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Part 1 of 5Self Sabotage - GOATED Vol. 2
GOAT Jesus Series: Self-Sabotage Volume 2
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Connected by scripture or shared themes.
Part 1 of 5Self Sabotage - GOATED Vol. 2
GOAT Jesus Series: Self-Sabotage Volume 2
Continue exploring
Connected by scripture or shared themes.
I want to introduce a powerful principle: Some of our self-sabotage is not always a result of our sinfulness. Sometimes it's a consequence of our stubbornness. In other words, we can end up stuck in seasons we don't have to be in—not because of recklessness, but because of resistance.
The obstacle to God accomplishing His intention in your life isn't always sin. Sometimes it's stubbornness disguised as independence.
God speaks to this issue repeatedly throughout Scripture. When God wanted to bring His people out of Egypt into Canaan—out of a land of scarcity into a land flowing with milk and honey—He said to them, "You are a stiff necked people." What does that mean?
God uses an agricultural metaphor. He's referring to an ox or a donkey that refuses to turn their neck when the master pulls on the reins. It speaks to one who refuses to turn, who refuses to shift, who refuses to yield. It is an individual who is unculturable and unteachable—stuck not because they lack ability, but because they're unwilling to make adjustments.
What if I told you that you are one adjustment away from something you've been praying for? What if it's possible that the elevation you want is on the other side of an adjustment you don't want to make?
The enemy keeps us stuck by keeping our neck stiff, so we are unwilling to move when the cloud moves and shift when God says shift. But if you will shift, God will shift it, too.
Let me take you to Luke 23, where we find Jesus crucified between two thieves. One criminal hurled insults at Jesus: "Aren't you the Messiah? Save yourself and us!" But the other criminal rebuked him, saying:
"Don't you fear God since you're under the same sentence? We're punished justly, for we're getting what our deeds deserve. But this man has done nothing wrong."
Then he said, "Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom." And Jesus answered him, "Truly I say to you, today you will be with me in paradise."
Typically, we focus on the thief who asks to be with Jesus in paradise. But today, I want us to pay attention to the other thief, because he's got something to teach us. Both men are equally sinful. Both men are on the same cross. Both men are dying. Yet one goes to paradise, and one doesn't.
The difference isn't the cross. The difference is the response. One man's stubbornness sabotages him; the other man's surrender saves him.
Crucifixion was Roman capital punishment—execution designed not just to kill, but also to humiliate. They stripped you, beat you, mocked you publicly to send a message. It's one thing to suffer, but it's another to be embarrassed while you're suffering.
But here's what's remarkable: Jesus is on the cross in the middle of two thieves. Why? Maybe God uses your pain to put you into proximity with other people who are part of your purpose. Maybe He allows you to get on a cross because your being on your cross puts you in proximity to somebody else on theirs, and your assignment is to minister in your misery.
It's hard to help somebody on a cross if you don't know what it feels like to hang on one. But when you have hung on one, you can look at them and say, "I know what you're going through, and I know what you're feeling. But the same God that is keeping me can keep you too."
Think of Joseph in prison—he didn't deserve to be there, but he met the butler and the baker. Think of Paul and Silas in the Philippian jail—unfairly imprisoned, yet at midnight they prayed and sang praises. Suddenly there was a great earthquake, and all the doors were opened. The text says not just Paul and Silas' bonds were loose, but all the prisoners' bands got loose. Maybe God put them in prison because somebody else needed a prison break.
Some of us are waiting on God to bring a breakthrough to us, not realizing God wants to use you to bring a breakthrough to somebody else. When you walk in with your calling intact, breakthrough walks in. You have to help while hurting.
Notice how the first thief spoke on the cross: "Aren't you the Messiah? Save yourself and us." He's talking at Jesus, not to Jesus. He's complaining, not confessing.
It's no surprise that he didn't properly manage his life because he's not properly managing his word. Some people's open mouths are what keep closing doors. How many blessings have people talked themselves out of? How many opportunities have been lost because people didn't know how to reframe their speech?
Stubbornness makes an idol out of who you've been. People are confusing who you are with how you've been. But you are not your history.
