I remember the moment I was preparing to step away from a ministry I had served in for eleven years. It wasn’t easy. Eleven years of memories, relationships, and countless meetings—it truly marked the end of a significant chapter in my life. Because of how I’m wired, those moments of closure are vivid in my mind. They leave an imprint. And now, I find myself in a similar season once again, as we prepare to relocate to Texas. Our three years here in this beautiful, blessed place called Montana have left us with memories we’ll carry for the rest of our lives.
In times like these, my mind often drifts to the theme song from the movie Skyfall. It’s the quintessential James Bond anthem. The music resonates with echoes of the original Bond score, and Adele’s performance is simply flawless. The lyrics—pure poetry—begin with haunting beauty:
“This is the end,
Hold your breath and count to ten,
Feel the Earth move and then,
Hear my heart burst again.
For this is the end.”
Powerful words! The song captures the finality of a moment with striking emotion, and I find it resonates deeply during transitions like this.
In 2 Timothy 4, the apostle Paul talks about the end, the real end, the ultimate end. This was his final letter before his death—his farewell, his final chapter. However, he also proclaims the beginning of another season, the season of eternal life. Here’s what he writes:
“As for me, my life has already been poured out as an offering to God. The time of my death is near. I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, and I have remained faithful. And now the prize awaits me—the crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous Judge, will give me on the day of His return. And the prize is not just for me but for all who eagerly look forward to His appearing.
As Paul reflects, I imagine memories flooding back—his days as a Pharisee, his persecution of early Christians, and that life-altering encounter with the very Jesus he once despised. From that moment on, everything changed. He gave up all he had known, all he had achieved, and began a completely new life—this time as a champion for the Gospel he once sought to destroy.
He endured so much—missionary journeys, beatings, persecution, shipwrecks, hunger. Those who once admired him now reviled him. In earthly terms, his transformation might have looked like a demotion, but in eternal terms, it was the greatest upgrade of all.
And as Paul looks back, there’s no hint of regret, no second-guessing. He is content. He is fulfilled. He knows the path he chose was worth it—not just for his own reward, but for the sake of others who would benefit from his obedience.
I once watched a video where people nearing death were asked about their biggest regrets. The most common answer? It wasn’t the things they did—it was the things they didn’t do.
But Paul didn’t have that regret. He did what God calls each of us to do: he ran the race well. He fought the good fight.
May we remember that each morning we rise. As long as we draw breath, may we continue to run our own race well, for His glory.
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