Bigger Than Your Giant

Recently a woman was mauled to death by her pet tiger.

I was saddened by this tragic event. But I also thought what most sane people must have thought when they read the story: Why would anyone have a pet tiger? (No offense if you've got a pet Bengal in your backyard.)

Tigers are meat eaters! They survive in the wild by hunting and killing their prey. And a tiger will always be a tiger. So why would anyone try to tempt nature by making a pet out of one of these natural-born killers?

Here's what I think happened. When the woman first met the tiger, it looked cute and cuddly. That furry little cub was small and playful. Entertaining. Endearing. I bet she held that cub tight and it purred with delight. A bond was formed. She gave her pet tiger cub a name. Maybe Mooshie or BooBoo or Stripey or Elwood. She took it home with her and gave it a warm space to sleep and a safe place to play. All was well, day after day after day after day.

Until.

Elwood.

Grew.

Then that playful pet morphed into what it truly was and showed its true colors. It wasn't a fuzzy cub anymore. It was a savage killer. The tiger attacked and the results were heartbreaking.

It's not much different with our giants — the habits, the behaviors, the faulty beliefs, the same old broken ways we're accommodating in our lives.

These "pets" started out as cute and cuddly babies. They didn't look like they'd do us any harm. They were comforting. Reassuring. We formed bonds with these pets, and gave them a warm place to stay in our minds and hearts and behaviors.

But these same pets have grown. They're showing their true colors — and they aren't pets anymore. They're savage killers. Nine-foot-tall giants. They're ripping into us, mauling us.

We desperately want to rid ourselves of these giants.

But how?

My Own Pet Giant

Goliath wasn't born nine feet tall. And whatever has a stranglehold on you most likely didn't arrive on day one with threats of clenching you between its teeth. I'm guessing it was comforting and spoke to a need you had buried within. Your killer was camouflaged as a friend you couldn't live without. But, on the day not of your choosing, the gloves came off and the giant stepped on your throat, suffocating you with all its weight.

I've chronicled such a giant in my life in other talks and writings, and been up front about the tipping point where I fell into a deep, dark hole of depression and anxiety. If one of these behemoths is making life unbearable for you, I get it. For a time it was identified as my "anxiety disorder," a nice generic term generally accepted by people. Yet, over time, I have been able to more acutely pinpoint the giants that shoved me over the edge and into that pit. For me, understanding that anxiety is not a thing, but a symptom of something(s), has been a game changer in dealing with the enemies of God's glory in my life.

To put it mildly, I had a breakdown. That was pretty obvious to everyone around me, and a nonnegotiable reality for me. The day arrived when the baby tiger was grown. It took aim, and the consequences were drastic and almost deadly. But what's more helpful is to understand why. I've come to learn it's usually not the result of one thing or one moment, but a combination of lots of things that fester over time, rotting us from the inside until we come unhinged.

So what pushed me into the hole of anxiety and depression? Genetic tendencies? No doubt. The rush and crush of having the engine revved too high for too long? For sure. Worry? Check. But looking back I see the footprints of two of my own Goliaths: control and approval. I have a tendency to want to change whatever environment I am in. I want to make things better. I see what is, but I dream of what can be. I think like this driving through a city, sitting in traffic, eating in a restaurant, walking through a slum in Haiti, passing time between flights in an airport, waiting in a hospital. Anywhere. Anytime. I am thinking of how to create change, cast vision, and marshal people toward a common goal.

Being a change leader can be good. But it can also invite the baby cub of control into the mix. Some of you know what I mean. You're trying to control every outcome for your kids. You're sweating the stock market. You monitor all the conversations that flow throughout your crew, wanting to make sure everyone thinks the right thing and comes to the right conclusions. And like me, you find yourself staring at the ceiling when you should be deep in sleep, wondering which approach will work best to bring about the conclusion you are convinced is right.

Wanting to steer toward great outcomes is noble. But trying to control the world is disastrous. In time, controllers crack under the reality that none of us are in control.

Then there's the giant of approval. Couple my need to control with my underlying need to be liked and you have a perfect storm. This was especially true in the early days of planting the church we shepherd. Before we planted Passion City Church, being a speaker and ministry entrepreneur had been challenging for sure. We crafted stadium events in countries around the globe and forged a record label to bring music to the worldwide church. I spoke here, there, and everywhere. But if people didn't like me there was always another opportunity around the corner. Another conference. Another group of people. Another endeavor to launch.

But in planting a church you sink roots with a tribe, and in leading people week by week you quickly discover you can't please everyone. Sadly, I thought I could make everyone happy (control is talking now). And I really needed to, more than I wanted to admit. In our embryonic days, my wife, Shelley, and I got an e-mail from a friend that shattered any notion that planting a church would be easy, or that our good intentions would always be rewarded. When the giant of control met and married the giant of rejection, they tag-teamed me, tied my hands, and hurled me over the cliff. It wasn't anyone's fault but mine. Character flaws that were once smaller and manageable were now towering over me. Taunting me. Defying my God.

I was a controller who'd found he couldn't control anymore. I was an approval-seeker who'd discovered not everything he did was applauded. My pet tiger cub was a full-grown adversary I had to admit and deal with.

These are (I initially wrote were, but that's not as realistic as I'd like it to be) a couple of my giants.

What about you?

When One Voice Shuts You Down

For some of you, as soon as you read the title of this book, you knew exactly what your giant was. You didn't even need to think about it, because you battle against it every day.

Others aren't exactly sure what the name of their problem is because...