There are two thieves on the cross, and only one exercises ownership. The first thief can't say, "We deserve to be here." The second thief says, "We deserve this. But this man has done nothing wrong."
You can't improve what you won't own. The stubborn thief can't make adjustments because their pride won't let them own responsibility. Stubbornness isn't just a problem—it's an expression of other problems. Pride, fear, control, selfishness are all roots that produce the fruit of stubbornness and self-sabotage.
Just like Adam and Eve in the garden, when God asks for accountability, Adam says, "The woman you gave me," and Eve says, "The serpent deceived me." Nobody takes ownership. And because there's no ownership, there can be no adjustment. When you're unwilling to make adjustments, God sets boundaries.
The stubborn thief had a strategy: mock the Messiah, demand deliverance, and avoid ownership. He's a man probably used to manipulating his way into what he wants.
All manipulation is a warped desire to control the uncontrollable. Just because a strategy worked in the past doesn't mean it's right. Stubborn people marry the method and date the mission. But you should marry the mission and date the method. Be flexible about how you accomplish God's purpose, but fixed on the purpose itself.
One of the most overlooked aspects of this crucifixion scene: the stubborn thief is dying, but he's still petty. He's bleeding, but he's still bitter. He's on a cross and still holding a grudge. He's mocking Jesus while gasping for air.
That's what stubbornness will do. It'll make you waste your last breath on bitterness. Unforgiveness isn't always a result of ignorance. Sometimes unforgiveness is a result of stubbornness. What grudge is your pride keeping alive? Because sometimes the only thing standing between you and paradise is a grudge you refuse to bury.
Both men are suffering on a cross. One leverages his suffering into a better future. The other doesn't.
God wants to use your suffering, but you decide if your suffering gets used. To teach that suffering itself changes people is to teach something inconsistent with Scripture. Jonah was in the belly of the whale for three days. Did he suffer? Yes. Did he change? No. The book doesn't end in chapter 3. In chapter 4, Jonah is so mad that God gave grace to Nineveh that he sits under a tree, pouting, asking God to take his life.
You would think after all those days in the whale, he would have changed. But the change lasted as long as his memory. Some people stay changed as long as they remember what the whale feels like. But as soon as they forget, they revert to the same behavior.
Suffering doesn't change you. You decide if you will allow God to use the suffering to change you. I refuse to cry for nothing. I refuse to hurt like this for nothing. I refuse to go through and not grow through. If I'm a sufferer, I need God to pull me into paradise when this suffering is over.
Graduates, I want you to have your dreams. I want you to have your plans. But I just want you to write them in pencil. At the Master's request, you need to be willing to shift.
I'm here today because my dream is in the tomb. This is my calling. It was not my dream. My dream was a courtroom. My dream was to live a life free from the bubble of religious expectation. My father was a pastor. I grew up in this. I didn't want this. You're always right in some people's eyes, wrong in some people's eyes. I didn't want the bubble—watching what you wear, watching where you go, watching what you post.
My father was a bivocational pastor. He was a welder during the day and a pastor at night. The church couldn't even support him. That's where I get my hustle from. My dad sold insurance, worked on cars—whatever he had to do. I remember my dad taught me something. He taught me the difference between legacy and inheritance. He said, "Son, I can't give you inheritance, but I can give you legacy."
Inheritance is what you leave for them. Legacy is what you put in them. He put legacy in me: what it means to be a Daniels, what it means to prioritize your family, what it means to look a man in his eye when you shake his hand. Excellence. He taught me to do your "got-to-dos" before your "want-to-dos." If you'll do your got-to-dos before you do your want-to-dos, you'll always be able to do your want-to-dos. But some people can never do their want-to-do because they do their want-to-do before they do their got-to-do.
But man, my father would get mocked. The church would have something to say about him. I didn't want that. And even to this day, if God gave me an option, I wouldn't choose this. What am I telling you? I'm telling you, life is not yours.
I put that dream in the tomb, and it never stopped calling my name. I have to fight the temptation of "what if" regularly. Yes, that's a cross. That's trust. That's faith. That's saying, "You know best. Because what I thought would have been my dream, maybe you saved me from a nightmare."
