What? Two blogs in two days? Crazy stuff. I know, I know. You didn't get on the Internet to read. But stick with me here.
After writing my last blog, Feedback Sucks, I was hit with an analogy I wanted to share to help communicate my the point I was aiming for. So, if you haven't read that blog, go ahead and give it a whirl.
So…growth, hurt, working through the pain, yadda yadda yadda. Here's the analogy. Remember when rollerblades were cool? (Yes. You are correct in assuming I'm infering rollerblades are no longer cool. Unless you're a dude, using them on a beachfront boardwalk, while wearing a speedo, and only a speedo, with a freshly shaved chest and fabulously beautiful Fabio hair. In which case rollerblades are super cool.)
When I was about 10 or 11 years old, I asked for rollerblades for Christmas. They looked like so awesome. They seemed to be a life improvement. People using them looked like they were having the time of their lives. Well, my parents are pretty flippin' awesome, and they got me those rollerblades. After opening all my presents, I went outside and strapped those bad boys on, ready to tear through the neighborhood. But that didn't happen. Because almost immediately after putting them on, I feel directly on my butt. And it hurt. I got back up, and fell over again. Dad was out there with me, helping me up and encouraging me. I tried once more with similar results. And after about five minutes of defeat I gave up, took of my new gift and went inside. Turns out the rollerblade experience wasn't exactly what I'd been expecting. And I had no idea it would be so difficult just to balance, let alone move. Didn't see that one coming.
Later in the day I decided to try again. This time was a little better. I continued to fall, but not as much. I started to slowly learn balance. I took baby steps forward. I continued to use my rollerblades over the next few days and weeks, and at some point I was able to rollerblade well. Without thinking about it, I'd grown. I'd stuck out the hardships up front and it paid off. I was so glad, because now rollerblading was awesome! It was extrodinary! There was freedom and excitement and joy now associated with it. Not just a bruised butt, scraped elbows and tear filled eyes.
Then I went to a skate park and encountered ramps, half-pipes and other skate park stuff. And all the fear returned. The fear of getting hurt. The fear of failure. (Mostly though the fear of physical pain.) And so, I sort of tried rollerblading on a half-pipe. It didn't end well, and so I gave up. The fear of these new challeneges was too great. And this time I didn't try again. I gave up. No victorious, long-run, happy ending this time. That's the end of the story. The fear won, and I gave up. I saw everyone else skating on the ramps, doing tricks in mid-air, and it seemed thrilling. They seemed to really be enjoying every moment…and how I longed for that myself. But I never tried again. I just stayed forever disappointed and sad. I gave up a lifetime of enjoyment because the process seemed "too hard". How sad is that?
Looking back, I'm sad. I'm sad I didn't push through, because there were new levels of enjoyment, of challenge, of thrill to be discovered, and I didn't discover them. I remained stagnant. I plateaued. I believe the risk would have paid off like the first time…but these bigger challeneges seemed too big and I let them defeat me. I let a little pain, and fear of more, along with fear of difficulty and hardship keep me from experiencing more. Because the second time around, the risks were greater, the deafeats even more painful…and I backed away from the thing I really wanted.
After thinking about what I wrote yesterday, this is the picture that came to mind. It's the same for our own growth. We're so excited when we see what it looks like to be something, or do something. And so we want it for ourselves. But it usually isn't the experience we thought it would be. It's usually MUCH harder than we thought, and we can quickly change our minds about the worth of the whole thing. And then it's easy to bail. Rollerblading onto a ramp seemed "too hard", "too scary". I wanted the result, but not the process. As my friend Tood says we all want the joy of Easter Sunday, but no one wants to live through Good Friday. (We want the resurrected life, but we don't want to sacrifice and endure some seriously hard crap in order to obtain it. We simply just want the end result.)
So know what you're entering into when you ask God for growth in any area of your life. And when it gets hard, remember that hardship is the gift. The process is the gift. I'm starting to think that's what Scripture is getting at when it states:
Consider it wholly joyful, my brethren, whenever you are enveloped in or encounter trials of any sort… (James 1:2)
