Last night, I lay stretched out on the rug while the national championship game flickered across the screen. Helmets clashed.
Legs churned.
Grown men ran until they could hardly breathe.
Every yard mattered.
Every mistake cost something.
Nobody was pacing themselves for tomorrow.
This was it.
Everything they had, right now.
Nobody stumbles into a national title by accident.
The Apostle Paul would’ve nodded at that.
“Do you not know that in a race all the runners run, but only one receives the prize? Run in such a way as to take the prize… I discipline my body and keep it under control, lest after preaching to others I myself should be disqualified.”
— 1 Corinthians 9:24–27
Every player in last night’s game had trained for years for that moment.
Early mornings.
Sore muscles.
Film sessions when they’d rather be anywhere else.
They gave up comfort for a goal they couldn’t yet see.
They learned how to say no to a lot of good things so they could say yes to one great thing.
That’s what Paul calls us to in our faith.
Not casual belief.
Not coasting through the season.
But a life lived on purpose, with focus, endurance, and self-control.
The Christian life isn’t a pickup game in the backyard.
It’s a long race that demands everything we’ve got.
And when the game gets physical—when the hits come hard and the fourth quarter burns your lungs—strength shows up.
“The Lord goes out like a mighty man, like a warrior he stirs up his zeal; he cries out, he shouts aloud, he shows himself mighty against his foes.”
— Isaiah 42:13
God is not a passive observer in the stands.
He is not wringing His hands when things get tough.
He moves like a warrior.
He fights for His purposes.
And when we run the race He’s set before us, we run with His strength, not just our own.
I’ve noticed something about championship teams.
When the clock is almost gone and the outcome is still in doubt, they don’t play scared.
They play disciplined.
They trust what they’ve practiced.
They finish strong.
That’s the kind of faith Jesus calls us to.
A faith that trains daily.
A faith that resists distraction.
A faith that doesn’t quit when the pressure mounts.
As an old dog, I spend a lot of time stretched out, watching my human live his life.
I can tell when he’s just going through the motions—and I can tell when he’s locked in, running hard, eyes fixed on the goal.
This morning, now that the champions have been crowned and the confetti has fallen, remember this:
Trophies gather dust
Records get broken
And seasons end.
But the race Christ sets before us carries on with an eternal weight.
So run your race.
Run it with discipline.
Run it with courage.
And when the fourth quarter of your life comes, may you finish the way champions do—fully spent, fully faithful, and still standing when the whistle blows.
I’ll be on the porch, watching closely, tail wagging.
Keep the Faith… Carpe Diem
