I looked up from my phone to see a long line of tail lights glowing a steady red. If Ansel Adams were present, it still would have made for a terrible view. What does it mean to follow Jesus when nothing is happening, or can happen? Paul and the church at Philippi struggled to press on in their faith when the pain of persecution became too acute. I struggle to press on toward Christ because I'm too comfortable, distracted, guilty, and disconnected. How do I strain forward for the hope of heaven around the dinner table with my family, or when I'm getting some online shopping done? Paul is a heroic example. He planted churches across the Roman empire, suffered beatings, and also found time to write most of the New Testament. The Philippians couldn't think of anyone they respected more: he introduced them to Jesus and showed them how to live like Christ. But Paul refuses to get on a pedestal. He admits he hasn't obtained everything he's talking about, nor has he been made perfect. He's imperfectly gesturing in the direction of holiness. He still has vivid flashbacks to the Christians he murdered in the name of God. He doesn't have amnesia. But he refuses to coast on his past victories, or let his egregious failures keep him from trying again. Ultimately, he doesn't see the race as his. Jesus knocked him to the ground, blinded him, and told him what he had to do (see Acts 9:3-6). When he regained his sight, he got baptized, started to proclaim Jesus—and never stopped. Spiritual maturity isn't doctrinal mastery or impressive spiritual disciplines. It is about receiving the grace God has already given to us, and then faithfully running with him until we cross the finish line, and arrive home. My cross-country coach was an incredible encouragement, but he was still on the sidelines. Jesus ran the race before me, is running it with me, and one day, when my strength runs out, he will carry me across the finish line.