IF YOU KNOW BETTER, YOU’LL DO BETTER
The first time many of us heard, “If you know better, you’ll do better,” it was from an elder (e.g., pastor, parent, grandparent, uncle, aunt, or teacher). As you can see from my examples, the person speaking the line was someone responsible, in part, for our development. More often, those words came as a warning, or a dignified l told you so amid a teachable moment. I will never forget the first time I heard it.
Mom said she signed me up to speak at a church revival one day. For my part, Mom volunteered that I’d learn the books of the Bible, Psalms 23, and the Beatitudes. Mom would quiz me every chance we were together. We mainly took advantage of car rides. She’d say, “Let me hear the books of the Bible, and I would recite them in my rhythm.
“Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers, Deuteronomy, Joshua, Judges, Ruth….”
I remember slowing down and struggling to remember books right around Isaiah. I’d slowly call Jeremiah, Lamentations, and Ezekiel, unsure of their order. Then, I would pick up the pace again and smoothly sing-song through the rest of the old and new testaments. Even though I struggled through that rough patch, I got them right. Each time I finished, Mom said, “You don’t know it yet,” or, “you need more practice.” But I was young and cocky. I didn’t think I needed to cram much more, and I’d let her know.
“A few more rehearsals and I’ll have it down pat,” I’d say.
Mom wasn’t too insistent. However, she tried to tell me the right thing, “You’re struggling to recite them in the back seat of a car. When you are in front of a large crowd, with other distractions, you won’t be able to get through it if you don’t know it any better than that. You must practice more,” she said.
“Yeah, okay,” I responded without thinking about her words. I didn’t hear any of it by choice. I only thought about how I would blow away the crowd as likely the youngest on stage at ten years old. Then, she hit me with the line as a warning, “Well,” she said. “When you know better, you’ll do better.”
My mom was no stranger to preparing for performances. I watched her practice for her recitals before I was old enough to perform. Once, she practiced daily for a monologue, and my older sister and I served as her audience. We listened attentively and watched as she rehearsed voice inflection, body language, and when to move or stand still. I didn’t consider it then, but we were also her distractions. She performed the monologue of The Creation with a big 70’s-style afro, wearing a long bluish dress, and nailed it. Mom wasn’t trying to impress; she just was impressive. I borrowed some of her tricks and made them mine. Kids learn a lot by watching their parents.
On the night of the church revival, the moderator reported that the crowd represented a culmination of approximately nine or ten churches. So, the “large crowd” mom warned me about was a crowd of thousands. I approached the pulpit and stepped onto a box, which made me tall enough to talk into the microphone. I stood still and closed my eyes to gather myself. When I slowly opened my eyelids, the people were just a blur. Undaunted by the size of the congregation, I started in. When I established my bouncy rhythm of reciting the books of the Bible, the crowd erupted. Then, cheers and yelling out positive affirmations rose to a volume as loud as my voice through the speakers. I heard shouts of “Yass, amen, and halleluiah. I wasn’t used to the noise, which disrupted my concentration as I headed toward my trouble spot—Isaiah.
Rather than slow down like reciting in the car’s back seat, I completely stopped. I tried to will the words into my head while hiding my embarrassment. Doubt crept in. Then, the faces of thousands slowly came into focus. Seeing them was another distraction. An old church mother wearing a giant white hat said, “That’s alright baby, that’s alright,” as she shook her handkerchief in my direction. She meant that as support, but it was also stealing my focus. I tried to collect my thoughts when somebody else in the front row grabbed my attention. I swung my head to the other side of the room as the man whispered, “Hey, little man,” and then he said the name of the next bible book. I wanted to ignore the help because I knew the book. But I couldn’t. I took his assist, spat out “Jeremiah,” and got back on track. I finished in a rush to get it over with, like the guy spewing the fine print at the end of radio commercials. There was no excitement or flair and no melodic inflections. I wanted to finish so that I could hide. But the crowd’s ovation prolonged the moment.
As I stepped down from the box, the old church mother handed me a dollar, “You’re gonna be a fine preacher when you grow up,” she said. I thanked her and smiled. Then, I made eye contact with my mother, which I could not do while getting stuck on stage. But now, it felt like the right thing to do, even in my shame, as I took my seat. She nodded and flashed a proud smile. But I knew that I didn’t do my best and why.
Later, I told my mother she was right about me needing to practice more, and I vowed never to let that happen again. We did not say anything more about the night I struggled with public speaking and how best to prepare for it. Moving forward, I knew my material so well that I welcomed distractions. Crowds of any size, mockery, or questions cannot throw me off my game. More than that, I learned to listen. I listened to my parents, teachers, and coaches when I grew old enough to join teams. From all three sources, I was still right to them if I did what they told me, and it didn’t work out. Disobedience was wrong regardless of getting a correct result. Acting on that revelation alone, I benefited from their support when situations may have called for doubt. They trusted me.
The salient point is that specific actions suggest we don’t know enough. Our life experience is limited. But when we are in the know, our efforts are elevated. For example, you’d be a fool to drive into the same crater-sized pothole daily. Only a dummy would accelerate into the speed trap that earned you a ticket the day before. Because if you know better—yeah, you got it—you’ll do better. Safely and smoothly, you’ll steer your tires around the known hole in the road. And you will instantly brake when you’re near the speed trap, whether or not you are speeding.
While reading this post, nodding in agreement means understanding the correlation between knowing and doing. So why not apply this to us? Spiritually. That’s what our elders wanted. They knew the result of knowing ourselves would bring about better choices. And an anchor like faith would sustain us when answers weren’t forthcoming. Thus, we’ve figured out something significant when we acknowledge that God gave us life and strength and that He is in everything. That may well be the foundation of self-knowledge. Seek to know God in you, and you will do better. This modification has been Mom-approved.
