When my friend Kaitlynn asked me if I knew any kids who weren't able to walk because they had an illness or a condition, I thought for a bit.

"Well . . ." I debated, "I guess you could talk to Sabrina. She's able to walk, but she had a lot of surgeries when she was a baby, and now she walks with crutches."

"Oh! Ok. That would be perfect!" Kaitlynn nodded.

Kaitlynn and I were road-tripping together just then, and she was describing her training for a marathon in just a few weeks. Having run for hours at a time, she knew the race would require more than physical stamina. Endurance running is a mental discipline.

"I don't want to run this race for me," Kaitlynn told me. "I want to run it for a kid who can't run. I want to pray for that kid while I'm in pain in the last miles of the race, to get my mind off myself and my pain!"

This wasn't the first time Kaitlynn decided to shift her focus.

Kaitlynn has been running since elementary school, and in high school, she invested many hours in training and competing. She was very successful in the races she ran, and came to Sterling College on a cross-country scholarship.

During her freshman year, though, Kaitlynn realized she was losing the joy of running, in the pressure of trying to compete for the team.

She began to wonder if she should stop running in college. Several obstacles stood in her way--big ones. She needed her scholarship to pay for her tuition at Sterling College, a private Christian school. Besides, Kaitlynn loved running. She had invested all her spare time and energy in it since elementary school, and had gotten really good at it.

Like many college athletes, Kaitlynn knew running wasn't just a sport. It was the way she defined herself; the way she measured her discipline; and the way she collected affirmation.

"I realized that I was putting my identity in my running, and it was coming before God,” she told me.

She decided to follow God in what felt like a crazy step-- give up her athletic scholarship, and focus instead on her other love: writing.

That, of course, is how I met Kaitlynn--in the English department at Sterling with the other book nerds.

And it was through the English department that God provided the first confirmation of her faith: one of her professors offered her a scholarship to match the athletic scholarship she let go.

It took several months until the college administration confirmed the switch, and Kaitlynn waited last summer, checking daily to see if this really would work out. And it did.

Kaitlynn wanted to keep running, just for fun, she said. But she also wanted to challenge herself, and worked out a training schedule to run the Gobbler Grind marathon in Kansas City on November 13.

I loved Kaitlynn's idea to motivate herself--encouraging a kid who couldn't run. She didn't want to just hear about this little girl I knew; she wanted to meet her before the race, and afterward, give her the medal she hoped to win for completing the marathon. But when she asked about a kid who was sick and couldn't walk, I wasn't sure if Sabrina was who she wanted.

Here's why: I forget that Sabrina is "disabled." She out-lives the label.

I see her take quick, hopping steps after the kids she plays with after church, never daunted by the distance or the difference between their legs and hers.

I hear her carrying mature conversations with kids and adults alike.

I remember how she asked me matter-of-factly at a church event, "Do you mind carrying me through the line to get my food? I need help with that." After we filled her plate, she thanked me politely, making it clear she could handle the rest of the meal on her own.

I marveled that evening at how Sabrina handled her limitations. She took responsibility for what she couldn't do, asking me for help. Yet she took care of herself the rest of the time. I realized then how her parents had trained her wisely, teaching her to ask courteously when she really couldn't do something herself, and the rest of time finding ways to be independent.

Mind you, she was probably four years old at the time of the story I just told.

"She has a worldly wisdom," her mother, Miriam, told me. "She's had to grow up sooner than other children, because she has seen the harder side of life. But that's not all bad."

Sabrina has spina bifida, and experienced half a dozen surgeries before she was a year old, spending over ten weeks in the hospital. Her spinal cord wasn't protected by vertebrae at the base of her spine, and her first surgery corrected that. Still, the neural connection to her legs is damaged, so Sabrina has little feeling and control from her waist to her toes.

Another symptom of spina bifida is excessive fluid on the brain. Sabrina had to have a line inserted in her brain, which runs down her neck and into her abdominal cavity, to drain the fluid. Unfortunately, the line got infected several times, which is why Sabrina went through so many operations until the line finally worked properly.

