try

When you try your best, but you don't succeed
When you get what you want, but not what you need
When you feel so tired, but you can't sleep
Stuck in reverse

And the tears come streaming down your face
When you lose something you can't replace
When you love someone, but it goes to waste
Could it be worse?

Lights will guide you home
And ignite your bones
And I will try to fix you

And high up above or down below
When you're too in love to let it go
But if you never try you'll never know
Just what you're worth

Lights will guide you home
And ignite your bones
And I will try to fix you

Tears stream down on your face
When you lose something you cannot replace
Tears stream down on your face
And I...

Tears stream down on your face
I promise you I will learn from my mistakes
Tears stream down on your face
And I...

Lights will guide you home
And ignite your bones
And I will try to fix you        
                                   coldplay


i love the olympics.  i love them.  i love it on a global and individual level.  the world comes together- the playing field is leveled- all are welcomed.  athletes and teams have worked for years for this- for their moment in history- for the chance to be known- to be recognized- for the world to see.  for three weeks- there is unity even in the competition.  for three weeks, it doesn't matter what the literacy rate is in african countries, it only matters who is the fastest, who throws the farthest. for three weeks our differences take a backseat to our similarities.  our eyes are on the athletes, and we listen for our anthem, for our flag to raise above the rest, their moment in glory, our nations pride.  

this was the first time in my life that i missed out on the olympics. we didn't have a TV, then we got one, but with out reception.  so i was able to read about it, and see some snippets of things on others television's.  one of my favorite things about the olympics is the stories. 


one of the stories i saw was the derek redmond story.  barcelona olympics 1992.  400 meter sprint.  half way through he injures his  hamstring- falls to the ground. his moment- gone. taken. lost.  all those years of training- the hours-the sweat- the denial of other things- the focus. gone.


can you imagine what must have gone through his head as he feels the wind from those passing him rush by? holding his thigh, kneeling on that track he knows so well, left behind.  but.  he gets up.  pushes away the trainers.  he starts to walk, and hop, and run, and hop.  he has his eyes on that finish- his eyes that have held that finish line in sight for so long.  it's blurry from his tears, from his pain and his broken heart.  you can see his agony- his effort- his struggle.


then, out of the crowd, comes an older man in a baseball hat.  he pushes through the trainers too and runs to derek.  his boy.  his son.  the boy he watched take his first steps, the boy who used to chase after him on wobbly toddler legs, the boy who grew and became so fast that he's representing his country in the olympics.  he puts his arm around him, and helps his son hop to the finish line. together.


i watched it and i wept.  those seconds spoke so much more and so much louder than had he won.  it wasn't about him being the fastest man anymore- it was about his character- it was still his moment- all eyes were on him- and broken as he was, he finished what he'd started. there was victory.  different than expected- but pow-er-ful! 

and he wasn't alone. 


those seconds were a divine moment.  that was a glimmer of our God.  the father who doesn't abandon, who is not far, not watching, but holding us, giving us enough support that we can shine even in our darkest moments. 

the story of derek redmond has inspired more lives then he ever would have if he'd simply won.  his story is about way more than trying, or even overcoming, it's about love, and faithfulness, and togetherness and relationship. 

most of our lives are not as glorious as dereks.  most of us never stand in the spotlight and have a chance to succeed or fail with the world watching us. but all of us have moments.  all of us have choices.  sometimes we are the injured sprinter deciding whether or not to get up, or whether or not to accept someones shoulder, whether or not to embrace companionship in our suffering. other times we are the one holding him up and running softly beside- trying to fix things as best we can- knowing we can't, but being brave enough to join in and hold and hop and cry too.

these are our defining moments.