Thoughts on Daring Greatly

spec•ta•tor (spek tat er) n. An observer of an event. [Latin from spectare, to watch.]

In a nutshell…me.

Being a spectator is easy. You don’t have to DO anything. You just show up, watch the game, give your two cents—for whatever it’s worth—and then go home. Actually, you don’t even have to GO to the event—you can be a spectator from the comfort of your very own Lay-Z-Boy! Shouting out sage advice to the players, complaining that the coach doesn’t know what he’s talking about, calling the refs all sorts of names.

Sometimes being a spectator is hard. Watching others do the thing you wish you could do with as much skill and bravado. Seeing someone else get all the glory. Knowing that they are fulfilling their purpose. Begrudgingly recognizing that they are the ones having all the fun. Realizing that God has never called anyone to ‘sit in the stands’ but feeling helpless as to what to do next. Being paralyzed by the fear of what could go wrong if you actually were the one on the field. Wondering who would be there—watching you—ready to pass judgment and offer advice from the sidelines as you yourself are so apt to do.

One of my all-time favorite motivational quotes is by Theodore Roosevelt. The quote is often entitled, “While Daring Greatly,” and is part of an address entitled "Citizenship in a Republic: The Man in the Arena" given by Roosevelt at the Sorbonne in Paris, France on April 23, 1910. Here is the quote along with a little of what follows:

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 and 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 least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat. Shame on the man of cultivated taste who permits refinement to develop into fastidiousness that unfits him for doing the rough work of a workaday world. Among the free peoples who govern themselves there is but a small field of usefulness open for the men of cloistered life who shrink from contact with their fellows. Still less room is there for those who deride of slight what is done by those who actually bear the brunt of the day; nor yet for those others who always profess that they would like to take action, if only the conditions of life were not exactly what they actually are. The man who does nothing cuts the same sordid figure in the pages of history, whether he be a cynic, or fop, or voluptuary. There is little use for the being whose tepid soul knows nothing of great and generous emotion, of the high pride, the stern belief, the lofty enthusiasm, of the men who quell the storm and ride the thunder. Well for these men if they succeed; well also, though not so well, if they fail, given only that they have nobly ventured, and have put forth all their heart and strength. It is war-worn Hotspur, spent with hard fighting, he of the many errors and valiant end, over whose memory we love to linger, not over the memory of the young lord who "but for the vile guns would have been a valiant soldier."

I think that I often misinterpret God’s call to wait on him. I talk to God of my dreams and desires and he simply says, “Wait.” And then I throw up my hands like a petulant child and stomp off to sit in the stands and wait…or at least I thought that’s what I was doing. “I have all this training—two degrees worth, for crying out loud!—all this experience, all these ‘great networking contacts,’ and for what?”

So I sit there pouting, and as I do, I begin to watch what’s going on in the game before me. I critique the players: “Well, I could have done that!” and “What is he doing?! Doesn’t he know that’s the worst thing he could do!!” I critique the coach “Hmph, why’d he put THAT guy in? He’s useless.” I begin to fantasize about what I could do if I were out there—throwing the game-winning pitch, being there at the just the right moment to make the tackle that saves the game, sinking an impossible shot from mid-court. I compare myself to everyone on the field, begrudgingly admitting that some are more talented than myself; finding fault in the smallest errors of others so as to fool myself into believing that I’m really better and more useful than them. Never recognizing that the Coach has his plan for them just as surely as He has one for me. Knowing in my heart-of-hearts that were it me on the field, I would be making as many mistakes. Knowing also that there are others who are waiting to rip me to shreds verbally just as I have to the players I watch and critique.

I am realizing more and more the difference between sitting on the sideline and sitting in the stands. On the sideline, you’re still in the game. You’re not on the field at that moment, but you’re still part of the team. You are personally invested in what’s going on. Those are the people you’ve been practicing with and helping to make stronger, while in turn becoming stronger yourself simply by your participation. You have given your time, blood, sweat, and tears, and the greatest desire of your heart is for the team to succeed. You forgive the mistakes made in the heat of play, you encourage those on the field, you rejoice when someone’s giftedness comes to fruition. You weep over the struggles your team faces, knowing that it will take even more hard work and dedication to overcome those issues. And while you’re on the sideline, you’re ready for that moment when the coach tells you it’s your turn. You are warmed up, practiced, prepared. That’s what the sideline is all about! There is a very good reason why the coach never looks up in the stands and pulls a spectator from the stands into play. One is all talk, while the other is ready for action.

I think that for a long time I’ve been a spectator, willing to critique and complain but not ready to take part in what is going on. September has done a great deal to help me to see the difference. Events that have occurred in the last week and one very brief, yet very direct conversation have made that even more clear. And as with anyone who’s sat in the stands for a while, I’m realizing that atrophy has set in and I have a whole lot of practicing to do! But I sit in the stands no longer. With great fear and trepidation, I make my way to the sidelines so that I may be ready for what is next.

Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles, and let us run with perserverance the race marked out for us. Let us fix our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfector of our faith, who for the joy set before him endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God. Consider him who endured such opposition from sinful men, so that you will not grow weary and lose heart. --Hebrews 12:1-3

...and because I just liked the way Eugene Peterson puts it in The Message:

Do you see what this means - all these pioneers who blazed the way, all these veterans cheering us on? It means we'd better get on with it. Strip down, start running - and never quit! No extra spiritual fat, no parasitic sins. Keep your eyes on Jesus, who both began and finished this race we're in. Study how he did it. Because he never lost sight of where he was headed - that exhilarating finish in and with God - he could put up with anything along the way: cross, shame, whatever. And now he's there, in the place of honor, right alongside God. When you find yourselves flagging in your faith, go over that story again, item by item, that long litany of hostility he plowed through. That will shoot adrenaline into your souls! --Hebrews 12:1-3