God saw all that he had made, and it was very good indeed. (Gen 1:31)

Look, I am coming soon, and my reward is with me to repay each person according to his work. I am the Alpha and the Omega, the first and the last, the beginning and the end. (Rev. 22:12-13)

Today is the five-year anniversary of Maggie’s departure to heaven, and in October I will turn 60. Those rounded-number milestones loom extra-large and have my analyzer in a higher gear of overdrive than usual. And, as He never fails to do, God has crystallized the two events into one main lesson He is teaching me. You’re running out of time to ensure you finish well.

I’m not a finisher. Oh, I’m never at a loss for ideas or new things to try. The other day I read a report in Smithsonian of how scientists have come to understand that the brain perceives silence in the same way as noise. I knew this as a child when I said I was going to make an LP album that would play “quiet” to drown out uninvited sounds in my world. In a household of seven, unwanted noise was a constant intruder. But did I follow through with my invention? No.
I later spoke the idea that became Amazon’s Kindle years before it became a thing I and millions of others now use daily. My latest version would perpetually recharge itself (using solar or brainwaves) and would be called the Eternal Flame. Do I receive any royalty checks? No. But I digress.

I don’t finish well. I start out with good intention. Then somewhere along the line I lose interest or the elusive spark I need to complete the task. Incomplete craft projects get stuffed into drawers. Proposed book ideas and unfinished devotionals fill my laptop’s document folder. I’ve realized this tendency to stop short comes from a fear of producing what can’t live up to my own expectations. I’ll never fail if I don’t hang that embroidery in a frame or hit send to submit that book proposal. My house will be fine without another decorative pillow, but what does this tendency say about my spiritual life? Oswald Chambers in the July 31st Utmost

devotional says that the carelessness that leaves things unfinished and not thoughtfully done is the “remains of the carnal life” and an insult to the Holy Spirit. Hmmm. Tough words, don’t you think? What’s to be done? Chambers answers, “Whatever it may be, God will point it out with persistence until we become entirely His.” We know this to be fact because God always works until He sees the finished product and then pronounces it good.

Where does this dovetail with Maggie, you are wondering? I’m getting there. Maggie had a related fear to mine. She didn’t like to see her schoolwork graded. She would finish it, turn it over on my desk, and say, “Don’t grade it now!” Then she would flee the room. It remained a source of anxiety but drifted into the background when she faced her biggest challenge. And her illness cured her, for through it she became, in Chamber’s words, “completely His.” The finish line is important because it marks where we reach our end and His beginning.

So how do we learn to finish well? We look at those who have done it before us and run after them. That’s the message of Hebrews 12:1 and one of those glorious “therefores” in Scripture that force us to look back before reading on. Hebrews 11, the roll call of faith, is full of names that have one thing in common. They finished well. And then we think of others. Paul writing to Timothy with some of his last recorded words before his death says, “I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith.”

For all her fear of grading time and report cards, Maggie never showed a fear of death. She may have internalized it, avoided those thoughts, or simply refused to believe her departure was close. We’re not sure. She wasn’t perfect, but we know she fought a good fight. She didn’t put herself in a position through poor choices to fight a battle against unintended and dark consequences. No, she faced an unexpected enemy in the arms of a Friend. She once shared in her testimony that she had “been learning my whole life about this loving God who promised never to leave you or forsake you.” She fought a good fight because God allowed it then fought it with her.

She finished the race. It wasn’t the length she or I would have chosen, but it was the one placed before her. In the Olympics, the gold medals for first place in the sprints and the marathon are identical. The reward is given for completing the assigned task, not running out the clock or trying to run the wrong race. Failing to finish won’t keep the work from being judged. So, we run to finish and win.

She kept the faith. This is my favorite part. One of those blessings that I would never have asked for yet can’t imagine now not having is the gift of seeing my child’s life start to finish. I held her for both her first and final breath. And the sum total of every breath in between if collected and mixed would rise in praise, not sink in despair. She held onto faith until she exchanged it for perfect sight.

At this very moment, the AC cut off, leaving the house in a rare moment of near silence. It doesn’t matter that I never invented my recording. Most days are quiet enough, thank you. I hear only a soft clatter as my fingers find the words to send in tribute to all who ran the race well and reached the goal. One task finished today. And I’m sending more words later this evening when a long-cherished dream takes its first step out of the prison whose bars were formed by my own expectations. I’ll click send on my first book proposal. I never knew finishing could feel this good.