Read an Excerpt
Introduction
More in You
Do you ever sense you were put on this earth for more? A feeling that you’re destined to touch more lives and make a bigger impact? Are you yearning to make a difference? And yet something keeps you feeling stuck—immobile, frustrated, and confused.
Maybe people think you’re full of confidence, void of insecurities, and ready to conquer the world. But there’s a voice in your head that says otherwise, and that voice is so loud and convincing—it intimidates, bullies, and lies with precision and ease.
I know that voice.
I know what it’s like to be in a board meeting, realize the discussion is leaving out an important perspective, and your heart tells you to speak up. But the voice of insecurity tells you to be quiet. And while you’re being indecisive, the conversation turns to another topic and you’ve missed your chance.
I know what it’s like to chat with friends and sense God telling you to pray for someone, but the fear of making everyone feel weird keeps you silent. You tuck away the prompt, mumble an apology to God, and shuffle out with another burden on your shoulders.
I know how it feels to long for a better, healthier, more confident future—so much you can taste it. But every time you take a step forward, something pushes you back and says,
“Sit down.”
“Be quiet.”
“No one will understand.”
“You will look like a fool.”
“You will look greedy.”
“You will look desperate.”
All these comments and so many more come to us from within. And they force us back into a box we know we weren’t built for.
If any of these scenarios sound familiar, then I’m confident that your finding this book is no mere coincidence. I want you to know I see you. You’re kind, resilient, admired, called, and ridiculously loved by God. All that is true. And yet . . .
I see you quitting before you ever start.
I see you disqualifying yourself before you apply.
I see you concerned about what your friends and family will think.
I see you talking yourself out of opportunities before they reach your inbox.
I see you living under the radar.
I see you because I’m just like you.
I played Division I basketball in college. I was a freshman walk-on, which meant I tried out and made the team. The Hall of Fame basketball coach Bill Self was in his first season as a head coach. Going into the Christmas break, we had six wins and six losses. After the break, we lost fifteen straight games. Fifteen. It was a nightmare. I had never lost that many games in a row in my life. We ended the season 6–21. (As an aside, I worked my way into a starting role my freshman year, partially because so many guys got kicked off the team and partially because I played so hard on defense.)
In my sophomore year, we went 10–17 and ended the season on a multiple-game winning streak, and in my junior year, we started 5–0. We got a Top 25 team vote, which was huge for a small mid-major school.
So we entered a game in Iowa ranked as one of the top fifty teams in the Division I schools (of which there were more than three hundred). I was the point guard (essentially the quarterback in basketball), and we were losing by just a few points when Coach Self called a time-out. He looked me in the eye and told me to take the ball down the court and make a basket for the team. We got back on court, I dribbled past my man, and I passed the ball to one of my trusted teammates. He took a corner three-point shot and missed. The buzzer sounded, and we lost the game.
In the locker room after the game, one of the assistant coaches sat me down. He put his arm around me and summarized the battle I’ve faced most of my life: “Earl, Coach told you to shoot the ball. He didn’t tell you to pass it.”
I was happy to give 110 percent to my team. I was happy to hustle hard. Set an example. Be challenged and play my part. I was happy to call plays. I was happy to be a leader, but I was not comfortable with people ever thinking I was putting myself above the team. I never wanted to be seen as selfish or arrogant, a ball hog. So when Coach Self told me to shoot the ball, I felt that my teammates might think I was posturing, so I passed the ball instead.
And I lived this way for far too long. I give 110 percent. I work hard. I’m a great teammate. But if a moment comes when I’m supposed to step out and I suspect people will think I’m being prideful, I’ll too often pass rather than take a shot. Because no one can think a person who gives 110 percent and shares the ball is full of pride, right? But make no mistake about it—it is pride. And this false humility has held me chained for decades.
When I was about fifteen, my mentor took me to lunch and told me, “Earl, I really want to tell you something, but I’m not sure you want to hear it.”
Well, I’m a 3 on the Enneagram. They tell me that makes me an Achiever. I was anxious to know what I needed to know, but I didn’t want to hear criticism. He said,
“Earl, you are prideful and rebellious.”
Then I punched him in the face. I’m just kidding! I didn’t. Those words actually made me want to punch myself in the face. It hurt me that bad to know I was letting my mentor down.
Looking back as an adult and a pastor, I would counsel mentors to use different words and to avoid attaching a person’s behavior to their identity, especially when they’ve been made new in Christ. But those words hit me. Prideful. Rebellious. I think all these years, in a lot of ways, I’ve been trying to run as far from those words as possible. And in running from them, I’ve found myself shrinking back, living with too much fear, not stepping up to my full potential. To others, my life can look great. But I know I have more to give. And you have more in you as well.
I can see you because I see me. I have foolishly imprisoned myself. I confused humility with disobedience, kindness with fear, and confidence with arrogance. For too long I’ve allowed the grace of God to save me from my old life but not carry me completely into the new life He purposed for me.
For too long I’ve allowed the grace of God to save me from my old life but not carry me fully into the new life He purposed for me.
So in this safe place between you, me, and the page, let me ask, Who must get out of the way so you can step fully into who God purposed you to be?
My answer is probably the same as yours: Me.
But I’m done. I’m done with the second-guessing. I’m done with the timidity. I’m done with the negativity. I’m done with the hiding. I’m done with the fear, and I’m done with the doubt.
Let’s take a journey together. Let’s grow together. Let’s mature together. Let’s be transformed together.
