The Race Of Champions

The race began before I was born, in places I had never visited. I noticed the race by divine appointment only. I’d heard a trumpet call to come near, an invitation to cheer on champions who were engaged in the running. At first I stood behind the fences observing these mighty athletes, but curiosity drew me forward. I wanted to get closer to the action. What I saw both frightened and inspired me. Each champion clearly ran with purpose and their eyes were singularly focused upon the trophy alone. I watched some stumble and fall so hard I couldn’t imagine them to ever be able to rise again. To my amazement even the most wounded champions arose to keep pushing towards the goal.

While my eyes watched these champions I could hear a whispered voice asking me to help. I didn’t know how and then I saw the bucket of water nearby. Reaching for it I grabbed some cups and stepped out from behind the fence line. One by one I filled the cups and handed them to each champion as they raced toward the finish line. The bucket never seemed to empty and the champions kept coming.

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