28 And we know that all things work together for good to those who love God, to those who are the called according to His purpose. (Romans 8:28)

Practice Before the Big Day

The sun dipped low over the stadium, casting gold streaks on the rubber track. Kendra Morris sprinted down lane four, her shoes kissing the surface with every powerful stride. Her coach whistled from the sideline.

“Last one, Kendra!” he called. “Make it count!”

She exploded down the straightaway, her arms pumping, her breathing controlled.

As she slowed to a walk, drenched in sweat, she tilted her head toward the sky. The clouds started to fade into lavender streaks.

“God,” she whispered, bending over, hands on her knees, “I’ve trained. I’ve sacrificed. Please… just let me win tomorrow. Let this be the plan.”

The Fall

The morning of the Florida State Championships was almost too perfect.

Not a cloud in the sky. Warm, dry air. Flags snapping crisply in the Florida breeze above the packed bleachers. The buzz of expectation was electric, and at the center of it all was one name: Tampa King Senior High School’s Kendra Morris.

The undefeated senior. The record-setter. The girl everyone came to see.

“You ready to make history?” Coach Taylor asked as he handed her a bottle of water.

Kendra nodded, though her hands trembled.

Spectators leaned over the rails shouting her name. Friends snapped pictures. News crews prepped their cameras.

Everyone expected her to win.

Everyone.

She stood alone in the warm-up area, headphones in, trying to tune it all out. But the pressure pressed in like heat. Her body felt tight, her throat dry. She closed her eyes and whispered a prayer.

“Lord, I’ve done everything I can. I gave You the late nights, the sore legs, the missed parties, the hard work. Please—let this be Your plan. Let me win.”

She walked to the starting line as her name was called.

“Lane four… Kendra Morris!”

The roar of the crowd made her heart pound harder.

She crouched into the blocks. Every nerve in her body lit up.

The gun cracked.

And she flew.

She was perfect—at first.

The first 100 meters were effortless. Her stride long, arms smooth, eyes fixed ahead. Her coach’s voice carried faintly over the noise. “Good! Good! Stay there!”

By the 200 mark, she still led, but Melissa Crane of Miami’s Booker T. Washington High in lane three began to close the gap. Kendra didn’t panic. She stuck to the plan.

Relax. Hit the curve. Kick at 300. This is your race.

Coming off the bend, she shifted into that final gear—driving her knees high, pushing through the fire in her legs.

And then—

Snap.

It was barely noticeable—a misstep. A toe clipping the inside of her own heel. A fraction of an inch.

But it was enough.

Her rhythm broke. Her balance tipped. Her body lurched forward—arms flailing, face twisting in panic.

She hit the track hard.

The world gasped.

Ten meters from glory, Kendra Morris was down.

A moment passed.

And then, slowly—painfully—she pushed herself to her hands and knees. Her knee throbbed. Her elbows stung. Her vision blurred from tears.

One by one, the other runners flew by her.

She stood up, trembling, her breath ragged, the stadium noise now a dull roar.

She limped toward the finish line, eyes locked on it, even as everything inside her screamed to stop.

By the time she crossed, the scoreboard had already changed. Her name sat at the bottom.

8th place. Dead last.

Later, Kendra sat on a bench behind the stadium, her medal-less neck bowed, track dust still clinging to her skin. Blood crusted over a scrape on her palm. She barely blinked.

Mama Dee found her there, as if she knew exactly where to go.

“Baby.”

Kendra didn’t look up.

“I blew it,” she whispered. “I asked God to let me win. I believed He would. And He let me fall.”

Mama Dee sat beside her and said nothing for a long moment. Just the sound of wind passing through the trees filled the silence.

Then softly: “You think God only works in the win?”

Kendra said nothing.

Mama Dee continued, “Romans 8:28. All things work together for good. Not just victory. Not just gold. All things. Even this.”

“But I finished last,” Kendra muttered. “How could that possibly work for my good?”

“Yes. And you finished. That matters more than you know,” Mama Dee said with a comforting smile. “We don’t know what the good is that will come from this but I’m betting it will be more than you know.”

