Invictus

There is something beautiful about this poem. Every time I hear it I think of a dear friend. There is just so much truth hidden in these short paragraphs. "And yet the menace of the years finds, and shall find me, unafraid.... I am the master of my fate; I am the captain of my soul." Life was never meant to be easy. It is challenging, rewarding, and exciting but never easy. The thing is, striving and achieving are part of our genetic make-up. They are how we learn to reach our divine potentials.

I heard this poem in a talk called "Running Down Your Dreams" by Brother Hank Smith. I am so thankful I had the chance to get to know him, and I owe a lot to him. In this talk he also talks about literally running down his dream of running a marathon. Then, in church today, one of the speakers also talked about running. He said when running it is hard to stay motivated if you only know you will stop at some point. He compared it to our lives. We know the end outcome we would like (residing in the celestial kingdom), but it can be hard to endure if we only see that. We need mile markers in our lives. What can I do today or this week to move me closer to this end goal? Who can I serve to grow closer to my Savior? So many people have served me in my life, and especially these past couple of weeks I realize how truly blessed I am. It is my turn. In our lesson last week at church there was a story about a nonmember who was going through a trial. He was talking to his mother on the phone when he saw the Relief Society sisters coming. He said, "Mother, it will be all right. The Mormon women are here." I am making it my goal for the month to let it be my turn to serve and help relieve others' trials. 

All of these running analogies have also reminded me of another poem. The first time I heard this I was younger, and another dear friend had come home early from his mission and been asked to give a talk. He read this poem and broke down into tears. I remember to this day the spirit I felt in that sacrament meeting when I heard this poem and connected it to my life. It goes like this:

Whenever I start to hang my head in front of failure's face, 

my downward fall is broken by the memory of a race. 

A children's race, young boys, 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.

Their parents watched from off the side, each cheering for their son, 

and each boy hoped to show his folks that he would be the one. 

The whistle blew and off they flew, like chariots of fire, 

to win, to be the hero there, was each young boy's desire. 

One boy in particular, whose dad was in the crowd, 

was running in the lead and thought, "My dad will be so proud."

But as he speeded down the field and crossed a shallow dip,

the little boy who thought he'd win, lost his step and slipped. 

Trying hard to catch himself, his arms flew everyplace, 

and midst the laughter of the crowd he fell flat on his face.

As he fell, his hope fell too; he couldn't win it now. 

Humiliated, he just 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 that 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 that he had quit before with only one disgrace.

"I'm hopeless as a runner now, I shouldn't try to race."

But through the laughing crowd he searched and found his father's face

with a steady look that said again, "Get up and win that race!"

So he jumped up to try again, ten yards behind the last. 

"If I'm to gain those yards," he though, "I've got to run real fast!"

Exceeding everything he had, he regained eight, then ten...

but trying 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?

I've lost, so what's the use?" he though. I'll live with my disgrace."

But then he thought about his dad, who soon he'd have to face.

"Get up," and echo sounded low, "you haven't lost at all, 

for all you have to do to win is rise each time you fall. 

Get up!" the echo urged him on, "Get up and take your place!

You were not meant for failure here! Get up and win that race!"

So, up he rose to run once more, refusing to forfeit, 

and 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 like he could win. 

Three times he's fallen stumbling, three times he rose again. 

Too far behind to hope to win, he still ran to the end. 

They cheered another boy who crossed the line and won first place, 

head high and proud and happy -- no falling, no disgrace. 

But, when the fallen youngster crossed the line, in last place, 

the crowd gave him a 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 so well."

"To me, you won," his father said. "You rose each time you fell."

And now when things seem dark and bleak and difficult to face, 

the memory of that little boy helps me in my own 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.

And when depression and despair shout loudly in my face, 

another voice within me says, "Get up and win that race!

We are the masters of our fate. We are the captains of our souls. We were not meant to fail. I thank my Heavenly Father for my unconquerable soul. We each have our own divine potentials, and it is my turn to show mine. I am so excited for this week/month/year. I wrote my grandparents a few weeks ago asking for advice. I told them I didn't care what it was about as long as it was from them to me. My grandma AND grandpa wrote me back giving me many little tid bits of their wisdom. One thing my grandma told me was to not run faster than I had strength. So perfect. In running my race I need to remember that my legs can only go so fast.