I’m amazed by Olympians. Their talent, focus, dedication, faith, and humanity—they’re incredible. But in many ways, I’m more amazed by their coaches. 65 years old and you’re telling the world’s greatest athletes what to do? That takes guts.
Take gymnastics. I mean, obviously Marta Karolyi is a legend. And I’m sure Simone Biles’s coach is brilliant. But I know for sure and for certain that they can’t do the things she does—never could. And yet she listens to them.
Watching Simone’s coaches got me thinking about my pathetic attempt to teach my nephew how to do a cartwheel. Now, I haven’t been able to do a cartwheel for years. I thought I could until about a decade ago, when I showed some of my students and was not-so-gently disabused of that notion. And now it’s worse. I tried to show John Paul what to do (with some caveats that his legs, unlike mine, should be straight) and ended up landing on my butt.
I can’t do a cartwheel. That doesn’t keep me from telling him how to.
It’s like this in a lot of areas in my life. People ask my advice on marriage, parenting, prayer, humility, evangelization, you name it. I’m no expert in any of those areas. When it comes to marriage and humility, I have no personal experience at all. And yet, I’ve always got advice.
I’m sure this is an obnoxious trait. But many of us have just the opposite problem: we refuse to advise our friends, even when asked, because we’re not experts. We watch people flounder, unwilling to throw them a line, because we don’t want to presume.
It seems the height of arrogance, giving someone advice on something you can’t yourself do. And yet, as every coach at the Olympics shows us, it isn’t, necessarily. Because wisdom comes from more than just personal experience. If you’re one who’s hesitant to put your oar in, read on for a little encouragement. If you refuse to listen to anyone who hasn’t been through exactly what you’re going through, you might also find this helpful.(If you’re like me and have oars out in every direction, might be best to close this window and move on.)
No, I can’t do a cartwheel, but I can come close.
I may never have done a cartwheel, but I can tell you a few things. I can tell you that you should lead with your dominant hand and foot. I can tell you to keep your legs straight. I can tell you not to land on your butt.
And even though my cartwheel isn’t good, I can tell you some of the things I’ve corrected to make it better. It’s the same with prayer. I’m terribly distracted at prayer. If you’re looking for advice from a mystic, keep looking. But my prayer is less pathetic than it used to be. So I can give you advice on posture and timing and what to focus on. I can tell you silence is more important than words, not because I usually manage to be silent but because I’ve had moments where I have.
When you give advice from your limited experience, acknowledge that it’s probably flawed. But also own the fact that you might have some pretty worthwhile things to say. Basic, perhaps, but helpful nonetheless.
No, I can’t do a cartwheel, but I’ve watched lots of other people.
I may not be able to do it myself, but I know that if you bend your arms, you’ll end up propped up on your head. I know that putting your legs together turns it into a roundoff. From watching other people do it right (and wrong), I have a sense of cartwheels.
I’ve never been married, but I’ve been invited into lots and lots of homes and talked with lots and lots of married people. I’m sure you’re much the same way. You don’t have to have dated an abusive person to know when someone should get out. You don’t have to be married to an introvert to know that introverts need more space. Having loved people who’ve gone through these experiences can give you all kinds of insight.
In fact, sometimes people who have no personal experience are better equipped to give advice. I hear people say all the time that priests should be married because you can’t give marriage advice unless you’ve lived it. I’m sure that helps in some ways, but it also makes it much harder not to project your marriage’s issues onto every other.
Priests can stand outside their own experience and give you wisdom gleaned from walking with a hundred different couples. Just like you don’t necessarily need to be a recovering addict to counsel addicts, you don’t necessarily need to have lived something to understand someone else’s struggle.
No, I can’t do a cartwheel, but I’ve read some books.
Are there books about cartwheels? Probably.
But there are definitely books about prayer and relationships and starting your own business. It’s okay to share thoughts from what you’ve read, to quote a great Saint, or to lend out a copy of a favorite book.
Is it as helpful as sharing your life experience? Maybe not. But then again, maybe it is. Because your life experience is often based on one personality type interacting in one situation. But the words of an expert or the reflections of a Saint are usually filled with wisdom that ordinary people like us haven’t yet managed to amass.
No, I can’t do a cartwheel; let’s ask someone who can.
One perk of not being Simone Biles’s coach is that you actually have access to people who can do what you’re trying to coach. Maybe I can’t do a cartwheel, but I can call in just about any 12-year-old on the planet and ask their help.
You can pass your friends off to someone who knows better, sure. That’s really helpful. But you can also introduce them to Saints who had the same struggles. You can give them new intercessors and also new models of living. It’s all well and good for me to encourage an alcoholic to stay sober, but getting to know Matt Talbot is going to be a totally different experience for them. He suffered as they suffer and, by the grace of God, triumphed.
No, I can’t do a cartwheel. Try somebody else.
Sometimes, you just have to acknowledge your limitations. This is also part of being a good friend. Sometimes you just have to listen and love and weep and pray and keep your mouth shut. It’s awfully frustrating just to say, “Yeah. I know. That’s so hard. Oh, sweetie,” again and again, but sometimes that’s your job, either because you have no advice to give or because you can’t handle being the one who gives it.
There are Olympians who have the same coach for 15 years. Others move on to new coaches and that’s okay, too. It takes great humility for the coach of their childhood to let somebody else lead them to glory, but the great ones have it in them to move away and leave others in the limelight. Before you speak, pray: has God given you wisdom for this situation? Or is it time to step back? Sometimes the best you can do is acknowledge your inadequacy and pray that the right person comes along to speak truth.
Now I don’t mean to say, of course, that novices are experts or that couch potatoes should be Olympic coaches. I just think that we ought to consider that perhaps it’s worth listening to the stay-at-home mom telling you how to manage your employees, the scrawny guy with tips on weight lifting, and the animal expert who’s never owned a pet. Maybe they’ve got unexpected people skills, PhDs in kinesiology, or dear friends who are dog trainers. And if you’re one of the above, maybe it’s time to accept that you might have something worthwhile to say. Often it’s harder to speak than it is to remain silent, but it’s possible that God made you to shine from the sidelines. It’s certainly something to pray on.
And now, let the Olympics of listening graciously to unsolicited advice begin!
