They are smart, talented people who are blessed by God with many gifts. Instead of rising to the full potential the world hopes for them, they remain in the background, unnoticed by the masses, and living unremarkable lives.
The underachievers are hidden in plain view. They are your neighbors; they work with you; they ring up your groceries at the store. You may even be one of them.
Some of them have been underachieving their whole, adult lives. Others renounced their pursuit of recognition and forfeited the rewards that come with high accomplishment so that they could pursue something different.
I became an underachiever nine months ago. It happened quietly and nobody really noticed. Even me.
For years, I had led the First Fruits team. Although someone else founded our ministry, I was able to be a part of setting a new direction. Never famous, I was at least widely recognized as the face of our team. God anointed what we did, meaning he authorized us to speak on his behalf while we served him in that area. It was awesome.
Nine months ago, we handed that ministry back to God. The church that most of us attend launched a similar ministry. The needs that God had routinely directed toward us now flow there. He had entrusted us with a task and we had finished it. Sowe released it back to him.
I was a ministry leader one day and underachieving the next.
Now I spend my available time writing this blog, faithful to the new calling on my life. I can log into my Blogger account and see that a relatively small number of people view each post. Every week Facebook asks me to boost my results, hoping that I will seek to become an achiever again.
But that is not the job that God has for me in this season. So the world quietly scrolls past me, not noticing me and my underachievement, but occasionally wondering where I went.
I am a low-ranking underachiever. Kim is much better than I am. But in fairness to me, she’s been practicing longer. For twenty years, she has devoted her full time and attention to raising two children, building a home environment that fosters love, and helping others to pursue their dreams. She could have been a celebrated employee, but chose me, Erin and James instead. Classic underachievement.
She’s nothing, though, compared to her father. Bob spent forty years delivering the U.S. Mail. He quietly walked his route or drove a mail truck, making modest money with great benefits that provided food and shelter for his family and even a college education for his kids. Like most mailmen, he was seldom noticed. His family noticed, though. So did his church, where he was a deacon. He was much loved and is now desperately missed.
People notice the underachievers the least, but then miss them the most when they are gone.
People like Kim and Bob have helped me to recognize my newfound peers. I have been (and still am) both an achiever and an underachiever. One is not inherently right or the other wrong and neither is necessarily better than the other, but underachieving is harder.
Achievers enjoy a constant stream of encouragement and admiration. It is easy for them to reach for greater heights as crowds cheer them on. They are esteemed and rewarded with things that the world envies.
The underachievers busily build the foundation of our families and cities while the world adores the towers and cathedrals.
They pursue their calling quietly. Lacking encouragement from others, they pray a lot, seeking it from the Father who loves them dearly. In the kingdom to come, many of them will become achievers. After a few seasons at the end of the line, they will enjoy an eternity of favor.
They don’t have to wait, though. We can reward them today. They are easy to find, just look behind any achiever, or see who has been silently helping you. They don’t want much, just a “thank you” or acknowledgment of the value of the job they perform.
God loves all his children, and he will make sure the underachievers get their reward. It would please both him and if we would bless them now. While people associated my name with First Fruits’ successes, there were people who served equally faithfully but quietly. I think I’ll start by thanking some of them.
As people continue to ask what is next for me, I am trying to focus less on my next step. Instead, I am trying to see my life through the Father’s eyes and share what I learn. It’s been challenging and I still have a long way to go.
Hopefully, I will gain the patience of a champion underachiever along the way.
My Thank-You List for Today (apologies to those I missed)
Carra Day Carra joined our team during a season of her own crisis. Regardless of how difficult things were for her, she faithfully gave her best. Thank you, Carra, for showing me that seemingly overwhelming needs will be met by a loving Father and that empty hands always have something to give. (Picture of Carra praying over a homeless man at Operation Care) Hank Cates Hank joined our team later than many of the core team but instantly became a key ingredient. On days that were too hot, during tasks that were unfathomably difficult, when we needed it most, Hank’s ready smile and genuine laugh charged the atmosphere. Thank you, Hank, for reminding me that serving is a joy, and friends are meant to be enjoyed. Thank you for being my friend. (Picture as Hank saw the gutters he was asked to hang on a 100° day) Mary Jo Johnson Though she be but little, she is fierce. Nobody works harder than Mary Jo. Across the years, she has always given her very best. Whenever I was ready to give up and cut corners, she encouraged me to find a way and summoned the strength for both of us. Thank you, Mary Jo, for pushing us all to excellence in the details. We wouldn’t have been the same without you.
