Someone asked me a question about 5 years ago in a discussion:
"If God asked you to give up Taekwondo - could you do it?"
Even though it was only hypothetical at the time, it really made me think about obedience, and the reasons behind the choices I make. Though a seemingly simple question, I mulled over that one for a long time, trying to understand why I had such a strong passion for something so secular as a sport. It's one of those things where the Bible doesn't paint a clear black-and-white picture of what you should or should not do.
Or is it?
Recently, I was talking with someone and he asked me a similar question: "Why do you do Taekwondo? [competition] There isn't really any glory or fortune in it. Is it to be the best? Is it because you really love it?"
Sometimes seemingly harmless get-to-know-you questions are suprisingly thought-inducing.
Ironically enough, God didn't ask me to give it up in 2001. On the contrary, that's when the whole competition thing kicked off (no pun intended). So 5 years later, on the brink of breakthrough or retirement, I stand at these crossroads of evaluation yet again.
There are settings where it is inherently linked that if you put your efforts there, it is for the advancement of the kingdom. If you give up a career to go to seminary, to become a pastor, to become a missionary - well, obviously those paths are pointed towards doing Christian work, and using your abilities to spread the gospel.
But what of more secular settings?
After years of singlemindedness towards a goal, I began recently to question what that goal really was.
Is it to be the best? And what really defines what "the best" is? If I won a national championship, would that make me the best? If I won a world championship, would that make me the best? If I won the Olympics, would that make me the best? Is there no end to what you can achieve? Much like the ever-shifting-upwards bar that my coaches set for me that I will never clear fully - achievements are what they are, and at best just external markers of internal personal milestones. (And sometimes not even that).
So if not that, then is it because I really love it? I admit, I do love a good sweat. I love the feeling of scoring a good point, and cheering without shame. I love that feeling of exhausted and sore, in a good way. I love that moment when the clock ticks down and you know you've won. I love getting to go to other countries, and meet and compete against people from all over the world. I love a good practice, the praises (though few and far between) of my coaches, the camraderie of my teammates. It's all very cheesy Chariots of Fire, but when that guy ran, he felt God's pleasure. There are moments in the height of stress and strain when the hard work pays off - and I think God smiles.
However...do I really love waking up at 6am to go to the gym and cross-train? Do I really love being bruised and not being able to wear tanks in the summer because people will ask if I'm in an abusive relationship? Do I really love the injuries? Do I really love getting taken to my limits and having to push all the time? Do I really love the feeling of wanting to throw up before every match? Do I really love all the psychological stress that weighs so heavily into athlete development? (The answer to that one is NO). And do I really love not getting to see my friends because I have to be at practice all the time?
But is love really found in feeling good all the time? Or is it for those few and fleeting moments that all the pain and sacrifice becomes worth it?
I think what it boiled down to the last 2 yrs was the principle that "I would rather regret the things I did than the things I didn't do." Taking Sab's challenge of "don't bury your coins in the sand, thinking safe is the way to go", I've attempted to find what this means - that if God gives talents and opportunities, you can glorify Him by pursuing excellence. I admit, it has served me well - forced me to venture out of my comfort zones and fears of failure and commitment, push myself beyond what I ever would have thought possible, and learn a lot about myself and relating to others.
However, at this point, I wonder if that still applies as the overarching drive. Perhaps that is what I needed to grow in the time when I was too careful, too calculating, too risk-averse. All important things in personal growth. But have I really done all these things and conducted myself in a way that gives God glory?
The question that came to mind in a Galatians 3 study last month was - why? What's the motivation behind the things that I do? Are my actions motivated by faith or by flesh? Paul lays the smack down on the Galatians for buying into the belief that human efforts would bring them salvation, for missing the whole gospel in itself. At what point was the vision lost in the discipline? Where did the joy go?
A big mistake I made this past year was overtraining - or rather, not training intelligently. In the comparison between my own resources and those of full-time athletes, I thought I had to be in the gym or on the mat every day, every hour I could, to make up the deficit. But it wasn't a formula of how much weight I could lift, how many times I could kick in a minute, how many drills I did. Many times I would put myself through workouts for the sake of being in workouts. Looking back at the effects of such training (tendonitis and burnout), it's painfully obvious that going through the motions when the heart wasn't there was pointless, and didn't help me get any closer to the goal.
Perhaps in this state of injured and literal brokenness and undefined training prospects, it's time to re-evaluate the motivation.
In the faith vs. deeds debate, it becomes clearer that the law was given as guidelines for how to live righteously and grow closer to God - but that it was the heart behind the actions that God wanted. His kind words to Mary over Martha, or the parable of the widow who gave two pennies.
So how do you give glory to God out of something that is secular? Is it by citing a verse on my USAT athlete's bio? Is it by wearing my "Jesus Christ is Life. The rest is Taekwondo." shirt on the medal stand? Is it by signing the FCA creed? (FCA = Fellowship of Christian Athletes).
J S Bach appended these initials at the end of each of his Cantatas scores.
for Soli Deo Gloria, to the Glory of God alone,
The past 12 weeks of rest have been good in itself, both physically and mentally. In this period of re-evaluation, goal-assessment, and questions of retirement, I'm reminded once again to examine my motivations and purpose for pursuing something that requires so much of myself. Are all these circumstances that point to the impossible - injury, lack of support from coaches and training partners, growing expenses for competing - God's way of saying that it's time to move on and pursue conventional ministry? Or is it a Gideon-esque moment, where the circumstances make God's glory all the more apparent?
While we were studying James 4 in sg last week, someone said jokingly "be the best mist you can be". In getting caught up in being "the best you can be", it's oftentimes forgotten that that occurs when you become the person God intended for you to be.
I wish I knew how.
Soli Deo Gloria.
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