Shrinking

I remember growing up and playing basketball when I was about 6 years old. I loved it. I remember feeling like, “This is so easy,” while I played. I was so good that my dad made a YouTube video of me playing, and one of his comments was something like, “If he keeps this up, he’ll be great.” Long story less long, I didn’t continue on playing basketball throughout my youth. I got to middle school, tried to pick up a basketball again, and I was nowhere near as good as I used to be. On top of that, the kids around me were really good for our age. I remember playing with some of them and feeling incompatible; I struggled to shoot and control the ball in any kind of way. It got to the point that some of them said I was terrible at playing… and I believed it because I saw evidence for what they were saying. In that moment, instead of working on myself and practicing more, I shrank. I felt ashamed to even try because even though their words were hurtful, they felt so true to me. Then I got to high school and tried out for the team, more than 10 years removed from the sport, and I still did badly; I heard insults of all kinds, and I believed them. Even if they were jokes, I believed them because they felt true. I never wanted to pick up a basketball again.

I remember growing up and playing catch with my dad with a football. I loved it. Running routes and catching the ball, even the moments I got hurt, I loved it. It made me feel tough. I remember in middle school there was this after-school flag football thing. I can’t remember exactly what it was, but it wasn't anything official. I remember playing and feeling like I was really good. But some of the people who were really good at basketball were really good at football too, and that intimidated me. These same people who were great in one sport were great in another, and what if the same thing that happened with basketball happens with football? So in my mind, “Let’s just keep this thing fun, nothing serious.” I wanted no competition that would make me feel like I did playing basketball. Fast forward to high school: I try my hand (ironic) at playing receiver, and I struggled massively with catching. Internally, I felt pressure that I never got over, pressure tied to how people perceived me. I never wanted to feel the same way I did as a kid playing basketball and not doing well, and that created pressure. And instead of working on my hands even more, I shrank under that pressure, and it made me not want to pick up a football again.

To be honest, or frank (whatever, lol), at 22 years old it’s not hard to catch a football, or play basketball for that matter. Last summer I spent the whole season playing basketball and getting better, just because I said I wanted to… and I did. I can confidently say I’m like that now 😂😂😂. But seriously, I never thought I could be good at basketball again. I’m not playing pro or joining someone’s uncle’s LA Fitness league 😭, this was just for me. I wanted to do something because who said I couldn’t? I wanted to be good at basketball just because I wanted to. And yes, I’m jumping ahead of myself here, but the only person’s opinion, stance, or mindset that mattered all along was my own.

Shrinking.

I shrank not only because I didn’t want to feel embarrassed, but because I cared about how people saw me. I shrank because I wanted people to like me, accept me, and not talk down on me. I shrank because doing the opposite (working on myself and practicing; rising up and shining) felt like pressure and responsibility I didn’t know how to carry or commit to. Shrinking was easy. “Not trying” was easy. “Never let anyone see the real me” was easy. All of it was easy. This way of thinking (shrinking instead of shining) has followed me into adulthood in spaces I never would’ve expected.

Here’s the conundrum: In my life today, I come in contact with people who speak highly of me and look to me for guidance and help. People I deeply respect tell me, “I’m proud of you,” and for some reason I struggle to believe it. That isn’t random. For so long, I’ve believed I’m not someone others should esteem. I don’t believe I should be esteemed because I’m not like the people I consider esteemed. I compare myself to people I admire, and when I don’t measure up, I feel like I’m no good or don’t deserve to be affirmed. I don’t esteem myself because I’m not who I believe I could be, like them. For a long time, I haven’t thought positively about myself. So when I receive esteem or compliments for who I am today—someone new, someone to be admired and esteemed—I have a hard time accepting them and believing the words. Or… I shrink. I fall back into who I’ve always believed myself to be. And that is actually very dangerous.

I got saved at the beginning of 2023, and I’ve come to understand that salvation is not about sitting in someone’s pew and listening to someone gasp for two hours (nothing against it). But salvation is about change, and in three years, I have changed a lot. I not only talk differently and act differently, you know, small stuff like that, but my heart is different. I don’t think the same. I’m more intentional about life now, which means I have a different effect on people. So when people tell me what my effect is on them now, if I struggle to receive what they’re saying because all I’m used to is shrinking, then I don’t get to see myself. “There is power in knowing who you are,” but if I don’t see myself, get to know the person I am today, and receive what people are testifying that I am, then how do I distinguish who I am now from who I’ve grown from? I can’t, and that’s dangerous.

There was incomplete evidence of who I was.

I never really “tried” at anything after middle school, once I saw the skill gap and heard the insults. I thought “trying” would prove the worst things people said about me. That was one of the first moments in my life where I shrank. But one thing last summer taught me, playing basketball every day, was that actually trying and applying yourself (rising up and shining, not shrinking) is how you get to see the truth about yourself. And from there, you grow. This is the point where you can see the truth about yourself… but it’s not a guarantee. I saw that I wasn’t as good as the other kids. True. But to say I was “trash”… incomplete. The truth was, I hadn’t played in years, and I believed I was going to ball out like I used to. That was the moment I was supposed to learn and rise (shine) to the occasion and get better, not shrink back and accept a lie. The evidence was there, but my understanding of it was incomplete.

Today, there is evidence of who I am.

I share my testimony often with strangers and with people close to me in the faith. I am actively living with a new heart and a new outlook on life, and the consistent report about me is always good. I am being the man God grew me to be for such a time as this, and I am having an effect on life and the lives around me. So why isn’t this enough for me to just believe these things and move with them? Newsflash, it is.

“Jesus answered them, “I have told you, yet you do not believe. The works that I do in My Father’s name testify concerning Me [they are My credentials and the evidence declaring who I am],” John 10:25. While brainstorming and jotting notes about this very “post,” part of me thought I needed to “prove everyone wrong.” I thought it was about changing the minds of the people who said something… but that’s not it. I am who I am: who God made me to be. My effect will be seen… but it isn’t about being seen, either. It’s about being made new. It’s about change in every aspect of my life… especially the change in how I think about myself. That has to change because I am a new person, and by God’s grace, I get to see it. I mean, I have testimonies of this new person I am through the people God has graced me to meet and be around. Praise God.

I’m learning that it’s not about performing. It’s about living, being, and seeing who I am today. The former things have passed away. Now behold, look and pay attention: all things have become new… including me. So I have to release my old way of thinking about myself and learn who I am again. I have to rise and accept the evidence of who I am today and, as Jesus said, “I have told you so, yet you do not believe”, choose to believe. The evidence makes disbelief look foolish… because it is. I’m not shrinking because I don’t know, I’m rising so that I can know. I already am somebody; my works testify to that. Now I have to keep learning who that is by continuously rising and shining, being the man God grew me to be, not shrinking.