Steve Hermann Steve was always the most equipped person on our team. He arrived early every workday, always prepared for the task at hand. He was the first person we asked for advice on how to perform a task. Despite that, he served with inspirational modesty. Never seeking attention, he remained in the background. Thank you, Steve, for modeling the nature of humility.
I went to the same, small school for eleven years growing up. The graduating class averaged eighty to ninety kids each year, and many of us had started first grade together. Although Goodpasture seemed a strange name for a school (or anything except for a farm), nobody ever seemed to notice. It was easy to accept things as they were in our comfortable cocoon.
The staff size was understandably small and families like ours that had several children enrolled were widely recognized. Invariably, my teachers were hand-me-downs from my older sister and with an uncommon name like McAfee, it wasn’t too hard for teachers to draw a connection.
I was a slightly above-average student, who usually got about as many As as Bs. I was a maybe average athlete, small for my age with no particular talent. As far as artistic gifts I had none. All in all, I was a regular kid. Only one thing prevented me from getting the attention I thought that I deserved.
My older sister, Kelly, was two years ahead of me. She was never average. If our school could have supported a gifted program, she would have sat first-chair. She always had perfect grades. She was 5’9″ by the fifth grade and an exceptional athlete. She played piano, clarinet, and saxophone. As her brother, I wouldn’t have known if she was pretty, but the regular stream of boys asking her out felt that she was.
Every year when I was promoted to a new grade, I felt like my new teachers had high hopes for me and then sighed as they realized that genetics was an imperfect science.
In our yearbook, each graduating senior chose a quote. Kelly’s was unusual, and I have since asked her why she chose it. She replied that she had gotten it out of a book of quotes and it seemed fitting. One of the world’s most prolific chatterboxes had made her selection.
How do I know what I think until I see what I say?
It’s kind of a strange sentence that you have to read a couple times. After doing that, you still are not completely sure what it means. I was finally presented with a chance to be the McAfee that came out on top. I could do better than that. I would find something smart, funny, and cool. My senior quote would undoubtedly be better than hers.
As it turned out, mine was not better. First, I changed schools the month before my senior year and never had a senior quote. Second, that goofy quote turns out to be not only insightful but is one of my favorites. It has captured the essence of why I write.
Kelly won again. Oh, well. I should be used to it.
Over the past years, writing has become a passion for me. I write because it helps me to discover what is really going on inside my head. I only share these ruminations in the hopes of helping others to do the same. I do not write because I am good at it. I have quietly filled journals while assuming no one would be interested.
Most of the time, I intend to write about one thing only to finish and find something altogether different. It is as if my conscious mind starts the task, then my subconscious mind takes over. My focus transitions from the original subject into something deeper that I was processing. Unresolved conflicts find release as my words flow out.
My fingers dance across the keyboard, releasing images that are occasionally frightening. Thoughts escape that are either embarrassing, or I wish were not true. While reading a passage that I just wrote, I have to stop and ask myself if I really believe it or was merely repeating something I’ve been told to believe.
Expressing feelings that I wish weren’t true brings comfort. Like an infection that needs to be exposed to the air to heal, my internal conflicts resolve themselves once they are out in the open. Honesty is the only thing that matters.
“This above all, to thine own self be true.”
Hamlet by William Shakespeare
Occasionally, I write to capture a particular moment in time. Reflection on life’s highs and lows can bring comfort. Just like wounds heal and disappear, accurate recall fades as time slips by. The intensity of a season dissipates quickly. Memories tend to save a few facts, but forget the substance. Only the echo of your own voice will rekindle the moment.
Simple notes from the past are a time machine, transporting you back to relive moments of celebration and of pain. Stepping outside of time brings a hopefulness that is otherwise lost in the chaos that surrounds us. We need those windows into the past to remind us both where we come from and how far we have come.
God carefully created each of us. Our thoughts, dreams, and feelings were all designed long ago. Journalling is a discovery exploration of the soul he created in us.
The most important part of writing is to express your dreams. A life without hope is no life at all. If you could ask for anything, what would it be? Choose your answer carefully and it will guide your path.
I began to journal because a pastor friend invited me to give it a chance. I am extending the same invitation to you. If you don’t have a journal lying around, pick one up for a quarter on your next trip to Walmart. The awkwardness quickly goes away and most people learn to love it. You may, too.
We are eternal creatures. Stop racing in circles for long enough to spend time getting to know yourself and the Father’s spirit that lives in you. You are worth the time.
The world floods us with differing messages from social media, the news, commercials, church, friends, and more. For a moment, silence them all and discover what you believe. You may be surprised by what you think when you see what you say.
