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Here's your "Get Ready to Lead!" newsletter from Dr. Jeff Myers
"The simple secret to winning the race of life"
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May 27, 2009
| Volume 10, Number 17
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Greetings!
"My uncle D.H. Groberg wrote a poem called 'The Race.' Have you heard of it?" Jim asked me at the Florida homeschool conference on Friday. "It's fits perfectly with the theme of your keynote." I've reproduced "The Race" below. If you like the motivational poetry of Edgar Guest I think you'll really be inspired by the way it reveals a simple, yet profound secret. The last month has taken our team to Oregon, Texas, Tennessee, Georgia, Minnesota, Wisconsin, Colorado, Washington DC, California and Florida, so we're glad to dial it back for a couple of weeks. This weekend I'll take my family to Raleigh--my brother Tim conducts the Opera Company of North Carolina's summer concert. Sunday I'll speak at TeenPact's National Conference. New groups are embracing the Passing the Baton Training Course daily. About 100 new groups have been added within the last week! For the next generation,
Dr. Jeff Myers
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The Race
D.H. Groberg
"Quit!
Give up! You're beaten!"
They
shout at me and plead."
There's
just too much against you now;
This
time you can't succeed!"
And
as I start to hang my head
In
front of failure's face,
My
downward fall is broken by
The
memory of a race.
And
hope refills my weakened will
As
I recall that scene;
For
just the thought of that short race
Rejuvenates
my being.
A
children's race- young boy, young men,
How
I remember well.
Excitement,
sure! But also fear;
It
wasn't hard to tell.
They
all lined up so full of hope
Each
thought to win that race.
Or
tie for first, or if not that,
At
least take second place.
And
fathers watched from off the side
Each
cheering for his son.
And
each boy hoped to show his dad
That
he would be the one.
The
whistle blew and off they went-
Young
hearts and hopes afire.
To
win and be the hero there
Was
each young boy's desire.
And
one boy in particular,
Whose
dad was in the crowd,
Was
running near the lead and thought:
"My
dad will be so proud!"
But
as he speeded down the field
Across
a shallow dip.
The
little boy who thought to win
Lost
his step and slipped.
Trying
hard to catch himself
His
hands flew out to brace,
And
'mid the laughter of the crowd
He
fell flat on his face.
So
down he fell and with him hope-
He
couldn't win it now-
Embarrassed,
sad, he only wished
To
disappear somehow.
But
as he fell his dad stood up
And
showed his anxious face,
Which
to the boy so clearly said:
"Get
up and win the race!"
He
quickly rose, no damage done-
Behind
a bit, that's all-
And
ran with all his mind and might
To
make up for his fall.
So
anxious to restore himself-
To
catch up and to win-
His
mind went faster than his legs;
He
slipped and fell again!
He
wished then he had quit before
With
only one disgrace
"I'm
hopeless as a runner now;
I
shouldn't try to race."
But
in the laughing crowd he searched
And
found his father's face;
That
steady look which said again:
"Get
up and win the race!"
So
he jumped up to try again-
Ten
yards behind the last-
"If
I'm to gain those yards," he thought,
"I've
got to move real fast."
Exerting
everything he had
He
gained eight or ten,
But
trying so hard to catch the lead
He
slipped and fell again!
Defeat!
He lay there silently-
A
tear dropped from his eye-
"There's
no sense in running anymore:
Three
strikes: I'm out! Why try?"
The
will to rise had disappeared;
All
hope had fled away;
So
far behind, so error-prone:
A
loser all the way.
"I've
lost, so what's the use," he thought
"I'll
live with my disgrace."
But
then he thought about his dad
Who
soon he'd have to face.
"Get
up," an echo sounded low.
"Get
up and take your place;
You
were not meant for failure here.
Get
up and win the race."
"With
borrowed will get up," it said,
You
haven't lost at all.
For
winning is no more than this:
To
rise each time you fall."
So
up he rose to run once more,
And
with new commit
He
resolved that win or lose
At
least he wouldn't quit!
So
far behind the others now,-
The
most he'd ever been-
Still
he gave it all he had
And
ran as though to win.
Three
times he'd fallen, stumbling;
Three
times he rose again:
Too
far behind to hope to win
He
still ran to the end.
They
cheered the winning runner
As
he crossed the line first place.
Head
high, and proud, and happy;
No
falling, no disgrace.
But
when the fallen youngster
Crossed
the line last place,
The
crowd gave him the greater cheer,
For
finishing the race.
And
even though he came in last
With
head bowed low, unproud,
You
would have thought he'd won the race
To
listen to the crowd.
And
to his dad he sadly said,
"I
didn't do too well."
"To
me, you won," his father said.
"You
rose each time you fell."
And
when things seem dark and hard
And
difficult to face,
The
memory of that little boy
Helps
me in my race.
For
all of life is like that race.
With
ups and downs and all.
And
all you have to do to win,
Is
rise each time you fall.
"Quit!
Give up, you're beaten!"
They
still shout in my face.
But
another voice within me says:
"GET
UP AND WIN THE RACE!"
--- Copyright © D.H. Groberg
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