Daily Devotional (GPS)

On Monday I mentioned I ran cross country and track through high school, and I think my experiences there really connect to this message.

Most people, when watching a race, stand at either the start, or the end. All the highlights come from the start, or the end. But there’s a moment in every race that no one really talks about. It’s not the starting line, full of adrenaline and excitement. It’s not the finish line, where the crowd is loud and the reward is visible. It’s the middle. The long stretch of trail where spectators disappear. The back half of a track race when your legs feel heavy and your breathing turns ragged. That’s the place where it’s just you… and the decision to keep going. That’s where my endurance was confirmed.

Mia Hamm once said, “The vision of a champion is bent over, drenched in sweat, at the point of exhaustion when nobody else is looking.” That’s true in sports—but it’s also exactly what Peter is getting at in this passage. Peter reminds us that we are “immigrants and strangers in the world.” In other words, this world isn’t our home field. We’re running on unfamiliar terrain, surrounded by people who don’t always understand why we run the way we do. And that shows up in the “middle miles” of life. When no one is watching. When doing the right thing costs you something. When it would be easier to blend in, cut corners, or give in to the pressure around you. Peter urges us: live honorably anyway.

That’s hard. Because sometimes living differently means being misunderstood. It might even mean being criticized. In running terms, it’s like choosing to stick to your race plan while everyone else surges ahead—you look like you’re falling behind, even though you’re running with purpose. But endurance isn’t about the crowd. It’s about the calling. Peter doesn’t just give us a command—he gives us an example: Jesus. Jesus ran His race perfectly. He didn’t sin. He didn’t retaliate when insulted. He didn’t threaten when He suffered. Instead, He gave Himself to God. That kind of endurance feels almost unreachable. Because if I’m being honest, nobody responds like that every time. We get frustrated. We snap back. We carry guilt from the times we fall short.

And this is where the Bible changes everything. Because Jesus didn’t just show us how to run—He carried what we couldn’t. Peter says, “He carried in his own body on the cross the sins we committed… By his wounds you were healed.” In a race, you carry your own weight. Your own fatigue. Your own pain. But in life with Christ, you don’t carry your guilt alone. You don’t have to prove yourself. You don’t have to outrun your mistakes. Jesus already bore that weight for you. That means when you stumble—and you will—you’re not disqualified. You’re forgiven. You’re healed. You’re invited to get back up and keep running.

So what does it look like to live this out? It looks like choosing integrity when it would be easier to fake it. It looks like responding with grace when someone comes at you. It looks like continuing to follow Jesus even when it feels like you’re the only one. It’s running your race differently—on purpose. Because you’re not running for the approval of the crowd. You’re running as a citizen of a different kingdom. And one day, Peter says, even the people who misunderstood you will see it. They’ll recognize something different. Something real. Something worth glorifying God for. So keep going. In the quiet miles. In the unseen moments. In the exhaustion. That’s where champions are made. And that’s where faith becomes real. Because endurance isn’t just about finishing the race. It’s about who you become along the way—and who you trust to carry you when you can’t go any further.