Unexpected Purpose

Then came the assembly. Melissa Crane, stepped up to the mic, received her gold medal, the smile bigger than anyone expected.

“This win was special to me. I gave it my all. I was diagnosed with Leukemia but I trained through chemo, through pain, through doubt,” Melissa said, locking eyes with Kendra. “But I kept going because of her. Kendra Morris. I read about the fire within her and it lit mine. I knew this would likely be my last race but I wanted to run against the best, I wanted to run against Kendra. I’m sorry it happened this way but Kendra, keep running for the kingdom.”

Kendra’s mouth parted in surprise. She heard about Melissa and expected her to be the competition but she battled through more than Kendra ever did.

“I know you never knew but Kendra you gave me the strength,” Melissa finished. “And I wouldn’t be standing here without you.”

After the assembly, the two girls sat together backstage.

“I never heard anything about your leukemia. I’m shocked you still ran,” Kendra said quietly.

“I didn’t want pity so I kept it to myself. My doctors said I shouldn’t run. That I shouldn’t put my body through the training but I said, God says, I can do all things through Him. I wanted to run this race. I had to run it,” Melissa replied. “Kendra, losing didn’t make you less. It made you real. Now go do God’s work. I know He has something special for you.”

Kendra hugged her tightly.

Next Year at the University of Miami

Kendra earned a scholarship to the University of Miami. Though she arrived with quiet doubts, the memory of Melissa—and her words—pushed her every time her legs felt heavy. She thought training for the state championship was hard but now with Melissa’s story in mind, she pushed herself to another level.

In her freshman year, she led her team to the NCAA regionals, surprising even her upperclassman teammates. Between races and lectures, she often found herself in the quiet stillness of the campus chapel.

One evening, as golden light streamed through the stained-glass windows, she knelt and whispered,
“God, I’ve learned this isn’t just about personal glory or medals. I realize now that my life is a living Bible. Let me run for You and Your Kingdom.”

That same year, the Olympic trials were held. Against the odds—and to the shock of many—Kendra qualified to compete.

But the pressure felt different now—not chained to identity or expectation, but driven by quiet purpose.

On the morning of the Olympic Trials final, she sat alone in the warm-up room, lacing her shoes with calm precision. In her bag sat a folded piece of paper—her grandmother’s handwriting in bold strokes:

Romans 8:28.

Her coach walked in and gave her a nod.

“Got your race plan?” he asked.

Kendra looked up. “Yes, sir. But I’ve also got my calling.”

He grinned. “Go show the world what that looks like.”

And Kendra did just that.

She ran free, her stride fueled not by fear but by faith.

She qualified for the Olympic Trials final—one race away from the dream she never imagined achieving.

The Trials Final

The stadium in Eugene, Oregon was electric.

This was it. The Olympic Trials final—eight of the fastest women in the country, all chasing three spots. Kendra stood in lane six, eyes fixed on the track ahead, but her mind was steady.

She pressed a hand to her chest, breathing deeply. In her bag back in the locker room, the folded note from Mama Dee waited—Romans 8:28—now soft and creased from wear.

Then came the voice—Melissa’s—rising in her memory, gentle but fierce:

“Win the trials. Win the gold, Run for the Kingdom.”

Kendra closed her eyes. This is for her, too.

The announcer called names. The crowd roared.

“Lane six… Kendra Morris, University of Miami!”

She stepped forward to a burst of cheers. The air tasted like electricity.

She crouched into her blocks.

The silence before the gun was deafening.

Lord, let me run for Your glory.

Bang.

Kendra shot out clean. Her drive phase was crisp, precise. She felt her rhythm lock into place by the 150 mark.

One runner surged ahead on the inside lane—Olympic veteran Tami Griffin. Another trailed just a step ahead of Kendra in lane five.

By 250 meters, Kendra could feel her legs scream. But she didn’t panic. Not this time. Memories of Melissa’s strength fueled her drive.

She remembered stumbling ten meters from the finish line at the State Championships.

