He trained with a stopwatch, a whistle, a chart,
With fire in his legs and great hope in his heart.
He dreamed of the tape, the cheer, and the roar—
Of flying just once like he’d never soared before.
The gun said, “Go!” and his feet said, “We know!”
He leaped each hurdle in precise rhythm and flow.
One more stood ahead—just a hop and a beat—
Then Crash! went the metal beneath his feet.
He tried to recover, but his knees gave way.
The crowd moaned, having nothing to say.
Other runners surged on without looking back,
While his future appeared to be lost on the track.
“I ran my best,” he said, “with the strength I had.
I trained hard and long, and I can’t say this is bad.
This fall was not wasted. There’s more than can be.
The Lord is shaping something others can’t see.”
So he rose from the track with a limp and a smile,
Not faster in his legs, in spirit? Higher by a mile.
For winning’s a moment that fades like a blur,
But trust in the Lord? That can always endure.
Somewhere ahead, although we can’t yet see,
God’s purpose is pacing what is next to be.
Our hurdles may fall, but we can stand tall,
For our gain may come disguised as a fall.
