I am probably one of the least competitive people on the face of the earth.
I’m a classic Type B personality. I’ve never been the best at anything, so there was never much need to fight for position. I grew up taking dance and piano, not playing sports. My big sister was always smarter and more athletic, so on the rare occasion we did compete, I got used to losing to her without caring too much.
And even now as a spectator at my kids’ events, I just want them to have a good time, feel good about how they did and not get hurt. And honestly, if there were a way both teams could win, I would prefer that.
That’s me on sports or board games. But when it comes to real life, I hate to fail. Hate it.
Failing is an altogether different story. It’s personal. It’s embarrassing. It’s painful. And inevitably becomes ingrained in my psyche that I failed because I must be a failure.
I know if I were more mature, I could take failures in stride and remind myself that I learn more from failures than successes, blah, blah, blah. But we’re just not there yet. And I’m not alone.
Younger generations are getting a reputation for not being willing to try something unless they know they can succeed. While our parents and grandparents understood the concept of paying their dues, working their way up and delayed gratification, we grew up with microwaves, McDonald’s and the internet.
These days, if you don’t know how to do something, there’s no try and try again until you get it. You Google it, watch a youtube video on it, master it in the privacy of your own home before you ever have to do it in front of others.
And no matter how little I care about winning a competition, I have rarely signed up for a situation where I knew I couldn’t succeed. Although there was one recent instance when I definitely had my doubts.
As many of you know, I did a 5k with my teenage stepson back in March. And this wasn’t just any ole 5k on a street or sidewalk. Oh no. This was the freakin’ Battle Frog Series 5k, chock full of obstacles designed by Navy Seals.
I agreed to this lunacy on one condition: that Beau wouldn’t leave me. Even if it meant him dragging my lifeless body across the finish line, he had to stay with me. And bless his heart, he totally did. He was fourteen years old, on the track team, tall and lean, zero body fat. The kid could have finished in half our time if he wasn’t waiting for yours truly.
But we did it. And I have to say, it was awesome.
There was this ridiculous obstacle at the end that was all upper body strength, so I knew I was in trouble. Beau scrambled up the rope like a squirrel on speed. I stared at that wall for a while and decided to give it three 100% tries before climbing up the loser ladder on the side.
Try #1 wasn’t horrible. I ran halfway up a sloped wall, grabbed the rope and tried to hoist myself up to the top. I held on for a few beats and slid back down. No problem, no problem. Two more tries, I told myself. Real tries. Here we go.
Try #2 I didn’t get any farther, but this time I lost my grip and fell far and hard on my right side.
It. Really. Hurt.
I wanted to just lie there for a while and collect myself, but everybody was watching. So I struggled to my feet quickly, albeit shakily, and slunk back to the rest of the group working up the nerve to attempt the wall.
I hunched over, rested my hands on my knees, tried to catch my breath and inwardly assess the damage. I was standing(ish) and was pretty sure nothing was broken. There was a strange pain on the inside and suddenly I remembered all the episodes of Grey’s Anatomy when people died from internal bleeding. Beau was waiting for me at the top and I decided not to press my luck. Screw Try #3. Point me to the loser ladder.
I mustered up an apologetic smile for Brad, Sydney and Caroline who had come out to support us and limped over to the side, climbed to the top, slid down the other side into a pool of freezing water, crawled through thick sand under wires, stood up, and crossed the finish line with Beau.
I was pretty sore for the next few days, which didn’t really bother me, considering I was expecting to be in a hospital somewhere. I had a couple skinned knees, but the most impressive-looking injuries were my right elbow and the side of my right thigh, where I landed in my fall from glory.
The bruise on my leg was hideous, but I was honestly disappointed that it wasn’t in a more visible place. Even though it was clear evidence of a bad fall, a failure, I was strangely proud of it.
The fact is, going into that experience, I wasn’t completely sure I could finish. I hadn’t exercised in a while. My endurance was at a new low. There was at least a 50-50 shot that I might have to say ‘uncle’ part way through.
