I stumbled across a tribute on my Facebook feed the other day. I only saw it because the writer of the tribute happened to mention one of my mother's first cousins. I have only seen this cousin a few times over the past 45 years as she moved to the southwestern United States after her marriage.
I was about to scroll right past the tribute until a name caught my eye. Wait a minute. This was not the tribute of a stranger. I had met this man and his wife before. When I was 13 years old, I had visited my mom's cousin and this man had been her pastor. Nearly 45 years had passed but I remembered.
What did I remember? I remembered exactly what the writer remembered. I remembered the bright, welcoming smiles of this pastor and his wife. I remembered the kindness in their eyes. I remembered their laughter. I remembered how they listened intently to everything I said though I was but an awkward young teenager. I remembered the feeling I had the few times I walked into their home. There was a peaceful spirit about it that made such an impression on me that I still remembered it 44 years later.
Unlike the writer of the tribute, I had only actually spent a few days around this man but I knew what he said about him was true. This was a man who truly loved God and loved people.
I found myself wondering what people might say or think about me at the end of my race. Had I run the race well? Would I have made an impact, not only in those whom I know intimately but upon those who I only met briefly or even just for a moment? At the end of the day, will I be able to look back and say, "It was a well-run race?"