I Will Embrace My Uniqueness : Part 1

Accept No Mediocre Life: Living Beyond Labels, Libels, and Limitations
by David Foster

Widely loved speaker and pastor David Foster urges readers to shed the labels others so often place on us, especially the most dangerous label of all: mediocre. All labels are libels, and this one is the most insidious. When we believe the opinions of others about us, we can't fail to measure up to their meager expectations. But there are ways to break free, to go through life dancing, twirling, testing our limits, embracing the best God has in store for us. As an old proverb has it, "He who aims at excellence will be above mediocrity; he who aims at mediocrity will be far short of it."

Organized in a series of four Commitments, Accept No Mediocre Life details promises for us to make to ourselves as we strive for excellence in our lives. These twelve promises-among them, "I will embrace my uniqueness," "I will conquer my fears," "I will serve a noble cause," "I will treat time as life"-form a personal agenda by which we can realize our full potential, whatever our circumstances.

The perfect conditions, perfect timing, perfect skills for achieving excellence will never come. We have to seize today and vow to begin a life-changing, life-affirming journey to reach the awesome possibilities ahead. As Foster says, "We will not be denied, because we refuse to live within the limits of man-made labels and libels. We will not accept a mediocre life and we will not disappear quietly into the middle. We gladly accept the proverb 'Those who hear not the music, think the dancer's mad.' We hear the music, it's in our heart and soul, and we must dance."

Chapter 1

It takes courage to grow up and turn out to be who you really are.

- E. E. Cummings

What we have to be is what we are.

- Thomas Merton

The first time I was told to be ashamed of myself was at home. The first time I actually felt ashamed of myself was at church on Senior Day. This rite of passage awaited every high school senior in my childhood church. We seniors lined up behind the ornate white pulpit and, one by one, shuffled to the microphone to announce the universities to which we would be matriculating in the fall. Just as cruel fate would have it, the kid just before me announced he was going to Harvard on a full ride, no less. Then I stepped to the microphone with a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. I didn't want to be there. It was silly. It was no one's business but my own what I was going to do with my life. I wanted to run, but since I couldn't, I did the next best thing; I lied. I thought about announcing I was going to Harvard, but my teachers in the audience knew my grades. In the heat of the moment I stepped to the microphone and blurted out, "While they're all going to school, I'm going to work!" Ha, ha, not really?

No one laughed, seemed shocked, or disappointed. The reaction was nil. I guess it sounded like the right thing for an average kid from an average family to do. I was the only one surprised or wounded by my words. Everything within me wanted someone to stand up in protest. I wanted my coach, one of my teachers, my parents, my pastor, or anyone to stand up and say, "You're a smart kid, David. You're destined for great things!" I shuffled off the stage in a hurry to get anywhere but there. I ran down the hallway, wanting more than anything to hear the sound of someone running after me. I needed someone to tell me I was important, I was special, and I could do anything I set my mind to do. But no one came, no one called, and no one seemed to notice or care. It wasn't just okay for me to be ordinary; it was expected. It was okay with my parents and my school, and now I had the misguided opinion it was even okay with God. But it wasn't okay with me. I already hated my life and dreaded my future. I decided from that day on, I would show the world just how common and ordinary my behavior could be.

I didn't know why or how, but as I lit up a Marlboro in my souped-up, flaming orange '66 Chevy Impala Super Sport that morning, I vowed to break loose from the labels and limitations that were suffocating me even before I had the chance to succeed, or fail for that matter. I set out on a quest that day to find someone to believe in me. There had to be someone in this world who could see beyond my rough, tough-guy exterior and discover something of greatness, but where was this person, and how could I find him? That day I rejected the mind-set that said, "Get a job, get a wife, get a mortgage, and then get burial insurance!"

By the time I was seventeen, I had accepted the idea that rules are more important than relationships, fitting in is more desirable than standing out, and you'll never amount to anything without trying to be like someone else. I had already learned not to like myself. I didn't know then that I'd tend to live according to other people's expectations of me. The Scriptures put it this way:"For as he thinketh in his heart, so is he" (Prov. 23:7 KJV).

Labels affix themselves to your heart and possess your thinking. I realize now this cycle of low expectation and lower desire is not limited to my town, my home, or even my church. It is epidemic because most people have accepted mediocre as the measuring stick of their lives. Why? We've been labeled, and those labels libel and limit us. We don't believe in ourselves because we're taught to look at our lives through the lens of labels.

Looking Through Labels

I'm an escapee from a small town located in a county in Kentucky called Barren. As a teenager, I felt barren. How bad is it when the pioneers who, after forging through forests and crossing the rivers, came upon a place so unimpressive they called it Barren? Can anything good come out of this? When Jesus was reared in Nazareth, the saying was, "Can anything, anyone of significance, come out of a little hick place like that?" At least I was in good company.

I grew up in the typical county seat town. Life revolved around ritual and routine. Monday through Friday centered on school, sports, and after-school jobs. Saturday was for sleeping late and watching afternoon movies, and Sunday was for going to church. Every Sunday I asked my mother, "Why do we have to go to church today?" And every Sunday morning she said, "You're going so you'll grow up to be a good person." I went to church, and I saw people who I knew weren't very good. I knew some of the stuff they were into during the week. When I heard, "Be good," I translated that to mean," Be nice; be neuter." Don't make noise. Don't do anything that might be construed as bold or controversial.

A young boy longs for adventure, so the admonition to be good isn't appealing. I wanted to be dangerous. I wanted to be interesting and mysterious. I wanted to be Roy Rogers, John Wayne, and Superman all rolled up into one. Young boys run around the house in their red underwear, with a towel around their necks, wanting to be Superman. And young girls play dress up, not dress down.

A young businessman asked Jesus one day, "Teacher, what good thing must I do to get eternal life?" Jesus replied, "Why do you ask me about what is good? There is only One who is good. If you want to enter life, obey the commandments" (Matt. 19:16-17 NIV). Whether the young man was taken off guard or just plain arrogant, he assured Jesus that he had obeyed all of the commandments his entire life. When I heard this story as a kid, I knew I had already blown it big time. I wasn't good, and I didn't know anyone who was. So, if the God thing depended on good behavior, I was out before I ever got in.

My Sunday school teacher assured me that God loved me, but he warned me that His love was conditional upon my being good. The pastor cemented this teaching from the pulpit. My parents reinforced the virtue of goodness for goodness' sake during the week. I suppose it seemed to be a good way to motivate a mischievous boy to behave, but the result is, church kids grow up plagued with shame, guilt, remorse, and self-loathing because they've been raised believing in a God who is in a foul mood looking for someone to rain down judgment upon.

Copyright © 2005 by David Foster

About the Author

Dr. David Foster is founder and senior pastor of Bellevue Community Church in Nashville, Tennessee. He is known as a true street-smart communicator who uses humor and simple illustrations to help seker find God. He and his wife live in Nashville with their three daughters.