Sabrina has been doing therapy ever since she was a baby. She turned six recently, and she told my sister, soberly, "I was dreaming to be able to walk without crutches before I was six years old, but I guess that's not going to happen."

It's hard not to tear up at her resignation. What kid should have to face that disappointment?

Kaitlynn and I went to Sabrina's house, and the whole family was waiting at the door to welcome us-- Sabrina, her mom and dad, and her five siblings. They seated us in the living room, and Sabrina sat next to Kaitlynn, gazing intently at her.

"She's been looking forward to this all week," Miriam had told me the day before. "To have someone come just to see her is pretty special."

They asked about Kaitlynn's race, and why she wanted to run for Sabrina. They all listened carefully--except for Christopher, who is three and hasn't learned yet that in the Miller family guests are treated with great attention. (His family gently tried to divert him from dominating the conversation.)

Miriam, Kaitlynn, and Sabrina talking close to the end of the evening. | Photo by Jewel Yoder

Sabrina couldn't keep quiet, though, when she heard how long the marathon is. "You're going to run twenty miles? How can you do that?"

Kaitlynn laughed. "Well, it's actually 26 miles. I don't know if I can. I've only run 20. But I'm going to try."

Then Miriam brought out Sabrina's baby books, and started telling us about that first year of her life. Sabrina was ready to move on, however, and before I knew it, I was the only one listening to Miriam's tale. Kaitlynn was off in the corner of the living room, playing with dolls and being vastly entertained by Sabrina and Christopher.

Kaitlynn told me later that Sabrina wasn't excited about Christopher trying to join their fun. "She told me, 'This is so stressful!' She has such a big vocabulary. I don't think I even knew the word 'stressful' when I was her age!"

Christopher, Kaitlynn, and Sabrina reading books together. | Photo by Jewel Yoder

Kaitlynn read books to the younger kids, while I played a game with the older ones. Then they dished out Neapolitan ice cream for us before we left, and we reluctantly ended the evening. Sabrina had bonded to Kaitlynn immediately, and it was hard to tear ourselves away. We promised to come back after the race, whether or not Kaitlynn had a medal to bring with her.

About a week ago, Kaitlynn and I met for supper. The day before, she had met her goal at the marathon: she ran all 26 miles in less than four hours, clocking in at 3:58.

"Here's the best part," Kaitlynn grinned. "The point at five or six miles into the race when I was so happy, I realized, 'God does really know what is best for me.' It was the craziest thing in the world for God to ask me to give up running in college. It was so scary to put everything on the altar. But it was the best race I ever ran. It was so fun. There was no pressure."

"Thinking of Sabrina really helped me after the 20th mile. She deserves that medal! Way more than I do."

I thought about it. "You know, kids with disabilities like hers-- they do therapy, day after day, and it's hard and discouraging, but they never get recognition. All we see is that they can't walk like we can, but we don't know how hard they've worked to get where they are."

Kaitlynn's eyes lighted up, and she grabbed her phone. "I need to write that down. Kids with disabilities should get that recognition!"

So I end this, and I have to say that I wish I could give both my friends a medal.

Kaitlynn has to be one of the most determined and disciplined friends I have ever had, but she doesn't seem to realize that she could preen herself about it. Instead, she looks for people to encourage, who would love to soak up her time and kindness--like Sabrina.

I already told you how much I admire Sabrina. I realized all over again, though, just how much she still has to work for something I can do without even thinking: walking. She still does therapy every day, without the assurance that she will be able to get rid of crutches.

They both live out fierce courage.

Kaitlynn had the guts to keep running where it needed to be in her life-- challenging and rejuvenating her, but not providing her identity.

Sabrina clings to her audacious goal-- walking without crutches or a walker, even though few kids with her condition ever can.

But perhaps, in the end, a medal would not be enough to award their daring. Their kinship is far more rewarding to both of them, as they share the satisfaction of beating struggle, fear, and discouragement.

We rejoice in hope of the glory of God. Not only that, but we rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not put us to shame, because God's love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit [whom he gave] to us. Rom 5:2-3