You are in the home stretch, so invest everything into what lies on the other side of the finish line! You won’t want to miss anything awaiting you when you meet Jesus.
“So, Joni, ever wonder what it’ll be like, crossing the finish line?”
Hi, I’m Joni Eareckson Tada, and what they mean is, do I ever wonder about that moment when I will cross from this life into the next? You know, I’m asked that a lot. ’Cause look, I’m a quadriplegic who’s lived in a wheelchair for over five decades. And if you want to know the truth, I am straining with my head back, arms spread wide; I am pushing and pumping everything I’ve got into that photo-finish ahead at the tape. Aw, man, do I wonder what that moment will be like? You bet I do.
Now, what I am about to say is not biblical, okay, but here’s how I like to picture it. I see myself bursting across the finish line and – just like a marathoner – I collapse on my hands and knees. I sink my hands into the sand of that celestial shore, heaving, sweating, gasping, “I made it, I made it, I can’t believe I made it!” Then I see myself rolling over on my back into the sand and lying still with my eyes closed, letting the restful sound of gentle waves and wind wash over me. And in that quiet moment, all of a sudden, I feel the presence of someone standing over me, someone in whose cool shadow I feel bathed and blessed. I open my eyes and I see Jesus. His head, eclipsing the sun. He smiles down at me and offers his hand, as would any friend. And I happily take it, and in one swift motion, he pulls me up and says, “Welcome home, sweetheart,” he whispers, and then admires me with unimaginably kind eyes. And then Jesus pulls me close and pat-pats my back like Daddy used to do, and says to me, “It’s been hard and long, but you’re safe now, Joni.” Well, at this point in my picture, I am sobbing until he holds me at arm’s-length. And I look at him and I blink twice because he almost looks like my Daddy, or maybe my Brother. Or Lover. Or King. And he says to me, “Joni, you made me look so good back there on earth.”
And my immediate reaction: drop to my knees and kiss his feet. But at that point the dream has dissipated, and the reality of what will then actually happen takes over. And although it is cloaked in much mystery, the Bible describes a glorious finale with angels and rewards; a choir of ten thousand thousand voices; then, that old serpent, the devil, and his hordes – all of them – destroyed; death forever vanquished; Christ’s name vindicated as he’s crowned the undisputed King of the universe. The Bible says we’ll reign alongside him, spreading his kingdom of love and light and beauty throughout the endless cosmos. A beautiful kingdom that’ll extend to the farthest corners of the universe. And then our song of suffering will be over. It’ll be over, and forever we will then sing instead of Jesus’ sufferings and how his excruciatingly tender love won for us so great a salvation. And we will sing that song forever and ever and ever and ever.
Now, in a crude nutshell, that’s what happens on the other side of the finish line. And in light of this, I ask you: don’t you want to make the most of life in the home stretch? Don’t you want to feel your stride in your last lap, drawing on your second wind, investing everything into what lies beyond the tape at the finish? Oh, friend, earth is your minor-league warm up for the major leagues up there, so be a Philippians 3 kind of believer who presses on and takes hold for that which Christ took hold of you. Strive, obey, trust, run with endurance. Because you’re like me: you don’t want to miss anything on the other side of that tape.
© Joni and Friends