The Race He Wouldn't Run

When Eric Liddell arrived in Paris for the 1924 Olympics, he carried a conviction that would cost him the race he'd trained his whole life to run. The Scottish sprinter was Britain's best hope for gold in the 100 meters. But Liddell had already learned that the qualifying heats were scheduled for a Sunday — the Lord's Day. Without hesitation, he withdrew.

The pressure was immense. The British Olympic Committee was furious. Officials made personal appeals. Teammates urged him to reconsider. The newspapers called it a betrayal. But Liddell had settled the question long before Paris — not in a moment of crisis, but in years of quiet faithfulness. He already knew who he ran for.

He entered the 400 meters instead — not his primary event — trained as best he could in the weeks remaining, and won gold, setting a world record with a time of 47.6 seconds.

What moves us isn't the medal. It's the calm with which Liddell made his choice. He didn't bargain with God or look for a loophole. He simply obeyed.

Obedience rarely looks like the winning move from the outside. It usually means surrendering something — a race, an opportunity, a relationship that asks us to compromise. But Liddell understood what the Almighty already knew: that the path of obedience, however costly, leads somewhere better than the one we mapped for ourselves.

When we trust the One who sets our course, we discover that obedience isn't the smaller life. It's the larger one.