She remembered how it felt to be last.

But this wasn’t that race.

She gritted her teeth, driving forward through the final curve, pulling even with the runner in lane five. Her body burned. Her chest ached. Her arms begged to drop.

And then—

She leaned.

A blink. A flash. The line.

She slowed to a jog, then bent over, hands on her knees, gasping. The scoreboard flipped.

  1. Griffin – 49.72
    2. Holloway – 49.85
    3. Morris – 49.90

Kendra looked up, stunned.

She placed third.

Third place.

Just enough.

Enough to make the U.S. Olympic team.

Tears filled her eyes. Mama Dee was right!

Her coach rushed over and lifted her into a hug. “You did it, Kendra! You’re going to the Olympics!”

The Olympic Stage

The Olympic stadium in Tokyo thundered with life. The 400-meter final was minutes away.

Kendra stood in the tunnel beneath the track, bouncing lightly on her toes, headphones draped around her neck. The three American woman all made the finals, her competition would be tough but now she was relaxed. She knew God was in control. Her heart beat in slow, heavy thumps. She whispered scripture under her breath, eyes closed.

Then—her phone buzzed in her warm-up bag.

Her coach raised an eyebrow. “Everything okay?”

Kendra hesitated. “Yeah… I just need a second.”

She stepped aside, unzipped her bag, and glanced at the screen.

Unknown Number. Florida.

She answered.

“Hello?”

The voice on the other end was soft. “Is this Kendra Morris?”

“Yes. Who is this?”

“This is Angela Crane… Melissa’s mother.”

Kendra straightened, suddenly still.

“She wanted you to know… she passed away this morning.”

Kendra closed her eyes. A single breath escaped her lips.

“She made me promise to call you. She said…”—Angela’s voice cracked—“Tell Kendra… win the gold for the Kingdom. Those were her last words.”

Silence.

Then quiet sobs.

“Thank you,” Kendra whispered, wiping tears from her cheeks. “Thank you for telling me.”

“She admired you,” Angela said. “She believed in you, all the way.”

The call ended.

Kendra stood in the tunnel, clutching her phone, trembling. Not from fear—but purpose.

Her coach approached. “Everything okay?”

She took a breath, then nodded slowly.

“She’s gone,” Kendra said. “Melissa.”

The coach’s face dropped. “The girl who had leukemia? I’m sorry, kid.”

“She told me to win it… for the Kingdom.”

He placed a hand on her shoulder. “Then go show the world what that looks like.”

Tokyo – The Final

The stadium roared as the athletes were called to the track.

Kendra stepped into lane five, her heart steady now—not with pride, not with fear, but peace.

“All things work together…” she whispered.

The gun cracked.

She exploded from the blocks, every inch of her body tuned like an instrument of grace and power.

She sailed through 100 meters, kept her form through the curve, and by 200 she was right there—third, with more left in the tank.

Her legs burned. Her arms begged to drop. But she leaned into the fire.

This is for Melissa. For Mama Dee. For the Kingdom.

The final stretch opened before her.

She passed one runner. Then another.

And then—

The finish line.

She crossed it first.

Glory

Kendra slowed to a stop, her body screaming, her vision blurred.

The scoreboard confirmed it.

  1. Morris – 49.38 seconds

She dropped to her knees, arms lifted, tears streaming.

In the greatest moment of her career, with gold around her neck and the whole world watching—

She gave the glory to God.

“This is for You,” she whispered. “And for her.”

 

After the Win

At the press conference, a reporter asked, “Kendra, what made the difference in your performance?”

She smiled, gold medal in hand.

“I lost a race once that I thought meant everything. But God used that loss to change someone’s life—and mine. Romans 8:28 says all things work together for good for those who love God. That verse has carried me through.”

She looked toward the cameras.

“This medal isn’t just for me. It’s for a girl who inspired me to run with purpose. Her name was Melissa Crane. She believed in me when I didn’t believe in myself.”

If you like this story check out more short stories in Creative Inspirations

Other other great author look to Lyfe Publishing