As I’ve written this post, long forgotten feelings of envy have emerged toward a sibling who was always smarter, faster and more popular than me. It was a long time ago, but those buried emotions were all alive and well. They were just waiting for a release.
Kelly has been gifted with even more amazing talents since high school. I still look up to her with admiration that is mixed with a little jealousy. She is my big sister after all, and I am one of her biggest fans. Her success has inspired me.
I learned to reach for the stars by watching someone who always seemed able to grasp them.
She can keep her senior quote as another victory in a life that has been full of them. It’s OK. I know she loves me.
If I could ask for anything, it would be to enjoy more time with her. And I am making those plans, but that is a story for another day.
To take the ADHD test, click on the picture (or follow the link below). Answer 31 yes-no questions and you can score your behavior patterns against “disorder” symptoms.
It’s official. I have ADHD. The internet told me so.
I am proud of my 71% score. Kim only got 13%. Hopefully, you will take the test and post your score in the comments at the bottom (don’t forget to leave a first name). Maybe it will explain why we relate to each other the way we do.
ADHD is a legitimate medical condition that causes severe challenges for some people. I sympathize with those people, but I am not one of them. I’m just a bit of a harmless spaz that can’t sit still, but you probably already knew that.
I am also a dreamer who happily pictures things that aren’t as they could be. My 71% allows me to apply nearly infinite energy to build those daydreams in our shared reality.
Sometimes the outcome of my efforts is imaginative. I love finding solutions to nearly any home repair with the stuff you find in your junk drawer.
Sometimes the outcome is pointless, like the time I spent two days and twelve sheets of sandpaper to reshape a cube of wood into a ball. We had a houseguest that weekend, and I thought doing that would make me seem more attentive when she talked.
Sometimes the outcome is productive, like this past week when I came home from work and, while still in office attire, saw that our garden weasel had arrived. I compulsively spent thirty minutes hand tilling most of our back yard and then spreading grass seed. I got mud and that weird, green, grass-seed dust all over my good clothes.
Each of us has a brain that works differently. My thoughts joyfully romp down a thousand rabbit trails while I sit and watch your mouth move. Considerations race through my mind as my body unsuccessfully dashes to keep up.
It is easy for me to live in the future because its images constantly flood my brain. I am comfortable with tomorrow because it holds infinite opportunities that seem just within reach.
It is also difficult for me to live in the present. Events can play out too slowly for me to stay engaged. But if I try very hard and fidget endlessly, it is possible to stay on point just long enough to finish this post.
It has everything to do with my relationship with God.
I seldom pray for the present. My petitions are for the images that swarm my imagination. I feel closest to God when he assures me that a particular glimpse will become a reality and then walks with me while we build it. Those spirit-filled moments give me indescribable joy.
It also explains why Luke 2:52 is a scary verse.
In the preceding verse, Jesus was a twelve-year-old child. In the next verse, he was a thirty-three-year-old adult starting his life of ministry.
Twenty-one years slipped by as Jesus quietly went about his life. God walked with him as he patiently focused on all the daily details that make us human.
Jesus spent over two decades immersed in the same details that my brain skips past every day while it pursues something new.
I envy my wife. She loves the details. God holds her hand and she smiles. She is at peace spending quiet moments with him when nothing is happening. She enjoys their daily routines. For example, she has delivered Meals on Wheels for years. Same routes, same people, same hot food. Jesus shines through her and her simple acts of devotion.
There is incredible power in living a quiet life of obedience. God’s voice is a gentle whisper because he is at peace. He wants us to live the same way – trusting that our needs will be met, sharing our time, obeying the voice of truth.
In truth, I don’t want God to sit quietly with me. I want him to run with me in wild adventures that seem totally out of control.
Life has more days of quiet faithfulness than it does moments of divine calling. That is a challenge for me.
Many people are scared that God will call them into uncertainty. The test’s top scorers aren’t. We pray for it. We thrive on it. We become desperate when it doesn’t come fast enough.
Maybe your brain is wired like mine. Meetings are tough. Relationships come slowly. People laugh because we act differently. The world says it is a disorder. God calls it his design.
He made us this way and did it for a reason. We were fashioned for a purpose by a loving father. We have been set apart. Our lives are full of special blessings and special challenges.
Maybe you got a low score, but you know there is a test out there where your score will be high. That is OK. You were designed that way. Seek God in it.
In the meantime, you probably have a family member, friend, or coworker who is a top scorer. You know who they are. Accept us as God made us. We need you to keep us grounded. We are different, but one day you’re going to need us, too.
When the whole world seems crazy and out of control, just look around. We’ll be the ones smiling.