God, you know what I needed, and you put me in this position not only because it's best for the people I'm called to serve, but it's best for me too. I put my dream in the ground. My answer is yes before you ask the question. My answer is yes. I don't get to live the life I want. I live the life He chose for me. That is the only way this works.
I want to introduce a powerful principle: Some of our self-sabotage is not always a result of our sinfulness. Sometimes it's a consequence of our stubbornness. In other words, we can end up stuck in seasons we don't have to be in—not because of recklessness, but because of resistance.
The obstacle to God accomplishing His intention in your life isn't always sin. Sometimes it's stubbornness disguised as independence.
God speaks to this issue repeatedly throughout Scripture. When God wanted to bring His people out of Egypt into Canaan—out of a land of scarcity into a land flowing with milk and honey—He said to them, "You are a stiff necked people." What does that mean?
God uses an agricultural metaphor. He's referring to an ox or a donkey that refuses to turn their neck when the master pulls on the reins. It speaks to one who refuses to turn, who refuses to shift, who refuses to yield. It is an individual who is unculturable and unteachable—stuck not because they lack ability, but because they're unwilling to make adjustments.
What if I told you that you are one adjustment away from something you've been praying for? What if it's possible that the elevation you want is on the other side of an adjustment you don't want to make?
The enemy keeps us stuck by keeping our neck stiff, so we are unwilling to move when the cloud moves and shift when God says shift. But if you will shift, God will shift it, too.
Let me take you to Luke 23, where we find Jesus crucified between two thieves. One criminal hurled insults at Jesus: "Aren't you the Messiah? Save yourself and us!" But the other criminal rebuked him, saying:
"Don't you fear God since you're under the same sentence? We're punished justly, for we're getting what our deeds deserve. But this man has done nothing wrong."
Then he said, "Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom." And Jesus answered him, "Truly I say to you, today you will be with me in paradise."
Typically, we focus on the thief who asks to be with Jesus in paradise. But today, I want us to pay attention to the other thief, because he's got something to teach us. Both men are equally sinful. Both men are on the same cross. Both men are dying. Yet one goes to paradise, and one doesn't.
The difference isn't the cross. The difference is the response. One man's stubbornness sabotages him; the other man's surrender saves him.
Crucifixion was Roman capital punishment—execution designed not just to kill, but also to humiliate. They stripped you, beat you, mocked you publicly to send a message. It's one thing to suffer, but it's another to be embarrassed while you're suffering.
But here's what's remarkable: Jesus is on the cross in the middle of two thieves. Why? Maybe God uses your pain to put you into proximity with other people who are part of your purpose. Maybe He allows you to get on a cross because your being on your cross puts you in proximity to somebody else on theirs, and your assignment is to minister in your misery.
It's hard to help somebody on a cross if you don't know what it feels like to hang on one. But when you have hung on one, you can look at them and say, "I know what you're going through, and I know what you're feeling. But the same God that is keeping me can keep you too."
Think of Joseph in prison—he didn't deserve to be there, but he met the butler and the baker. Think of Paul and Silas in the Philippian jail—unfairly imprisoned, yet at midnight they prayed and sang praises. Suddenly there was a great earthquake, and all the doors were opened. The text says not just Paul and Silas' bonds were loose, but all the prisoners' bands got loose. Maybe God put them in prison because somebody else needed a prison break.
Some of us are waiting on God to bring a breakthrough to us, not realizing God wants to use you to bring a breakthrough to somebody else. When you walk in with your calling intact, breakthrough walks in. You have to help while hurting.
Notice how the first thief spoke on the cross: "Aren't you the Messiah? Save yourself and us." He's talking at Jesus, not to Jesus. He's complaining, not confessing.
It's no surprise that he didn't properly manage his life because he's not properly managing his word. Some people's open mouths are what keep closing doors. How many blessings have people talked themselves out of? How many opportunities have been lost because people didn't know how to reframe their speech?
Stubbornness makes an idol out of who you've been. People are confusing who you are with how you've been. But you are not your history.
There are two thieves on the cross, and only one exercises ownership. The first thief can't say, "We deserve to be here." The second thief says, "We deserve this. But this man has done nothing wrong."
