Striving Won't Get You There

I remember the first time that I ever played a round of golf.

It was my junior year of high school, and a few friends invited me to play. Having played baseball my whole life, I figured it would not be that difficult to adjust my swing, and golf should be a breeze. Boy, was I wrong! 

I stepped to the first tee, grabbed my driver, and swung as hard as I could. Using my baseball reference, it was strike one; I missed the ball entirely. The same thing happened on the second swing. 

Being frustrated, I stepped to the tee for my third swing with the intent to swing even harder, and that is when my friend stepped up and said, “Stop”. He continued by saying, " You are swinging way too hard, you need to stop trying so hard, relax, and let a nice smooth swing do the work.” 

All these years later,  there are still times on the golf course when I have to tell myself to stop swinging so hard; in essence, I need to stop and apply what I know. 

The same could be said for life. So often, what we need to do is stop, slow down, and relax. 

This idea of stopping, or going slow, is not a new concept. In fact, this very idea was recorded in the Psalms with this exhortation: "Cease striving and know that I am God."

A simple sentence and a profound command. Yet, for most of us, it is one of the hardest things for us to actually do.

What Striving Really Is

Our world today puts a premium on striving. It makes us feel productive. It makes us feel like we are contributing, and at times, it can make us feel important, and that's what makes it so dangerous.

When we strive, we're in motion. We're working the problem, managing the outcome, staying ahead of whatever might catch us if we slow down. Striving feels like responsibility. It feels like faithfulness, even.

But underneath most striving is something much less noble. 

It's a quiet belief that if we just try harder, do more, strive more, etc., that we will rise in significance and worth. 

That belief is a lie, and this is what the Psalmist was getting at.

Striving Changes Nothing About Your Worth

The times in my life that I find myself striving are often tied to trying to prove something, and most often it is a feeble attempt to prove my worth. The truth is that no amount of striving has ever added a single thing to my value as a human being.

Not one title. Not one revenue number. Not one accomplishment. Not one award or career milestone.

Your worth was settled before you earned anything. Before you produced anything. Before you prove anything to anyone.

Paul makes this clear in his letter to the Ephesians when he writes, “We are saved by grace through faith, not by works, so that no one can boast.” 

There is no amount of striving (works) that will save me before a holy God; it is simply my faith in Him and His free gift of salvation. 

The striving doesn't make us more worthy or get us any closer to God. It just makes us more tired and wanting more. 

I know this from experience. 

I spent almost three decades striving my way to a version of success that looked impressive from the outside and left me depleted and unfulfilled on the inside. Every milestone became the floor for the next one. There was always more to chase, more to prove, more to earn.

I was chasing wind, and over time, it wore me out. 

What I finally came to embrace was an acceptance of the fact that God didn't love me less, and my worth didn't evaporate. 

The Power of Knowing

The command to stop striving is followed by five all-important words, “Know that I am God.”

Not acknowledge. Not agree with intellectually, but Know.

The Hebrew word for “know” used in this passage is yada. This is a word that means deep, intimate, experiential knowledge. The kind of knowing that comes over time in a relationship with someone. 

This kind of knowing comes from presence. It comes from choosing to be still long enough to actually encounter someone rather than just reference them.

This is what striving costs us most. Not energy, though it takes that too. It costs us the knowing.

When we are always in motion, always connected to our devices, and when we are continually moving from one thing to the next, we make it virtually impossible to be fully present. And you cannot deeply know someone if you are never fully present with them.

The invitation in the Psalm is not passive. It is a call to still yourself long enough to encounter God in a way that changes how you see Him and, as a result, everything else.

Your worth. 

Your future. 

Your enoughness.

Your everything. 

The Question Worth Sitting With

What would it look like for you to cease striving this week? Not forever, just this week.

What if you traded the hustle for a moment of honest stillness and just let God be God and show Himself to you?

He doesn't need your striving. 

He wants your knowing. 

He wants a relationship with you, and none of that will be found, no matter how hard you strive. 

And that, my friends, changes everything.

This edition was first published in The Life Design Newsletter on LinkedIn.