grace given me

This weekend was one of my favorite annual traditions: the Santa Run. More than 8,000 identically clad Santas filled our neighborhood streets to do a 5K. Everywhere you look—Santa. The mix of endorphins and merriment never disappoints. 

Watching the sea of red suits moving at every imaginable pace, I began thinking about the dynamics of a race. As a former runner now turned walker, I couldn’t help noticing how differently people approach the exact same course. Some sign up and never show. Some walk casually, soaking in the atmosphere. Some start running but fizzle out halfway through. Others show up ready to give their best and cross the finish line with purpose. Same course, same starting line, same opportunity—yet such different levels of engagement, effort, and intention.

I drew a parallel: this is also what life with Jesus looks like. When you accept Christ, scripture says you are saved—your name registered, so to speak (Philippians 4:3). You’re officially in the race. But what you do with that registration—how you choose to participate—varies widely.

Some people sign up, accepting Jesus, but stop there. Some walk, taking slow, steady steps. Some hit a rough patch and turn back toward old patterns. And some run. Not perfectly, not without stumbling, but with intention. With heart. With desire to finish well. The apostle Paul understood this. He wrote, “Do you not know that in a race all the runners run, but only one gets the prize? Run in such a way as to get the prize.” (1 Corinthians 9:24).

Paul wasn’t talking about earning salvation—that’s a gift from Christ alone. He was talking about how we live once we are saved. Our participation doesn’t change our belonging, but it shapes our experience, our fruitfulness, and our impact. By God’s design, we have free will. That applies to every part of life. But just because we can do something doesn’t mean it’s in our best interest. We can eat whatever we want, but we likely won’t enjoy good health. We can coast at work, but we probably won’t flourish. We can drift in our marriages, but we shouldn’t expect intimacy or growth.

Likewise, we have the freedom to do the bare minimum spiritually. To settle for being “saved but stagnant.” But in doing so, we forfeit the abundant life Jesus promised (John 10:10).

Just like in a race, people take note of how we run. When you tell someone you signed up and they say, “I didn’t see you,” or “I noticed you weren’t that into it,” something in you knows. The fruit reveals the effort. In faith, it’s similar. Jesus said, “You will know them by their fruits.” (Matthew 7:16). It’s not about comparison—it’s about intention. Have you considered your race goals? Are you content simply being “in the race,” or do you want to run with purpose? Paul’s goal was clear: to glorify God and bring others to Christ. We are called to the same mission.

Our witness, however, is weakened when we say we follow Christ but live as though we’re indifferent or disengaged. Jesus called this “losing your saltiness”—not losing salvation, but losing influence (Matthew 5:13). A life that blends into the world loses the privilege of pointing others toward real hope.

The beauty of the Gospel race is this: it’s never too late to run. Or start running again. Even if you’ve fallen. Even if you’ve quit. Some of the best racers are the ones who got back up. Their perseverance is compelling. Their humility is magnetic. Their story gives others courage.

And perhaps that’s one more thing the Santa Run teaches us: the joy isn’t reserved for the fastest. The victory isn’t limited to the perfect. The prize isn’t only for the naturally talented. The gift is for the ones who show up and choose to run. 

Lord, thank you for inviting me to join your race. Give me the desire to run with intention, the courage to get back up when I fall, and the wisdom to fix my eyes on you—the true prize. Make my life fruitful, faithful, and compelling so others may see you through me. Help me choose the path that leads to growth, victory, and abundant life with you. I offer you my steps, my pace, and my heart. Amen.