Don't Miss Your Life

Prologue

The Sin of Success: An Autobiography

I never want to be a pastor, missionary, or speak in public. Those are my conditions. That was my first prayer. On the floor. In my dorm room as a college freshman.

Have you ever tried to make a deal with God?

How'd that work out for you?

It wasn't my best idea. Three years later someone called me. It wasn't God. It might as well have been.

"Hello, is this Aaron?"

"Yes," I say.

"Is this Aaron Tredway, the professional soccer player?"

"Yes," I say.with pride.

It had always been my dream.

When I was five years old, my dad came home from work one day; he said we were going to play a new game. He never played himself. I don't think he ever saw it played until that day in the park.

Remember orange slices and lukewarm Capri Sun? Anyone? Maybe you also grew up in the '80s?

That day in the park I clearly saw my purpose. I jumped out of my dad's 1979 Datsun Bluebird, and I stood at the edge of the field. Fluorescent yellow socks pulled up to mid-thigh. White plastic pleather cleats. I was 44.5 pounds soaking wet. I'm certain the other kids were intimidated.

They were all running. They were all screaming. They were all chasing a ball but mostly just kicking each other. In that moment, I look up at my dad and his fantastic mustache. "I'm going to be a professional soccer player!" I say. I'm told that wasn't my dad's plan; he loved baseball. Maybe I should have played baseball. Maybe then God wouldn't have had Mike call me that day.

"Aaron, this is Mike," the voice says.

"Mike, great to hear from you," I say. "Do I know you?"

"Ummm. Well. Not really. But you should come to Africa to serve God with us."

Hmmm.

Let's think.

I never want to be a pastor, missionary, or speak in public.

I didn't think long.

"Mike, I'll pass," I say.

Three weeks later, I was in Harare, Zimbabwe.

Maybe you've had an experience like that-defining?

Life-altering? A total reframing of why you exist? Maybe it was an event for you. Maybe it was a specific moment in time. Maybe you picked up this book because you need a moment like that. I know I needed this moment.

From the day I stood on that soccer field when I was five years old, I had one goal for my life-to become a professional soccer player; but honestly, I didn't know what that meant when I was young. There was no professional soccer league in the United States. I had never watched soccer on TV, and I had never been to a game that I wasn't playing in myself. So, my vision wasn't robust.but it was specific.

I wanted to be famous.

I wanted to make lots of money.

I wanted to drive a Pontiac Firebird Trans Am. It had to be a black Pontiac Firebird Trans Am with a robotic artificially intelligent electronic computer module-I watched too much Knight Rider as a kid-thanks, Hasselhoff!

Here's the point: success was my goal.

Jesus once asked an interesting question: "What good would it do to get everything you want and lose you, the real you?"1

Have you ever thought about that?

Have you ever gotten something you really wanted? Do you remember how long you were satisfied until you wanted something else?

Soccer was like that for me.

I spent my life chasing, and working, and grinding, and hoping one day I would "make it." I actually slept with a soccer ball under my pillow most nights. I guess that explains my alignment issues. But I had a goal. And it wasn't just a goal-it was my target-the aim of my life.

That's why I set parameters with God. That night when I prayed for the very first time, I told God my conditions. "I'm willing to commit, to sacrifice, to follow Jesus" as long as "I never have to be a pastor, missionary, or speak in public."

I've noticed that God doesn't always honor back-alley deals, but he always has a plan. That's how I got to Africa. That's how I ended up on a dirt field with Mike, who pursued me until I agreed to go. I'll never forget the day.

The night before, we had played in a huge stadium in front of thousands of people, but now we were in the absolute middle-of-nowhere Africa-think mud huts, grass skirts, and kids with no clothes covered in dirt.

Carlos, my friend who played for the LA Galaxy, leans over to me as we're sitting there on the bus in the heat. "Why are we here?" he says. I had no idea.

There was no one in sight-no houses or huts or anything around. But there was a field full of rocks and glass. One end of the field appeared to be higher than the other. Significantly higher.

"Should we get off the bus?" Carlos says.

Neither of us moved.

I've noticed it's hard to move when you don't know your purpose. It's even more difficult when your purpose leads you somewhere you didn't intend to go. Has that ever happened to you? Have you ever found yourself in a place or a circumstance you didn't anticipate? Maybe it's your current job. Maybe it's a relationship. Maybe it's this book.

That's how I felt as our coach walked off the team bus that day. "Watch this!" he says.

But nothing happened.

Same field. Same heat. Same desolate surroundings. But then everything changed. Kids started rushing the field. They were swinging in on vines. They were coming out of bushes. They were riding in on elephants-at least that's how I remember it-the moment our coach put a ball on the ground.

Did I mention the clicking?

Yeah, that's how they speak in Harare.

It's like, "Click, clock, clock, click.click, click." I think it means, "I really like your hair." It's TBD. But I have determined it's extremely difficult to communicate when clicking is your only option. That's why this moment was so profound.

I stood on the side of the field watching all the kids running and screaming and kicking each other, just like I did when I was five years old. Our players were running and screaming and kicking them too. We weren't clicking. They weren't speaking English. We were communicating, though, through soccer.

Why am I here? What's my purpose? Why did I come to Africa? That's what I'm thinking as I'm standing there in the dirt watching the kids play. That's when our coach calls everyone together.

"Let's share Jesus!" Coach says.

Share? What? How? I'm totally confused. I knew we were in Africa to serve God, but what about the clicking? What about the cultural barriers? What about everything that separates us?

Maybe I should think more like a twelve-year-old sometimes. That's who shared Jesus that day-the coach's son.

It wasn't deep.

It wasn't complex.

It didn't have three points.

But Jesus was proclaimed. Hundreds of kids responded. The village chief was there. He committed his life to Christ. A church was planted in the middle-of-nowhere Zimbabwe. Twenty years later, that church still exists. And I was there.

Standing on the side of the field. In the dirt. I watched it happen. God used my passion for his purpose, and it totally reframed my perspective of success.

I always thought success was significant. That's the message we get from culture, at least. If you have the right degree, get the right job, hold the right position, make the right amount of money-you're good. If you gain fame, popularity, power, prestige-you're good. So. are you good? Is that how you feel? Satisfied? Fulfilled? Overflowing with life?

It's not how I felt for many years.

Maybe I was just too busy? Yes. That's it. I'm too busy! Schedule a vacation. A vacation will fix everything-marriage issues, anxiety, chronic stress, insomnia, diet, exercise, relationship with the kids-it's nothing five days and five nights on a beach won't fix.

Maybe I should take up yoga. Maybe I should rehearse daily self-affirmations. Maybe I should just drink more. Or.

Maybe the problem isn't the activity; it's the objective. Maybe I don't need to change what I'm doing; maybe I need to change why I do it.

That's what makes archery so intriguing to me. Remember archery circa high school gym class, and multiple teenagers who are legitimately given weapons they're ill-equipped to use? Yeah, it's an actual sport. It's characterized by a target-a series of concentric circles that represent a point value that increases as you move toward the center; it's called "the bull's-eye." That's the point. It's the goal. The objective of archery is to hit the bull's-eye.

I actually did that once-hit the bull's-eye. But my high school gym teacher, Mr. Stricker, said it didn't count. "What? It must count for something," I argued. "I hit the very...