Water, the Real Winner

“Water, water, water,” his voice faded away as if all of his strength had gone.

Mark had been running for a long time and at a fierce rate.  He had been punishing himself in an all out attempt to win the school’s cross country marathon.  He was not far from the finish line; only another hundred metres, but he had collapsed from exhaustion and thirst.  He had pushed himself too hard.

“Somebody get some water quickly before he passes out,” shouted a spectator.

“From where?” inquired another.  “There are no houses around here.”

“But we need water and we need it fast,” insisted yet another spectator.  They had assembled along the route to witness this annual event.  Yet, not one of them had any water and Mark was in serious trouble.

He muttered again, “Water, water, please give me water.”  His voice was barely audible.

By this time the first runner came in sight.  It was almost five minutes since Mark had collapsed.  He was way ahead of the nearest competitor yet here he was lying on the ground, unable to convert this lead into triumph.  His main problem, however, was not winning the race but getting water.  For the third time he mouthed, “Water, water.”  This time he could only form the words.  There was no sound coming from his lips.

The first runner came nearer and nearer.  “Shawn is getting closer!” shouted a spectator.  “No way Mark can win this race now.  I always knew he didn’t have a chance.  My money was always on Shawn.  This would be his third year as champion.”

“How could you be thinking of the race at this time, you insensitive idiot?” responded one of the spectators who was now fanning Mark in an attempt to revive him.

Shawn arrived at the scene and stopped.  “What’s happening here?” he asked. 

“It’s Mark.  He has collapsed from exhaustion.  He called for water but we don’t have any and as you can see, there are no houses around.”

“Don’t worry,” replied Shawn. “I still have a little with me.  I always run with my water.  Here, let me get through to him.” 

In three minutes Mark was on his feet and ready to run again.  “Come on, Mark. Let’s go.  We still have a race to finish and I can see our nearest rival in the distance.  He’s catching up quickly.” 

Mark stumbled over the finish line, with Shawn giving him just a little push.  “Congrats,” said Shawn.  “You deserve to win, Mark.” 

“Thanks,” replied Mark.  “I couldn’t have done it without your water and your push.”

They both laughed and then watched as the other competitors made their way to the finish line.  They fought for the bronze but everybody knew who had won the gold and silver. 

The announcer’s voiced boomed with the aid of the microphone.  “Here are the results of the school’s annual cross country marathon.  In third position, Henderson Skeete, in second position, Shawn Spencer and the gold goes to Mark Small.” 

If you ask him now, Mark would still tell you that the real winner was water. 

  

Stewart Russell © 1999

The Sequel to God's Magnificent Best

 

 

As sure as the day follows night

Sunrise always follows sunset,

One is sure to follow the other

How beautiful can a sunrise get?

I suppose it’s one’s preference

That determines the winner,

Or perhaps what really follows

That decides which we prefer.

There is a sense of emptiness

As the sun disappears from view,

But joy comes in the morning

As we hail the day, brand new.

But how might we compare

The colours and their hues,

Bearing in mind the spectrum

With its yellow, reds and blues?

For every sunrise is distinct

And every single sunset too,

God the magnificent Artist

Paints them with colours true.

Maybe it’s the sunset’s splendor

Contrasting with the darkness

Or a yearning for a longer sunset

Before the parting brightness.

  

Maybe it’s the coming light

With that great anticipation,

That heightens the sunrise

Reminding of God’s creation.

For while I’m urged to remember

The beauty of the sinking sun

The brilliance of the sunrise

Is gone before the morning’s done.

The impressions of a sunset

Often linger through the night

But the radiance of a sunrise

Is lost with the brilliant light.

So my vote goes to a sunset

For it is clearly obvious to me

No comparison between the two,

The sunset’s a thing of beauty

But where is the satisfaction?

Is the choice I made correct?

Where is the sense of justice?

What is this feeling I detect?

Could it be that we the judges

Are clearly out of our league?

Or our personal preferences

Cloud the way we perceive?

So back to the drawing board

And back to the stated question,

Can the beauty of a sunset

Eclipse that of the rising sun?

  

Is there additional evidence?

Tell me where I should look,

“Yes there is,” I heard Him say,

“Look into my Holy Book.”

That God is the only Artist

Evidence from the Bible shows

He paints the sunset and sunrise,

From His hand each one flows.

The question now before us is,

Is He better at one, can you tell?

Certainly not must be the answer,

For God performs all things well.

With His deft strokes and artistry

He paints each sunset and sunrise,

Ever since the beginning of time

They sing the heavenly reprise.

Tell me, can God out do Himself?

Does perfect have a comparison?

He is the designer of them both

So a ‘dead heat’ is the decision.

But if justice has been served,

Why is there still this feeling?

I feel there is something greater

That the Holy Word is teaching.

Father, show to me the lesson

I should learn from all of nature,

Every sunset and each sunrise

Teach to me to what they refer.

And then His sun begins to rise,

His light shines upon my reverie,

The Bible documents God’s work

And reveals about the Almighty.

Neither of these works is better,

The sunset stands not on its own,

In that sunset the Saviour died

But his resurrection is the dawn.

 

That sunset was really not about

The sun’s departing radiance,

But was meant to be the herald

Of the Son’s uprising brilliance.

Even God could never exceed

His glorious magnificent best

When Jesus went to Calvary

And our hopes upon Him rest.

And so from the grave He arose,

We echo that triumphant song,

The sunrise we look for is coming

To the heavenly, believing throng.

O what a sunrise it’s going to be

When Jesus returns for you and me,

Goodbye Old World I’ll be out of here,

Will you join me in the land over there?

More than a sunrise or sunset, you see,

They both speak of an eternity to be,

Many will scoff at this mystery

But the promise will be a reality.

  

The work of God some don’t accept,

They spurn His love, His Son reject,

Creation’s story not fit for a school,

To believe in such one must be a fool.

Whatever shadows obscure the mind

The refusal of God is no excuse,

Those who reject recreation’s story

Are also them whom God will refuse.

Resurrection power has been revealed

In the form of the empty tomb,

He is not here but risen in deed

And now He asks us, “Is there room?”

Is there any room for the Saviour?

He conquered death and the grave,

And now he sits on heaven’s throne,

Why not accept him and be saved?

Good Friday evening and Easter Morn,

The sinking sun and the crack of dawn,

The crucified Jesus and the risen Christ,

All speak of the Lamb and His sacrifice.

Stewart Russell © 2014