"Did you win?"

My five-year-old son's question was disheartening. Somehow my answer, "No, but I finished," lacked flair. Running, and completing, my first race in 17 years was a major accomplishment for me. But for Ben, success means Spiderman vanquishing the Green Goblin. He wasn't impressed.

Let's face it, no kid ever bragged, "My dad finished a race!" Nuance and moral victory are invisible to the five-year-old mind: I didn't win, therefore, I lost. What I refused to lose, however, was the opportunity to engage my son in an important discussion.

When we compete, what we learn about ourselves, the relationships that develop, and the way we treat one another is what matters. However, this is rarely the message we send our children. No one remembers the horse that placed sixth in the Kentucky Derby. Finishing 1,315th out of 2,020 entrants in a half-marathon is irrelevant. But we are not ultimately defined by our jobs, our place in society, or even our bank accounts. I am a priest and I believe that we are defined by our relationship with God and the impact this relationship has upon those whom we encounter. I believe that we are loved for the effort, whatever the result. When we win, God still loves us. When we lose, God still loves us. When we falter, God still loves us. When we finish, God still loves us. Winning and losing can never define our self-worth. That's the beauty of a relationship with the divine.

My race led to some great conversation. After the initial indignity I felt in response to my son's question, I explained that sometimes finishing is enough. There is joy in participating in something we love. My son loves to draw. We looked at some of his artwork and I asked him why he likes art. He shrugged his shoulders. Art, like life, I explained, isn't about winning. It's about the joy of creating. For me, running is also not about winning -- I'm not fast enough. But crossing the finish line is like finishing a drawing of which you're particularly proud. There's a sense of accomplishment and creation that exceeds the stark contrast between winning and losing. Ben stopped coloring his picture before it was complete and asked me to play Power Rangers with him. The conversation will continue.

In time, I hope to run a race or two with my boys. I want them to experience the exhilaration of finishing. As a parent, I hope they win one or two of life's races, whether it's acceptance to the college of their choice or getting that promotion. But I also know that more often than not they will simply cross the finish line. And that, in and of itself, is a winning effort.

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