The coach of our swim team during my younger years had this saying. But it really wasn’t a saying, it was a yelling. He had to make himself heard over the splashes and we were all wearing those flattering plastic caps that squeezed our ears making it almost impossible to hear anything. I guess it was smart of him to have only one thing that he said, so that we always knew just what he wanted us to do. So when I looked up and saw his brow furrowed and his mouth moving around like the fake dinosaurs on Jurassic Park there was no doubt as to what he was bellowing out:
“Sprint, sprint, sprint! Gut!”
His voice has been ringing in my ears as of late. It is not that I don’t like what I am doing; just the same as when I was swimming. I liked swimming, even if I was in the turtle lane and the other three lanes above me were called: bronze, silver and gold. I still love to swim laps.
I like what I do as a wife, as a mother, as a missionary, as … well, as me. I have a good life. I simply feel like I have been in sprint mode for a long while and now my coach is yelling in my ear to gut that last lap.
Times of refreshing intercalate with times of industriousness. Without the work, refreshing is nothing more than laziness. As missionaries we drive ourselves hard. We push ourselves to produce. Our ambition gives us the tenacity necessary for a life of high demands.
How do you gut it? What keeps you moving when every muscle yells stop? When you know the season you are in requires every fiber of your being to perform, where do you find the strength?
- Angie Washington, missionary living in Bolivia, South America