Slaying the Dragon of Striving

Absalom. Anyone who mentions the name of this Old Testament anti-hero recalls a man who was restless, torn from within. Worse, his inward battles projected outward. But when we read the full story of Absalom in 2 Samuel 13–18, we learn that something happened earlier in his life that set this cause-and-effect in motion. His half-brother had violated his full sister, and a dragon was birthed in Absalom’s soul. To feed the dragon, Absalom devised a plot and killed his half-brother. As a result, his father, King David, cut him off from his presence. Despite a surface reconciliation, the dragon was still alive, and Absalom staged a revolt against his father, and the most dramatic account of civil war found in the Bible unfolded. War within Absalom’s soul spread far and wide. In short, Absalom was a man who was striving, meaning there was strife in his heart that drove him to do things that were harmful to himself and to many others.

In this article, the term “striving” refers to a specific type of heart condition. We often think of striving in a positive way—striving to achieve, striving to improve, striving even to do good for others. However, the word originally comes from the root word “strife,” which derives from the Anglo-French word estri, of Germanic origin, which is similar to the Dutch word striden, to fight. It connotes a tendency toward contention and quarreling. So, to be clear, this article will not use the term “striving” in any positive sense, but will always refer to it in its classic, negative meaning.

Taken this way, striving is deadly. But it is rarely ever addressed by the church today, even though the Bible mentions it often. It’s time to take a look at the subject, and to take an honest look at ourselves. Think about the strivers you know. People who fall into this category are never truly happy. They are either always beating themselves up or beating other people up. The more intense the pain, or the more they are reminded of it, the more they strive.

How This Happens

Strivers are not born that way. Like Absalom, something happened to them earlier, so now they are out to resolve whatever had gone wrong. Every relationship, every situation is affected by this “something.”

You can easily identify strivers because they always have something to prove to themselves or to others or both. They are trying to right a previous wrong. They are out to acquire something or to achieve something or to balance something out by overcompensating.

While there is nothing inherently wrong with applying ourselves and accomplishing great things, this is different. More than productivity is at stake here. Strivers are usually very gifted people who leave a path of destruction alongside their accomplishments.

Strivers and the Bible

So, what does the Bible have to say about striving? First, Proverbs 28:25 identifies pride as the source of strife. Pride indeed stands behind a striving soul, but it is a wounded pride that drives it. Further, the word “striving” is mentioned 10 times in the short book of Ecclesiastes. In fact, two of the most common words in the book are “vanity” and “striving,” and that is the point—strivers are engaging in a vain enterprise. They will never fix what is broken; they will never be content, no matter how much they “succeed.”

The New Testament, for its part, focuses more on the context of strife, placing it in a list of such expressions as jealousy, disputes, slanders, gossip, disturbances (2 Corinthians 12:20), envy, abusive language, evil suspicions (1 Timothy 6:4), enmities, dissensions, and factions (Galatians 5:20). Chaos accompanies strivers wherever they go. Conflict is commonplace. Why? Because my dragon doesn’t like your dragon and vice-versa. Strivers continually over-exert themselves. They are always wanting to achieve more, work later, get up earlier because, after all, they have things to prove. But notice whether they are happy. Strivers are never happy.

Breaking Free

So, how do we find a way out? What is the pathway out for those who are torn by a striving heart?

For that, consider Joseph. If anybody had reason to spend the rest of his life saying, “I’ll show them,” it was Joseph. His brothers hated him, stripped him of his robe, threw him into a pit, and sold him into slavery. In Egypt, he served faithfully only to be falsely accused and thrown into prison, where he was eventually forgotten by someone he had helped while still there. Joseph had accumulated enough wounds to feed a dragon for a lifetime.

Then Pharaoh suddenly recognizes and elevates Joseph. Yet strangely, Joseph’s success does not appear to be a source for revenge for him. As the narrative progresses, we begin to recognize that the old wound is no longer driving the man.

The first indication comes when Joseph names his two sons. He names the first Manasseh—which means to cause to forget—explaining, “God has made me forget all my trouble and all my father’s household.” He names the second Ephraim because “God has made me fruitful in the land of my affliction” (Genesis 41:51–52).

The order is striking:
Manasseh—God has made me forget.
Ephraim—God has made me fruitful.

Obviously, Joseph did not literally forget what happened to him. Years later, he remembers it well enough to talk about it. Nor does he minimize what happened. In Genesis 50:20, he tells his brothers plainly, “You meant evil against me.” Evil is still evil. Forgetfulness does not require us to rename it.

