Living as a champion

I have a choice.  I've known about its existence for a long time.  And I've been avoiding it a lot recently.  But it's that moments when you realise the truth that sitting on the fence is really, really painful.  It's not just because, according to the jokes, of the splinters I supposedly acquire there.  It's because of the view afforded to me from the additional height.  I can see what lies ahead.  And right now I feel so annoyed with myself.  Because I've been spending so much time looking at the distance, presuming that I could never be good enough, never be strong enough, never determined enough, to reach the finish line that's been set out for me.  Instead I should have been looking at the grass in the field right in front of me, the only thing that I really need to concern myself with right now.  Not the finish line.  I'll reach it - but only if I start by walking into the field right ahead.  My choice is whether I let things continue as they are, or whether I choose my destiny.  To be a champion. That's what I'm called to be.  Chosen to be.  Willing to be.

It's incredible - to be honoured with the title of champion before I've even run the race.   That's my title.  I am a champion.  Because of Him.  He did it all, then gave the medal and crown to me.  So it's really dishonouring, knowing the finery with which He has clothed me, to think how I have been stooping and begging like a pauper.

Time to act.