“It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better.
The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena,
whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood;
who strives valiantly; who errs,
who comes short again and again because there is no effort without error or shortcoming;
but who does actually strive to do the deeds;
who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions;
who spends himself in a worthy cause;
who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement,
and who at the worst, if he fails at, at least fails while daring greatly,
so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.”
-Theodore Roosevelt, “Man in the Arena” (1910)
An arena is any moment when or place where we have risked showing up and being seen. It’s a place where we get knocked out and have our humbling facedown moments. Moments that make us never want to place our trembling hands underneath our beaten and bruised selves and egos and push sheepishly back up to face again what knocked the wind out of us in the first place.
But, also, the arena is where uninhibited, beautiful freedom is found.
Freedom, which comes from the depth of our being and rises up to create an unsinkable spirit the Lord created us to walk in and take ownership over.
Freedom found in an arena is self-defining and future building. We discover what we are made of and, more importantly, what we are capable of.
This past month on the Race in South Africa has been a month of knowing great joy and facing my crippling fear of failure and, therefore, finding freedom, sweet, sweet freedom.
It was an all women’s month, which made me both excited and nervous. Women can be mean and catty and filled with drama when put all together for an extended length of time, but these women, these women, man did Jesus mold them differently.
These women broke through and brought out the agape love and freedom I did not even know I had been holding back in chains.
In reading Roosevelt’s speech my eyes stopped cold towards the end on the word “worst” before it moved forward to read the inevitable consequences of being at my worst I was sure would come next. Instead, I read what it meant to fail valiantly, especially at my worst.
If you know me, you are aware my biggest fear is of failure and falling short to what I’ve been created to do in my life. Furthermore, to not have left the legacy I know I am capable of and been called to leave behind. Basically, have my place be with those “cold and timid souls who never knew victory or defeat” because I was too afraid to jump into the vast unknown because there would be a chance I would fail at it.
I was afraid I would fail in big things like leading my team well, in painting some of the art projects for the play, in not being disciplined in my time, and in loving all of the women on my squad well enough. But also in the little things like cooking, writing enough encouragement notes, missing a day of run club, learning the dance for the play, and getting the perfect Secret Santa present.
Fear has too often crept in, stole the possibility of freedom in my life, and told me I was destined to fail anyways, so don’t even start it.
Don’t love all of the women on the squad with all you have, they will hurt you. Don’t bother picking up the spray paint can, you’ve never spray painted comets on the side of time machine before, it’s going to look horrible. Don’t bother opening up your bible or journaling this morning, you know you don’t have the attention span to be able to keep your focus.
Don’t look at the future you know you have been promised; you are not going to achieve it, because the road ahead is too full of treacherous terrain, choose an easier, safer path.
Brene Brown described my soul when she penned in her book, Rising Strong, the statement, “We are born makers. We move what we’re learning from our heads to our hearts through our hands.”
My hands are one of my favorite parts about myself. Because of their length they are often referred to as ‘piano hands’ even though that one year of piano I have under me took no lasting hold in them. They have scars from basketball games and hard calluses from years of swinging a softball bat. They are capable of creating paintings or sketches or encouragram bags that define the women of my squad’s personalities. They are strong and have endured much and will further endure so much more.
They have been marred by dust and blood and sweat. Especially in the arena of my past month.
I know the triumph of high achievement and the effort it takes to get there. I also know great failure and what it means to be drop kicked into the gravel of the arena and have my face grind against the rough terrain after the wind was knocked straight out of me and then kicked back down when I had the courage to begin to push myself up to my elbows.
I am born a maker and a doer. I am built to fail if I want to take what I am learning and vulnerably put my heart out there for others to see or hear and make an opinion about it.
Brene Brown further expresses, “We can choose courage or we can choose comfort, but we can’t have both. Not at the same time.”
This past month, I found freedom in the relinquishment of my fears and the embracement of overwhelming joy in my life. A joy, which overflows straight from my heart being filled up by Jesus and through my hands the Lord created on me.
Hands this month that have embraced hugs, danced, held children, prayed over others, further emphasized my points, created a Christmas stage backdrop, and been completely open to the inevitability of failure on the road to be the women of excellence and influence I’ve been called to be.
PC: AnnaKate Auten
I was watching Lion King one day while I was working on art projects for the Christmas play at the church we were staying at. It struck me when Pumba so eloquently put, “You have to put your behind in your pants.” He meant to say, “You have to put your past behind you,” but the writers at Disney were intentional with what they wrote, even if it was meant to be in jest.
To get where I’m called to be I need to put my behind in my pants and my feet on the ground and walk forward into the unknown arenas ahead, breaking the chains of fear and failure and hear them clang to the ground in my wake as I more forward in unrelenting joy and freedom.
Also, here are some of my favorite encouragram bags I drew:
Rosie loves her hammock.
Joy is super joyful and bright and beautiful.
Alyssa is a cosmetologist.
Benita loves her bows and killing flies.
