Teaching Grit
A few weeks ago Micah and I did something potentially really stupid: we set out to complete the plank challenge. It involved holding a plank position (resting on our elbows, legs out-stretched, body straight) for five minutes. It was a monumental goal, especially given that the first night we struggled to hold the position for 20 seconds. But each night we set our jaws and worked up to the time goal for the day, gradually (incredibly!) making it to just shy of the five minutes. It was grueling. It was painful. I hated every second.
Part of the challenge fell over my "girls' weekend," the weekend each year when I go away with my mom, sister, and sister-in-law. We'd been working hard on our plank goal, and Micah teased me and said he didn't believe I would keep going while I was away. I wanted to prove him wrong. So each night I got down on my arms on our hotel floor (which is disgusting in itself...) and struggled to hold the plank for 3 1/2 minutes, the length of time we were shooting for at that time. My whole body shook and I struggled through it, but I did it. The other girls gathered around and cheered me on--something I didn't have at home as Micah struggled right along with me--and congratulated me when I made my goal. I joked about how the kids never cheered that loudly when they saw us doing the challenge, although they watched us and asked us about it every day. And then my mom said something I don't think I'll ever forget: "I think this is one of the best things you can teach them. You're letting them see you struggle, see that reaching your goals isn't always easy. But they're seeing you finish. You're persevering in spite of the difficulty. You're teaching them grit."
Teaching them grit. Can grit be taught? The thought had never crossed my mind. Can perseverance, endurance, commitment to something be taught?
The idea surfaced again tonight as I talked to a friend. We were discussing the places where God holds us. Those places that are struggling, that sap our strength, that persist in our lives as a mission field. Those places that are uncomfortable. It would be so much easier to move on. Surely they're not worth the sacrifice, the personal cost. And yet God undeniably holds us there and whispers, "Your work here is not finished. You have what this place still needs. Stay."
Our whole body shakes, our muscles tremble, the sweat beads on our brow as we hold our position.
But we hold our position.
We outstay the comfort, the safe parts. We outlast everything about it that comes easily. We hold our place, stay fully invested, pour ourselves into it. We persevere.
My kids are watching. They hear the conversations and see the way I live out my commitments. They are growing up in a consumer society: everything is disposable. If the relationship, the job, the church isn't convenient, we have the freedom to walk away. There's a time to move on, and we've had to say goodbye to a few places. But there's also a time to stay. And the determination for each can't be driven by comfort or ease or convenience.
Grit sticks it out when it's painful to stay, when the immediate struggle is hard and real. Grit sees the overall vision, the goal, and aligns itself with that end despite the cost. Grit is commitment.
Can it be taught? Maybe. Maybe there are words and overt lessons in grit to be taught along the way. But more than anything grit is modeled. It's lived out, day in and day out. It's shown in the laying down of what we would prefer, what we think we want, in order to take up something that is worth achieving. It's in being willing to pay the personal cost for the sake of the promise we made. It's sticking to our word, staying present, because there is good to be done. It's in living each day fully in every aspect, in finishing the job, in staying "until the cloud lifts"-- as I've so often said-- because it's not about us and our comfort.
Right now it's a silly plank challenge. Some days it's my relationship with Micah or with the kids. But in whatever I live, and in whatever my kids see me live, I hope they see that I honor my commitments. I hope they see that I set my jaw and roll up my sleeves and finish the course that's been laid before me. I hope they watch and learn and live the kind of life that is known for being a life of grit. One awful, awful plank at a time.
Part of the challenge fell over my "girls' weekend," the weekend each year when I go away with my mom, sister, and sister-in-law. We'd been working hard on our plank goal, and Micah teased me and said he didn't believe I would keep going while I was away. I wanted to prove him wrong. So each night I got down on my arms on our hotel floor (which is disgusting in itself...) and struggled to hold the plank for 3 1/2 minutes, the length of time we were shooting for at that time. My whole body shook and I struggled through it, but I did it. The other girls gathered around and cheered me on--something I didn't have at home as Micah struggled right along with me--and congratulated me when I made my goal. I joked about how the kids never cheered that loudly when they saw us doing the challenge, although they watched us and asked us about it every day. And then my mom said something I don't think I'll ever forget: "I think this is one of the best things you can teach them. You're letting them see you struggle, see that reaching your goals isn't always easy. But they're seeing you finish. You're persevering in spite of the difficulty. You're teaching them grit."
Teaching them grit. Can grit be taught? The thought had never crossed my mind. Can perseverance, endurance, commitment to something be taught?
The idea surfaced again tonight as I talked to a friend. We were discussing the places where God holds us. Those places that are struggling, that sap our strength, that persist in our lives as a mission field. Those places that are uncomfortable. It would be so much easier to move on. Surely they're not worth the sacrifice, the personal cost. And yet God undeniably holds us there and whispers, "Your work here is not finished. You have what this place still needs. Stay."
Our whole body shakes, our muscles tremble, the sweat beads on our brow as we hold our position.
But we hold our position.
We outstay the comfort, the safe parts. We outlast everything about it that comes easily. We hold our place, stay fully invested, pour ourselves into it. We persevere.
My kids are watching. They hear the conversations and see the way I live out my commitments. They are growing up in a consumer society: everything is disposable. If the relationship, the job, the church isn't convenient, we have the freedom to walk away. There's a time to move on, and we've had to say goodbye to a few places. But there's also a time to stay. And the determination for each can't be driven by comfort or ease or convenience.
Grit sticks it out when it's painful to stay, when the immediate struggle is hard and real. Grit sees the overall vision, the goal, and aligns itself with that end despite the cost. Grit is commitment.
Can it be taught? Maybe. Maybe there are words and overt lessons in grit to be taught along the way. But more than anything grit is modeled. It's lived out, day in and day out. It's shown in the laying down of what we would prefer, what we think we want, in order to take up something that is worth achieving. It's in being willing to pay the personal cost for the sake of the promise we made. It's sticking to our word, staying present, because there is good to be done. It's in living each day fully in every aspect, in finishing the job, in staying "until the cloud lifts"-- as I've so often said-- because it's not about us and our comfort.
Right now it's a silly plank challenge. Some days it's my relationship with Micah or with the kids. But in whatever I live, and in whatever my kids see me live, I hope they see that I honor my commitments. I hope they see that I set my jaw and roll up my sleeves and finish the course that's been laid before me. I hope they watch and learn and live the kind of life that is known for being a life of grit. One awful, awful plank at a time.