A couple of my favorite movies have these pivotal scenes where the hero has knowingly walked into a battle he knew would cost him his life. Those scenes are always terribly moving and inspiring to me. That’s real courage. Fighting a battle you know you can’t win, but you fight nonetheless. For honor. For principle.
Here’s the deal. If God moves your heart to do something (regardless of how much sense it makes or its chances of success), you just do it. It’s not on us to force the result. Our job is to obey. The rest is up to Him.
You don’t do the right thing because it’s going to work. You don’t do the right thing because you’ll benefit from it. You don’t do the right thing because you’ll get credit for it. You do the right thing because it’s the right thing. Period.
For example, you feel the Holy Spirit move in your heart to give money to a homeless person on the street, but you hesitate because you don’t know that they’ll spend it wisely. What they do with it after you give it to them is none of your business. We don’t give on the condition that it will ‘work,’ whatever that looks like. We just give and leave the rest to God.
You’re in a conversation with a friend and you get an opportunity to talk about Jesus, but you know your friend doesn’t believe that stuff. But we don’t talk about Jesus only when we’re sure that the person will come to share our belief. We talk about Jesus because we’re supposed to. God will handle their hearts.
Your marriage is struggling. Years of pain have hardened your heart and left you hopeless. God leans on you to try a new strategy: Show your spouse love and respect anyway. You balk because he/she doesn’t deserve it and it probably wouldn’t change anything anyway. That’s irrelevant. Maybe His goal isn’t to change your spouse. Maybe it’s to change YOU.
Going the extra mile that you’ll never get credit for. Having integrity at work when nobody’s looking. You don’t do these things for the win. You just do your part to push back the darkness in your own world.
Whether it makes a visible difference or not doesn’t matter. Someday you’ll have to stand before God and answer for the times you obeyed and didn’t obey. And on that day, “I didn’t think it would work,” really won’t hold up.
(Thankfully, the cross will. Always.)
Following Christ and following His call on my life will always involve some moments of (how the world defines) failure. And I shouldn’t do everything I can to avoid the hard falls. Nor should I whine about my bruises and scars.
When I finish my race here on earth, I want to go out with scars from battles won and lost. Not because of stupid decisions, ego trips or any kind of self-serving whims. I want the spiritual scars that come from being poured out like a drink offering, good to the last drop (2 Timothy 4:6-7).
Spiritual injuries come from taking hits from the enemy while pushing into his territory. Taking on causes like abortion, sex trafficking, poverty, hunger, terrorism. Signing up for friendships with people who don’t share your faith, your culture, your comfort zones. It’s not about winning. It’s about fighting the good fight (1 Timothy 6:12).
I’ve taken some risks and taken some falls for my King. At His calling, I’ve stepped into leadership roles I didn’t feel ready for, tasks I couldn’t accomplish without Him. One particularly difficult ministry was a struggle from day one and many told me it was a lost cause.
But I gave it all I had, even held on a little too long, and watched it crash and burn. I fought a battle I couldn’t win because God told me to. The memory of it still stings. But I obeyed. And God did what He wanted with it.
The disciples celebrated when they were beat up for the sake of Christ, thrilled that they were counted worthy to suffer for Him. Even dying for their faith, which is typically considered the ultimate failure, was an honor to them.
I have never been in a place where my physical wellbeing was threatened because of my faith. But hopefully one of these days, the chains of my comfort zone addiction will snap against the pull of the Holy Spirit and I’ll take on the battle, come ruin or rapture. And I’ll hold up my losses and failures as trophies to the cause of Christ.
Years ago, I stumbled upon this little gem of a poem by Ethelwyn Wetherald. And the more I step into the ring for my King, the more it means to me:
My orders are to fight;
Then if I bleed, or fail,
Or strongly win, what matters it?
God only doth prevail.
The servant craveth not
Except to serve with might.
I was not told to win or lose,
My orders are to fight.
