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Chapter One

The Victorious Heart

If I am for you, who can be against you? In all things, youare much more than a victorious conqueror through me. Nothing canstop me from loving you – not death or life, angels ordemons, current circumstances or anything in the future. Knowthat nothing and no one in all of the entire world can separateyou from my totally awesome and indescribable love.

Love always and unconditionally,

Your God of Victory

Romans 8:31–39

Inspirational Message

With tears staining your cheeks and pride swelling your heart,you smile for the cheering thousands. The TV cameras pan theaudience until they finally focus on your proud family, who ischeering encouragement to you and telling all within earshot thatyou belong to them.

Most of us will never know the exhilaration of winning a goldmedal at the Olympics. But in our imaginations, we’ve allproudly stood on that top platform . . .If only it could be true.

Your world may be filled with challenges just as trying asthose faced by top Olympic contenders, but no roaring crowdscheer you on, and no one offers you a gold medal for your valiantefforts to win this game called life.

But wait . . . if you listen closely, you might just hear thefaint sound of cheering. And as you open your heart to thepossibilities, the cheers will become louder and louder as youdiscover their source. Hebrews 12 says that we have a great cloudof witnesses surrounding us, cheering us to run with perseverancethe race marked out for us. More than spectators, these witnessesare previous competitors, and they understand the sacrificesyou’re making and the pain you’ve endured.

And if you’ll pan the crowd, you’ll see your Father– he’s the one leading the cheer. Arms raised, indexfinger extended, he’s shouting to you, "You’renumber one! You’re number one!" Beside him is yourbrother Jesus. He’s turning to others in the crowd,excitedly telling all that you belong to him.

You are declared the winner!

The spirit, the will to win, and the will to excel are thethings that endure. These qualities are so much more importantthan the events that occur.

—Vince Lombardi

The Winner

I was watching some little kids play soccer. These kids wereonly five or six years old, but they were playing a real game– a serious game – two teams, complete with coaches,uniforms, and parents. I didn’t know any of them, so I wasable to enjoy the game without the distraction of being anxiousabout winning or losing – I wished the parents and coaches could have done the same.

The teams were pretty evenly matched. I will just call themTeam One and Team Two. Nobody scored in the first period. Thekids were hilarious. They were clumsy and terribly inefficient.They fell over their own feet, they stumbled over the ball, theykicked at the ball and missed it – but they didn’t seemto care.

They were having fun.

In the second quarter, the Team One coach pulled out what musthave been his first team and put in the scrubs, except for hisbest player who now guarded the goal. The game took a dramaticturn. I guess winning is important – even when you’refive years old – because the Team Two coach left his bestplayers in, and the Team One scrubs were no match for them. TeamTwo swarmed around the little guy who was now the Team Onegoalie. He was an outstanding athlete, but he was no match forthree or four boys who were also very good. Team Two began toscore.

The lone goalie gave it everything he had, recklessly throwinghis body in front of incoming balls, trying valiantly to stopthem. Team Two scored two goals in quick succession. Itinfuriated the young boy. He became a raging maniac –shouting, running, diving. With all the stamina he could muster,he covered the boy who now had the ball, but that boy kicked itto another boy twenty feet away, and by the time he repositionedhimself, it was too late – they scored a third goal.

I soon learned who the goalie’s parents were. They werenice, decent-looking people. I could tell that his dad had justcome from the office – he still had his suit and tie on.They yelled encouragement to their son. I became totallyabsorbed, watching the boy on the field and his parents on thesidelines.

After the third goal, the little kid changed. He could see itwas no use; he couldn’t stop them. He didn’t quit, buthe became quietly desperate – futility was written all over him.

His father changed too. He had been urging his son to tryharder – yelling advice and encouragement. But then hechanged. He became anxious. He tried to say that it was okay– to hang in there. He grieved for the pain his son wasfeeling.

After the fourth goal, I knew what was going to happen.I’ve seen it before. The little boy needed help so badly,and there was no help to be had. He retrieved the ball from thenet and handed it to the referee – and then he cried. Hejust stood there while huge tears rolled down both cheeks. Hewent to his knees and put his fists to his eyes – and hecried the tears of the helpless and brokenhearted.

When the boy went to his knees, I saw the father start ontothe field. His wife clutched his arm and said, "Jim,don’t. You’ll embarrass him." But he tore loosefrom her and ran onto the field. He wasn’t supposed to– the game was still in progress. Suit, tie, dress shoes,and all – he charged onto the field, and he picked up hisson so everybody would know that this was his boy, and he huggedhim and held him and cried with him. I’ve never been soproud of a man in my life.

He carried him off the field, and when he got close to thesidelines I heard him say, "Scotty, I’m so proud ofyou. You were great out there. I want everybody to know that youare my son."

"Daddy," the boy sobbed, "I couldn’t stopthem. I tried, Daddy, I tried and tried, and they scored onme."

"Scotty, it doesn’t matter how many times theyscored on you. You’re my son, and I’m proud of you. Iwant you to go back out there and finish the game. I know youwant to quit, but you can’t. And, son, you’re going toget scored on again, but it doesn’t matter. Go on,now."

It made a difference – I could tell it did. Whenyou’re all alone, and you’re getting scored on –and you can’t stop them – it means a lot to know thatit doesn’t matter to those who love you. The little guy ranback on to the field – and they scored two more times – but it was okay.

I get scored on every day. I try so hard. I recklessly throwmy body in every direction. I fume and rage. I struggle withtemptation and sin with every ounce of my being – and Satanlaughs. And he scores again, and the tears come, and I go to myknees – sinful, convicted, helpless. And my Father – myFather rushes right out on the field – right in front of thewhole crowd – the whole jeering, laughing world – andhe picks me up, and he hugs me and he says, "John, I’mso proud of you. You were great out there. I want everybody toknow that you are my son, and because I control the outcome ofthis game, I declare you – The Winner."