Saturday was always game day. It didn’t matter whether it was raining, snowing, or hailing, we strapped on our cleats and we were ready to play. I never had a care in the world, each game I was going to go out and give it my all. I was always so full of joy. I had so much passion and zeal for the game. That attitude usually brought home a few goals and even some trophies on occasion. After each game the parents always gave me big high-fives and congratulated my play. The coaches nicknamed me “The Road Runner” or “Energizer Bunny”. The soccer field was the place where I could be “That Guy” who always came through. And thus soccer became a big part of my identity. Everything was shaping up as I had dreamed, all until it went to my head. Then my demon of expectations crept in and I quickly imploded.
The slippery slope of expectation dragged me down in a hurry. In just the short span of a year I transitioned from averaging a solid 3 goals a game, to consistently choking and struggling to score. I had completely lost my touch. The Energizer Bunny was now just a faded memory and every Saturday carried a deep sense of dread to take the field. I knew something wasn’t the same. I had always been “That guy”, now I was just another guy on the field. What happened to being the star? Where was that guy who just went out and made it happen? He had bought into the hype, and fell hard. I could never focus on the game in front of me. I was always caught up in what the people in the stands would think. Was I fast enough? Was I tough enough? Was I making my parents proud? The game was irrelevant to me, I was solely concerned with meeting my “expectations”. What happened to that kid who loved the game so much that he just went out and did his best every weekend? He was just a distant memory now. This diseased way of thinking suffocated the rest of my soccer career. Always too much, and yet never, ever, enough.
I wish I could sit here and tell you that this diseased mindset disappeared when I stepped off the pitch, but that would be a lie. This became a constant theme throughout my life. Whether in school, social settings, or sports, my expectations were always unreachable. As soon as a coach or teacher noticed my ability, I believed I had to be the star. If I was anything else, I had surely failed. Unfortunately that mindset brought me absolutely no success. Not one drop. Even if something notable was achieved, it was never good enough. I would disregard the compliments and encouragement as hollow words. Each individual “failure” opened a door for satan to convince me I would never be good enough. Sadly, I believed him. I was on an endless hamster wheel chasing my expectations that would never be reached.
Although I tried to run from my problems, this demon chased me out onto the Mission Field. In the first part of this blog (My Deeper Fear Realized) I recapped what I had thought to be a fear of public speaking, but was actually a much deeper fear of not being good enough. This “fear” stemmed from the continual cycle of unreachable expectations I subconsciously set for everything I attempted. When I spoke that day in Peru, God set me free of those expectations. I finally understood that His only expectation is that I become the best version of myself I can be. Outside of that, everything is irrelevant. The more I strive to be the best I can be, the more peace I will have with who I am. It all made sense, but I was yet to truly feel the joy and freedom this internal victory had brought me. God saved the perfect day to uncover that.
At the end our three month South American adventure our squad was having a Leadership Development Weekend in La Paz, Bolivia. This would be a 4 day retreat in which a few members of the squad would share messages that God has put on their hearts. Our squad leaders asked if I would like to be one of the speakers again. This time I was actually excited to have the opportunity. After praying over the topic, God was quick to reveal what I would be speaking on. He had been teaching me what a healthy fear of the Lord looked like, and I would be sharing that journey with all 59 members of the squad. This was a topic I had become very passionate about, and the message had shaped up nicely. In just a few days I would learn what a beautiful gift this freedom was.
The morning of, I arose early anxious to spend my quiet time with God. I spent a few hours reading the Word and praying. I was feeling very full of the Holy Spirit, and the thought of speaking hadn’t really even crossed my mind. After breakfast I went onto the roof of the hostel to rehearse when I was flooded with an indescribable peace. For the first time in 11 years I was doing something with absolutely no expectation. I was ready to go out and give it my best effort to please God and nothing else mattered. I felt like I was that 11 year old kid again strapping up his cleats to go play for the love of the game. I starting weeping and just let the wave of emotion swallow me. I just cried in joy for a solid half hour. I no longer felt the need to practice, I had the Holy Spirit and I was ready.
The joyous tears continued up until the time I started speaking. I felt relaxed and excited, this one was for God. As soon as I opened my mouth the Holy Spirit completely took over. It was an out of body experience. I honestly couldn’t recall the details of my message, but I knew I gave it my all. The squad all seemed to enjoy the message, but that carried very little weight with me. I could feel in my heart the joy of the Lord, and that was all that mattered. I wasn’t the next Francis Chan, but I was Mason Alpert and that was definitely enough for me. I officially felt that freedom from expectation and it was the most incredible feeling I could ever ask for. I continued to cry the rest of the afternoon, it was beautiful. That day will forever be one of the greatest days of my life, for it brought a sweet sweet victory in my soul.
