Thank you for joining me for another Sunday Legacy Letter. Today’s story takes me back to 1971, to a school parking lot, a painful nickname, and a lesson I did not understand until much later.
“Go get ’em, Tiger”
As my dad drove me to my first day of junior high school, he offered the kind of encouragement fathers often give their sons.
“Go get ’em, Tiger.”
I remember rolling my eyes before stepping out of the car.
At the time, I thought his words were embarrassing. I had no idea they would soon be overshadowed by words that hurt much more.
My new classmates began calling me “beachball with fingers.” The nickname was aimed at my weight, but it affected far more than my appearance. The teasing became relentless. In time, the bullying became physical.
By eighth grade, my father had seen enough. He saw the torn shirts. He saw the bruised lips. He saw what the experience was doing to me: and to our family.
Dad decided something had to change.
Finding strength
We found a karate studio nearby and enrolled together.
The first days were difficult. Training challenged me physically and mentally. I was not used to the discipline, the repetition, or the effort required to improve. But I continued.
Over time, I lost 35 pounds. I became more agile. I gained confidence. I also developed a fierce determination that had not been there before.
Tae Kwon Do became my refuge.
It gave me a place to focus. It gave me a way to build strength. It helped me believe that I was not helpless. For a boy who had been mocked and hurt, that mattered.
But something else began to happen.
Tae Kwon Do started consuming my thoughts. My identity became increasingly connected to my ability to fight. The discipline that had helped me became the center of my attention. I began to carry anger everywhere I went.
I became mean-spirited.
I had unknowingly begun to worship at the altar of violence.
When strength becomes an idol
This does not mean martial arts are wrong.
Disciplines such as Tae Kwon Do can teach focus, self-control, fitness, patience, and responsibility. They can help people become healthier and more confident. Used properly, training can be constructive and honorable.
The problem was not simply the activity. The problem was what I allowed it to become in my heart.
Something that began as a tool for protection became a source of identity. Something that helped me regain confidence became tied to anger and violence. I was no longer simply practicing a discipline. I was placing too much trust in it.
That is where a good thing can become an idol.
A career can become an idol when our work becomes more important than our relationship with God.
A relationship can become an idol when another person’s approval becomes the foundation of our worth.
A hobby can become an idol when it consumes our thoughts, time, and energy while pushing God to the edges of our lives.
Even success can become an idol when we begin to believe it will protect us, define us, or save us.
The question is not always whether something is bad. Sometimes the more important question is whether something good has taken the place that belongs to God.
Psalm 115 and the shape of worship
Psalm 115 gives us a clear picture of the difference between idols and the Lord.
The psalm describes idols as objects with mouths that cannot speak, eyes that cannot see, ears that cannot hear, and hands that cannot feel. They may look impressive, but they are lifeless. They cannot provide true help or protection.
Then comes this warning in verse 8:
“Those who make them will be like them, and so will all who trust them.”
That verse reaches beyond ancient statues and carved images. It reveals a principle that still applies today:
We become shaped by what we worship and trust.
When I trusted violence to give me security, I became more violent.
When I looked to anger to make me strong, I became angrier.
When I allowed Tae Kwon Do to define me, I began to reflect the parts of it that I had placed above everything else.
The activity did not make every decision for me. I was responsible for my choices. But what I trusted was shaping the person I was becoming.
That is why Psalm 115 is both a warning and an invitation.
The warning is that lifeless things cannot give us life. Empty things cannot give us lasting security. The things we trust will shape us, even when we are not paying attention.
The invitation is to trust the Lord.
The Lord is our help and protection
Psalm 115:9–11 calls God’s people to trust the Lord. It repeats the truth that He is our help and our shield.
That description speaks directly to the fears I carried as a young teenager.
I wanted protection. I wanted confidence. I wanted to stop feeling helpless. I found some practical help through training, but I looked in the wrong place for my ultimate security.
Training could teach me how to move. It could not heal my heart.
Confidence could help me face a difficult situation. It could not tell me who I truly was.
Anger could make me feel powerful for a moment. It could not provide peace.
Only God could be my ultimate help and protection.
What are you trusting?
This is not a question reserved for people who practice martial arts. It is a question for all of us.
What has your attention?
What receives your best time and energy?
Where do you go first when you feel afraid, rejected, or uncertain?
What do you believe will finally make you valuable, safe, or complete?
Your answer may involve your career. It may involve money, health, family, popularity, achievement, or a relationship. It may involve a hobby or a personal goal that began as something positive.
Again, the issue is not always the thing itself. The issue is whether it has become the thing you trust most.
God does not ask us to neglect every responsibility or abandon every healthy interest. He calls us to put everything in its proper place.
We can work hard without worshiping our work.
We can love our families without placing them in God’s position.
We can enjoy hobbies without allowing them to define us.
We can pursue discipline without worshiping our own strength.
We can learn to defend ourselves without becoming controlled by anger or violence.
The Lord should remain our source of identity, help, and protection.
A renewed trust
Looking back, I can see that my father’s words were not as embarrassing as I thought.
“Go get ’em, Tiger” was his way of telling me that he believed I could face what was ahead.
But the deeper lesson is that no father, skill, career, relationship, or personal achievement can take the place of God. Even the best human encouragement has limits. Even the strongest discipline has limits.
The Lord does not.
He sees the wounds we carry. He understands the fears beneath our anger. He knows when we are trying to protect ourselves with strength, success, or control. He calls us away from lifeless idols and back to Himself.
Trusting God does not mean we will never face pain. It means we do not have to let pain become our identity.
It does not mean we will never need courage. It means our courage can be rooted in the One who is truly faithful.
It does not mean we abandon discipline. It means we place discipline under God’s direction rather than allowing it to rule our hearts.
Today, I am grateful for the lessons my past continues to teach me. I am grateful for my father’s concern. I am grateful for the strength I gained. Most of all, I am grateful that God can correct us, redeem our mistakes, and teach us to trust Him again.
Today, where will you place your trust?
Separate Free Homeownership Resource
Operation T.A.G. also offers the free Mission Homeownership PDF e-book as a separate homeownership resource. It is not part of this devotional. Scan the QR code below to access it.
Brett Stacy
National Director & Founder of the Hometown Hero Credit, a non-profit program of Operation T.A.G. (Tangible Act of Gratitude), and 501(c)(3) non-profit project of HDCF
Websites: www.OperationTAG.org and www.HometownHeroCredit.com
Phone: 760-456-8748 : 24-hour Information Line
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