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Monday, November 22, 2004 Volume VI Number 47
by Ken Kemp
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n 1997, John Ortberg wrote a little book with an odd title – The Life You’ve Always Wanted. Ortberg is a serious writer; a skilled conversational writer; an adept, savvy writer. That he would give his watershed book such a superfluous name in itself got my attention.
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On the surface, it sounded like more self-help pablum – you know, the kind of book non-readers buy because the cover looks like a miracle cure, and there it sits, unread, in a conspicuous place on the shelf – like one more monumental intention there on the stack.
But the book was so popular it was re-released four years later, and is becoming something of a standard for people who are serious about spiritual development. So I’ve been reading it, because, I guess, I am.
Just to show how current my book choices are on the contemporary scene, I only found it recently. I now know that it is a kind of Celebration of the Disciplines (Richard Foster) for dummies (like me).
This Monday morning, I simply want to relay one concept. For me it is revolutionary. It comes straight from Ortberg. It’s the contrast between trying and training.
We’ve all tried to improve ourselves. When we try, we make an attempt. We give it a test run. We sample. We dabble. For example, we’ve tried the Atkins or South Beach diets. We’ve tried keeping a journal. We’ve experimented with spirituality. We’ve given bicycling a shot. We’ve made some attempts at rock climbing. We’ve hit a few golf balls. We’ve started a few classic novels. We’ve strummed the guitar until we get those first three chords. We’ve fingered the ivories until we’ve mastered a melody line with a corresponding bass note, both hands, both clefs. We’ve jogged around the block a couple times. We’ve sat through a computer class. We attended a creative writing seminar.
But there’s a big difference between trying and training.
If you decide you will be an Olympic champion, you don’t try. You train. You develop a regular regimen of routine exercises over an extended period of time for the purpose of building strength and endurance. You submit to mind-numbing routines intended to sharpen your motor skills, develop your speed and accuracy and timing. You are aiming at fluidity and precision; you do the un-natural until it becomes natural. You overcome your daily resistance until the practice becomes an obsession. You are in training. Without it, you will be one more forgettable also-ran.
You want to be a concert pianist? You train. A novelist? You train. A PGA golfer? You train. A classical musician? You train. A leader of leaders? You train.
You want to experience spiritual transformation? You train.
That’s Ortberg’s point.
Too many of us are content to simply try.
So we dabble in prayer. We fiddle with the Scriptures. We play at fellowship. We zip through quiet times. We amuse ourselves through worship. We lounge in the pews. We doodle through sermon notes. We’re barely trying. If our dream was achievement in any other endeavor, our dillydallying would be laughed right out of the competition.
So why not view the development of spiritual disciplines as training? If Dallas Willard is right and we disciples are really apprentices, then when are we going to get serious about the basic, fundamental disciplines that lead to transformation?
And that’s the heart of the matter.
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It’s Monday morning, you are a leader.
And as a leader, you’ve tried a whole lot of things. But this morning, you are tired of trying. You are weary of attempting. You’ve been in a perpetual state of start-up way too long.
It’s time to stop puttering around like an amateur, and start training like the professional you are.
Me, too.
It really is the life you’ve always wanted.
Posted in Valley Center, California
© Copyright Kenneth E. Kemp 2004
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