I flew to Chattanooga this past weekend for a family visit. It was my first trip to see my mother since she recently moved into a memory care facility, and I was blessed to spend time with her, my dad, brother, sister, and their various families.
It is really difficult to see mom as she loses her battle with dementia because the lady I see in front of me isn’t the person I remember. Dad made a comment that he hoped people would not remember her like she is now, and I understand his feelings.
I can pray for healing, but that would not restore the young mother who raised me or the friend she became later. I do pray for God to grant peace to the elderly lady who now holds my highest regard. If I cannot have back the time that has now flowed downstream, I can at least share a reflection of the eternal soul that lives inside the diminishing shell.
Saddened by her condition, I walked through the house mom and dad lived in for the past twenty-five years. Mostly, it is the usual stuff that I’ve seen a thousand times. This time though, I saw things differently.
Their house has pictures all around. That is not unusual for people their age. What is unusual is the lack of pictures with only her in them. Most of the pictures don’t have her in them at all.
She has lived a life full of adventure. She loved to travel and in addition to trips around these United States, she also made trips to Ireland, Scotland, Germany, Australia, Newfoundland, and other countries. But with all those famous places, there are no framed pictures of her standing next to a historic landmark. She didn’t feel important because of her surroundings.
Mom was the first person in her family to graduate from college, and she was fiercely proud of receiving her degree. Higher callings had delayed her schooling until later in life, and she graduated about the same time that I did. Her cap and gown still hang in an upstairs closet, and I occasionally stumble across a picture of her receiving her diploma in a box of jumbled photographs. Displaying her achievements doesn’t have value to her.
In the late ’80s, Glamour Shots became popular, and we gifted her with a photo session at the mall where they gave her a makeover and took various pictures in fancy clothes on colorful backgrounds. Those pictures are beautiful, and sometimes I find them thrown into a box with countless others. Capturing her best features didn’t matter very much either.
The “best” pictures of mom are never the ones that decorate the living areas. In her favorite pictures, she is frequently leaning to one side or maybe looking the wrong way when the picture was taken. I don’t think she ever noticed or cared.
The first thing I do when I find a picture with me in it is to see if it is a good picture of me. Mom isn’t like that. She has always looked past herself and seen the people next to her.
Mom’s most memorable moments were never ones that focused on her “where” or the “what” she was doing. “When” didn’t seem to matter much either. The only thing of significance was who she shared time with.
Most of what I learned about how to love well came from my mom. She was content to spend time with me doing whatever I chose. I know the gifts God gave me because she patiently told me as many times as was necessary for the truth to sink in.
She taught me that happiness doesn’t come from success, or being in a certain place, or doing a certain thing. It doesn’t come from focusing on yourself.
Happiness comes from loving the people you share life with.
I want to live like that.
Mom has always loved God passionately. She made a journal entry the day she was diagnosed with early onset dementia. Her note reflected a sadness, but no anger. Even in a moment of personal defeat, she wasn’t focused on herself, but on who else was in the picture.
“I know God will control my time…I pray for God’s guidance moving forward.”
Thanks, Mom, for reminding me who to look at in my pictures. And in my life.
If you have been in a picture with Jan McAfee, take a moment to go find it. Remember her in that happy time, and enjoy the warm feeling you get.
Then go give that feeling to someone else.
If you want to read one of my favorite posts, it is something I gave her for Mother’s Day a couple of years ago. Click here to read “The Wish”.
For years, I had led the First Fruits team. Although someone else founded our ministry, I was able to be a part of setting a new direction. Never famous, I was at least widely recognized as the face of our team. God anointed what we did, meaning he authorized us to speak on his behalf while we served him in that area. It was awesome.
Now I spend my available time writing this blog, faithful to the new calling on my life. I can log into my Blogger account and see that a relatively small number of people view each post. Every week Facebook asks me to boost my results, hoping that I will seek to become an achiever again.
She’s nothing, though, compared to her father. Bob spent forty years delivering the U.S. Mail. He quietly walked his route or drove a mail truck, making modest money with great benefits that provided food and shelter for his family and even a college education for his kids. Like most mailmen, he was seldom noticed. His family noticed, though. So did his church, where he was a deacon. He was much loved and is now desperately missed.
Carra Day
Hank Cates
Though she be but little, she is fierce. Nobody works harder than Mary Jo. Across the years, she has always given her very best. Whenever I was ready to give up and cut corners, she encouraged me to find a way and summoned the strength for both of us. Thank you, Mary Jo, for pushing us all to excellence in the details. We wouldn’t have been the same without you.
Steve Hermann
