The Last Man on the Mound

In September 2013, Mariano Rivera walked to the pitcher's mound at Yankee Stadium for the final time. Nineteen seasons. Six hundred fifty-two saves — more than anyone in baseball history. Five World Series rings.

When Derek Jeter and Andy Pettitte came to pull him from the game, Rivera — the most unshakable closer baseball had ever seen — buried his face in Pettitte's shoulder and wept. Forty-eight thousand fans stood and cried with him.

What made that moment so powerful wasn't the statistics. It was the faithfulness. While teammates chased bigger contracts, Rivera stayed. He threw one pitch — the cut fastball — for nineteen years. He showed up every September. He finished what he started.

Paul understood that kind of ending. Writing to Timothy from a Roman prison, he didn't list his résumé of churches planted or miles walked. He said simply: "I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith." No embellishment needed. A faithful finish speaks for itself.

But Paul's confidence wasn't in his own consistency. "The Lord stood at my side and gave me strength," he wrote. Through shipwreck and stoning, betrayal and chains, the Almighty kept him on his feet.

The crown of righteousness Paul describes isn't reserved for the spectacular. It belongs to the steadfast — to everyone who, inning after inning, keeps showing up and throwing the pitch God gave them.