You can't improve what you won't own. The stubborn thief can't make adjustments because their pride won't let them own responsibility. Stubbornness isn't just a problem—it's an expression of other problems. Pride, fear, control, selfishness are all roots that produce the fruit of stubbornness and self-sabotage.
Just like Adam and Eve in the garden, when God asks for accountability, Adam says, "The woman you gave me," and Eve says, "The serpent deceived me." Nobody takes ownership. And because there's no ownership, there can be no adjustment. When you're unwilling to make adjustments, God sets boundaries.
The stubborn thief had a strategy: mock the Messiah, demand deliverance, and avoid ownership. He's a man probably used to manipulating his way into what he wants.
All manipulation is a warped desire to control the uncontrollable. Just because a strategy worked in the past doesn't mean it's right. Stubborn people marry the method and date the mission. But you should marry the mission and date the method. Be flexible about how you accomplish God's purpose, but fixed on the purpose itself.
One of the most overlooked aspects of this crucifixion scene: the stubborn thief is dying, but he's still petty. He's bleeding, but he's still bitter. He's on a cross and still holding a grudge. He's mocking Jesus while gasping for air.
That's what stubbornness will do. It'll make you waste your last breath on bitterness. Unforgiveness isn't always a result of ignorance. Sometimes unforgiveness is a result of stubbornness. What grudge is your pride keeping alive? Because sometimes the only thing standing between you and paradise is a grudge you refuse to bury.
Both men are suffering on a cross. One leverages his suffering into a better future. The other doesn't.
God wants to use your suffering, but you decide if your suffering gets used. To teach that suffering itself changes people is to teach something inconsistent with Scripture. Jonah was in the belly of the whale for three days. Did he suffer? Yes. Did he change? No. The book doesn't end in chapter 3. In chapter 4, Jonah is so mad that God gave grace to Nineveh that he sits under a tree, pouting, asking God to take his life.
You would think after all those days in the whale, he would have changed. But the change lasted as long as his memory. Some people stay changed as long as they remember what the whale feels like. But as soon as they forget, they revert to the same behavior.
Suffering doesn't change you. You decide if you will allow God to use the suffering to change you. I refuse to cry for nothing. I refuse to hurt like this for nothing. I refuse to go through and not grow through. If I'm a sufferer, I need God to pull me into paradise when this suffering is over.
Graduates, I want you to have your dreams. I want you to have your plans. But I just want you to write them in pencil. At the Master's request, you need to be willing to shift.
I'm here today because my dream is in the tomb. This is my calling. It was not my dream. My dream was a courtroom. My dream was to live a life free from the bubble of religious expectation. My father was a pastor. I grew up in this. I didn't want this. You're always right in some people's eyes, wrong in some people's eyes. I didn't want the bubble—watching what you wear, watching where you go, watching what you post.
My father was a bivocational pastor. He was a welder during the day and a pastor at night. The church couldn't even support him. That's where I get my hustle from. My dad sold insurance, worked on cars—whatever he had to do. I remember my dad taught me something. He taught me the difference between legacy and inheritance. He said, "Son, I can't give you inheritance, but I can give you legacy."
Inheritance is what you leave for them. Legacy is what you put in them. He put legacy in me: what it means to be a Daniels, what it means to prioritize your family, what it means to look a man in his eye when you shake his hand. Excellence. He taught me to do your "got-to-dos" before your "want-to-dos." If you'll do your got-to-dos before you do your want-to-dos, you'll always be able to do your want-to-dos. But some people can never do their want-to-do because they do their want-to-do before they do their got-to-do.
But man, my father would get mocked. The church would have something to say about him. I didn't want that. And even to this day, if God gave me an option, I wouldn't choose this. What am I telling you? I'm telling you, life is not yours.
I put that dream in the tomb, and it never stopped calling my name. I have to fight the temptation of "what if" regularly. Yes, that's a cross. That's trust. That's faith. That's saying, "You know best. Because what I thought would have been my dream, maybe you saved me from a nightmare."
God, you know what I needed, and you put me in this position not only because it's best for the people I'm called to serve, but it's best for me too. I put my dream in the ground. My answer is yes before you ask the question. My answer is yes. I don't get to live the life I want. I live the life He chose for me. That is the only way this works.
