Throwing Back the Curtain

On September 1, 2018, I was required to attend a spiritual conference as a staff member of Sekolah Pelita Harapan. The topic for the conference was the cost of discipleship based on Luke 14:25-35. During that conference I was convicted of how self-absorbed I had become and knew that I wasn't following Jesus Christ wholeheartedly. I realized that I needed to step out in faith with my whole life, even though I was terrified to relinquish complete control. I needed to give up to God and stop playing it safe. That day I decided to throw back the curtain. 

Little did I know where such a resolution, being a wholehearted follower of Christ, would lead. At that point in time, it would lead me away from overseas work and back to the United States, the last place I wanted to be. I was made for overseas work! I felt lost, unsure of what awaited me in the United States. But I had done it. I had thrown the curtain aside and stopped clinging to it. I had chosen to look out upon whatever God had for me. 

Unfortunately, I still struggled to push aside the curtain in running and to stand awestruck before the Giver and what He had created my body to do. My coach has been seeing and telling me about it for the last three seasons. I could run, and I could go big. My coach would often look at course records on races, “Rachel, I think you can do that.” Sometimes I would. I ran without fear and would peak around the curtain to see what my coach was seeing. But other times I kept the curtain tightly shut. Scared to see what was beyond it. Failure? Dashed dreams? Injuries? But finally on March 23, 2024, I threw aside the curtain.

I decided earlier in the week that I was going to go hard. I wanted that course record! I stayed within the top five for a large majority of the race. I was feeling great! I hit the turnaround of the out and back course in fourth place, but shortly thereafter a freak rainstorm drenched everything, and definitely dampened my enthusiasm for being out there. The temperature plummeted, the wind gusted, the rain pelted down, and the trail turned to mud. I kept pushing as I fought against the elements. However, I soon lost feeling in my legs and my fingers. Goosebumps covered my arms, but my body was no longer registering the cold. My jacket and gloves, stored in my pack, were drenched. I knew I was in a bad way, but I also knew there was nothing to be done except to keep moving forward. "Relentless Forward Motion," I told myself, chanting the motto my coach has ingrained in me. My pace was falling behind. Relentless Forward Motion. As the rain continued, I prayed fervently that my husband would be at the next aid station with fresh clothes. I came to the aid station. No Sean. A heater and cot were in the tent, and I looked at it longingly, deciding whether I continue to risk potential hypothermia or get my body warm. I filled my bottle, nabbed a little food, and headed out. My body could wait. Run faster, and you will get warmer. I eventually regained feeling in my fingers and legs, but the circumstances had slowed my pace. I started pushing a bit harder. Make it to the single digits. I ticked down the miles one by one, urging myself to go faster. I climbed the trail to the top of Candy Mountain (it is not a very sweet climb, though). The record was slipping away. I kept pushing. I bombed around and down Badger Mountain, still trying for the women's course record. With less than a mile to go my watch timer ticked past the “record time.” I had missed it. Despite the disappointment I forced my legs to go faster. The fifth-place guy was coming, but I was determined to not let him take me. “I am not losing fourth!” I kicked myself into a new gear and crossed the finish line a mere second before the next competitor. I flopped to the ground in exhaustion. I had missed the “record” by 2 minutes! I was disappointed but knew that I had run myself ragged. I had finally done what coach has been telling me for years that I could do—run hard and big.

Pulling back the curtain to fully gaze on any part of our lives is never easy and very rarely completely enjoyable. In fact, it is usually quite uncomfortable and sometimes even utterly terrifying. It requires us to face fears, guilt, insecurities, heartache, and failure. Things that I don't think any of us really want to view in their fullness. It often feels safer to hide behind the curtain and peak around it to see things in partial than to fully gaze out the window at what God is calling us toward. If I don't see it, it isn't there. This childlike mindset is something I am guilty of.  As someone with a mental health disorder, I thrive on procedure and dread failure. My brain constantly barrages me with the "what ifs" of future failures, "What if you do this? What if you do that? You could destroy your life in just five seconds if you do this wrong." Yes, there is always a "what if" of failure. But God does not ask me to consider the what ifs of calamity, but the what ifs of victory, because He has already brought the victory over all my failures through His death on the cross and resurrection on the third day. He instead asks me to look beyond the curtain that He has already torn (Luke 23:45), no longer worrying if I followed all the ceremonial laws to merely enter the courtyard of the temple and invites me into the Holy of Holies and into the unknown of possibility with Him (Hebrews 4:14).

And the possibilities are endless. I didn’t fully grasp this until the morning of March 24 (the day after Badger Mountain) when I looked at the results. I had misread the time. I had not missed the record by 2 minutes. I had shattered it by 7 and half minutes!