Sailing with the Wind's Full Force
Many years ago after an especially rigorous season of ministry, a friend at Willow Creek Community Church suggested to my wife, Lynne, and me that we borrow his boat and spend a week sailing down south. It sounded like a great idea to us, so we packed a few things, boarded a plane and headed to the city where he keeps his boat.
Soon enough we had made our way to the harbor, loaded our supplies on board, thrown off the dock lines, started the engine and had the thing in reverse. It was going to be a great trip! Or so I thought.
Within moments I noticed that something was wrong. I’d used that boat before and remembered it being much more responsive to the throttle. As we headed out to open waters, I saw the temperature gauge climb and heard the motor sputter along. I did what any sailor worth his sea legs would do: I thumped the gauges. Nothing happened. I thumped them again—hard. Still nothing. A third time. Again, nada.
A little later on Lynne and I were making our way to a tiny island when I smelled something foul. She took the helm while I went down into the engine room, and sure enough, the engine was overheating. One of the hoses looked ready to burst, so we motored to shore as fast as we could and sought help.
A mechanic made his way to our slip and took quite a bit of time fiddling with every conceivable hose and switch and fan. “You’re all set!” he finally said as he emerged from below. So, again, we threw off the dock lines, revved up the engine and headed back out to sea. And again, things just weren’t quite right.
The mechanic was still standing on the dock, so I yelled at the top of my voice, “Could there be anything else wrong with this boat?”
“When you get to the island,” he yelled back, “you might dive over the side and check your prop.”
“Okay!” I hollered over the engine’s roar. “What do I look for?”
“Barnacles,” came the shouted reply.
Halfway to that island the tachometer was turning too few RPMs, the temperature gauge continued to rise, and I smelled another hose that was clearly ready to burst. As soon as we were close enough to drop anchor, I looked at Lynne and said, “I’m going over the side.”
I pulled on snorkeling gear, dove into the five-foot-deep water and located the propeller. Wouldn’t you know, two inches of performance-robbing barnacles were encrusting our prop. And in that state, there was no way that it could spin properly and propel the boat in the manner in which it was designed.
“Finally!” I thought, as I climbed up the swim ladder and tore off my mask. “I’ve located the real problem.” I rushed down to the galley to grab the only tool I actually know how to use—a butter knife—tugged my mask back over my face, and dove into the water once more. Forty-five minutes and ten bloody knuckles later I emerged to tell Lynne about my heroic feats of strength with that butter knife. Barnacles, man-eating sharks, the whole bit. She wasn’t impressed by my grandiose tale, but she was impressed by how well that boat performed from that point on.
After returning from that cruise I remember thinking about what a terrible trip it would have been had we neglected to locate the root issue that was holding us back. It’s important for boating success and for life success too. If you’re out on the open water trying to make your way with a barnacle-covered prop, my bet is you won’t get very far. It’s not until you and I put on our snorkel gear, dive over the side of the boat and take a good look around that we free ourselves up to sail.
Living Barnacle-Free
I don’t know what barnacles encrust your prop today. For some Christ followers the issue comes down to pride. For others it’s greed. For still others it’s lust or laziness or the tendency to overspend. But this much I do know: when you and I are willing to wield a butter knife and knock those things off of our lives, the character God intends for us will surface once again.
Character, a wise person once said, is what we do when no one is looking. It is not the same as reputation—what other people think of us. It is not the same as success or achievement. Character is not what we have done, but rather who we are.
People show who they are in hundreds of ways every day: A woman confronts her terror of public speaking so she can tell her church congregation about her miraculous answer to prayer. That’s courage. A man vows to get up twenty minutes early every morning to jog around the block, and he keeps his vow. That’s discipline. A high school teacher patiently draws out an inattentive student and discovers she is a gifted writer. That’s vision. A college student, overwhelmed by tests and term papers, considers dropping out but decides to stay and study instead. That’s endurance.
These four traits aren’t glamorous, nor are they easy, but they lead straight to the reflection of Christ. What’s more, they lead to love. If you haven’t noticed by now, I’ll fill you in: it’s extremely difficult to learn to love unless we also have other character traits: the courage to do what needs doing; the discipline to make decisions and carry them out; the vision to see far into the future and deep into others’ hearts and our own; and the endurance to keep going in spite of the ridicule, discomfort or boredom that can accompany this thing called life.
Love, says the apostle Paul in 1 Corinthians 13:13, is the most important Christian character trait, and yet it is probably the least understood. Most people who claim they want the character trait of love actually mean that they want to be loved. They hope that people will admire them and treat them with affection. But godly character says the goal is not to be loved but to do the hard work of loving others well instead, and to do so in myriad ways.
A woman refuses to make any more excuses for her husband when he misses work because of a hangover. That’s tough love.
A man notices his daughter’s tear-stained face, and so he sits down and encourages her to tell him what’s on her heart. That’s tenderhearted love.
A parent gives up an attractive job promotion so the family can stay in the town where they have made friends and put down roots. That’s sacrificial love.
A young widow offers forgiveness to the drunken driver who hit and killed her husband. That’s radical love.
I cover each of these facets in detail in the second half of this book.
Where Godly Character Is Born
Before you dive in, can I offer a word of caution? Some people who pick up this book might be tempted to read the table of contents and then draw up a chart. “Let’s see,” they would say, “I’m pretty weak on courage, so I’ll give myself two months to work on that one. Six weeks will probably cover discipline, and I’m sure I can handle vision in two weeks at most. I’ll just skip endurance, and that will give me three days to tackle each kind of love. If I follow this plan, I’ll have godly character in no time.”
In his book titled Autobiography, Benjamin Franklin said that he tried that approach, and it didn’t work. As soon as he mastered one good trait and went on to the next, the first one started slipping out of his grasp. He learned the hard way what you and I can borrow for free: Character can’t be developed through good resolutions and checklists. It usually requires a lot of hard work, a fair amount of pain and years of faithfulness before any of the virtues stay put.
With that said, developing character doesn’t have to be a grim task. The secrets I’ve picked up along the way are presented in each chapter, along with reminders that through Christ we can do all things.
And one final word, in case you’re not yet a follower of Christ. It’s critical to remember that no matter how wonderful your character is, it will never be wonderful enough to earn God’s approval. This is not a book about how to get God to sit up and notice you or how to improve your heavenly credit rating. As important as character is, it is not a way to earn salvation. Salvation can’t be earned—not even by courage, discipline, vision, endurance and love.
Salvation is a gift from the heavenly Father to us. It cost him everything—the death of his beloved only Son—and it costs us nothing. Hard work cannot earn it; neither can good behavior or sterling character. The only way we can enjoy a relationship with God is by coming to Jesus Christ, our hands outstretched and empty, and saying, “Lord, I want to follow you. Please take me into your family, wash me clean, give me new clothes and make me more like you.” And Jesus will do exactly that. He will take us as we are and assure us that we are his forever. Then—slowly at first, but surely—he will mold us and shape us until we look just like him.
Pretty cool process, if you ask me.
Bill Hybels
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