked in the mirror. And then I forced myself to say some words out loud. And I watched the words escape my lips, I heard them echo through the empty stalls, and in that moment, my heart finally believed them.

“I am strong.”

“I am not afraid to fail.”

“And if I do, I have no reason to be ashamed.”

In that moment, I had surrendered. The results of this race didn’t matter anymore. Failure wouldn’t matter.

The pressure was gone.

The day of this race, I could barely breathe through my nose from having a cold. Earlier that day, I had thought that surely this race wouldn’t end well, especially with my sickness.

But I remember running the warm-up and feeling this assurance wash over me, like a voice telling me that it was all going to be okay. It sounds strange, I know.

I stood on the start line and felt no nerves—only excitement. With the shot of the gun I sprinted out fearlessly, and in what felt like just a moment—an unreal moment of running so fast that I couldn’t catch my breath—those two laps were over.

I finished in second place.

It was only a small league meet, but this will always be one of my favorite memories. Because on that day, I had surrendered the results to God. I had accepted the fact that my health could hold me back, but I had also entered with an open mind.

I wish I could always surrender like that.

Lately, I’ve found comfort in knowing that, should I complete the race, God is waiting for me at the finish line.

Whether I come in first or last, sprinting or limping, He’s waiting there.

And should I not finish, He’s always by my side.

Sometimes I surrender the race to God and still feel my own fear—Trusting is a process. Sometimes I surrender the race to God and still fail—He never promises worldly success.

But when you surrender this race of your life to Him, He promises heavenly victory (1 Cor. 15:7).

So what I want to leave you with is this:

When it seems that all your bridges have been burned, remember that God will make a way.

God’s way may not end like your original plan, and it will surely involve learning some lessons the hard way.

But it’s His way, and a beautiful course that He has set out for your life. A beautiful course with a beautiful ending.

So why not surrender?