Something else has happened. The wound remains part of Joseph’s story without remaining the engine of his life. He remembers the wound without continuing to live out of the wound.

Biblical forgetfulness is not losing the memory.
It is losing the compulsion to keep answering it.

This is enormously important for a striver. The striver keeps the old injury alive because, consciously or unconsciously, he needs it as fuel: I’ll show them. I’ll prove they were wrong. I’ll make up for what I lost. I’ll become successful enough that what happened to me won’t matter anymore.

Joseph does something radically different. He receives from God the ability to let the past be past.

And notice what Joseph associates with that forgetfulness. He does not name a palace Manasseh. He does not point to his position beside Pharaoh and say, “Now I can forget.” The name belongs to a little boy.

Joseph had received staggering external blessings—authority, wealth, status, influence, vindication of his abilities. But when he explains Manasseh, his attention has been captured by something far more personal. God has placed a blessing in his life that occupies the foreground while the old injuries begin receding into the background.

Joseph memorialized the blessing rather than memorializing the wound.

Absalom did almost the reverse. Something terrible had happened to his sister, and he carried that wrong forward. The wound became part of the unresolved world within him, and eventually it began driving what he did. Joseph had every reason to do the same. But the name Manasseh continually announced what God had done for Joseph, rather than what others had done to Joseph.

The power of the dragon depends on the place we give him in our hearts and in our memory.

If the front screen of our minds continually displays what they did to me, what I lost, how unfair it was, what I should have received, what I still need to prove, we give the dragon enormous room to grow.

Joseph puts something else on the front screen: Look what God has given me.

Most of us are not going to become second-in-command of Egypt. But we can recognize the gifts God has already placed around us—a spouse, a child, a grandchild, a friend, meaningful work, a church community, provision, an opportunity to serve, or simply the ordinary goodness of today.

Then comes Ephraim: “God has made me fruitful in the land of my affliction.”

Notice those last words. Egypt has not suddenly become the land where nothing bad ever happened. Joseph still calls it “the land of my affliction.” He has not rewritten his past. Instead, God has changed his relationship to it.

Joseph does not have to make his brothers suffer. He does not have to prove himself to his father. He cannot recover his stolen adolescence. He cannot get those years in prison back. But he can become fruitful here. Joseph discovered something strivers desperately need to learn:

Fruitfulness grows more freely when we are no longer using the present to settle past accounts.

Later, when Joseph finally reveals himself to his brothers, we discover something else that has happened inside him. He can say both, “You sold me here,” and “God sent me before you to preserve life” (Genesis 45:5). By Genesis 50:20, his interpretation has become even clearer: “You meant evil against me, but God meant it for good.”

Joseph has reinterpreted his past under the providence of God. What his brothers did to him no longer gets to define what his life means.

Here, then, is a pathway out of striving:

· Name the wound.

· Recognize what you have been trying to prove or repair.

· Reinterpret the wound within God’s larger story.

· Release the need to make the past come out differently.

· Pursue fruitfulness rather than vindication.

In short, Joseph stopped trying to vindicate the past and became fruitful in the present.

The opposite of striving, then, is not passivity. Joseph was anything but passive. He worked, planned, administered, prepared Egypt for famine, and used his gifts extraordinarily well. The difference was that he no longer needed his accomplishments to repair yesterday.

You do not have to repair the past by succeeding in the present. You can receive the present as a gift from God instead.

One Final Word

Finally, I offer a word of exhortation: Learn contentment. Striving is a learned disposition, and so is contentment. Learn to accept others even when you don’t understand them. Learn to live with situations that are less than ideal. Balance your initiative with a reasoned patience; pace yourself; stop trying to do more than you are designed to do. Learn to lose gracefully; no one wins every time.

Every striver eventually reaches a crossroads: keep feeding the dragon or finally silence it. And the church’s great hymns have long named the moment when the dragon dies — when fears are stilled and strivings cease. Not because the past is rewritten, but because the wound is reinterpreted and God’s present gifts are allowed to become more prominent than yesterday’s injuries.

Learn to let God’s present gifts outweigh yesterday’s injuries. Learn Joseph’s order — forgetfulness before fruitfulness. And learn to trust the God who can turn affliction into abundance.

When fears are stilled and strivings cease, the past loses its power.

And true peace finally takes its place.
Your Story Counts

I’ve shared how I found a way to slay the dragon. What has helped you move from striving toward becoming a person of peace? I’d love to hear what you’ve learned along the way.