The Quiet Power of Discipline

Every morning at six o'clock, my alarm clock and I have the same little disagreement.

The alarm says, "Time to get up."

My body says, "I think we should pray about that…for another hour."

Usually, the alarm wins.

Within a few minutes, I'm lacing up my running shoes and heading out for four or five miles. I wish I could tell you I leap out of bed every morning with Olympic enthusiasm, but that wouldn't be true. Most mornings I don't feel like running.

That's when I've learned one of life's most valuable lessons.

Discipline is far more dependable than motivation.

Motivation visits when it feels like it. Discipline shows up every day.

I've learned that lesson over a lifetime, but it first introduced itself to me on a wrestling mat.

My first year of high school wrestling was painful. Not physically — although there was plenty of that. Emotionally.

I lost every single match.

One match lasted about thirty seconds. I walked onto the mat, shook my opponent's hand, the referee blew the whistle, and before I really knew what had happened, I was standing back up… shaking the same young man's hand again after another defeat.

That was a long walk back to the locker room.

After nearly every loss, I'd pull my warm-up robe over my head so no one could see the tears. I was embarrassed. I wondered if I belonged on the team at all.

Then something changed.

I decided I couldn't control whether I was the biggest wrestler or the strongest wrestler. But I could control my discipline.

I began staying after practice with my coach. We'd work on one move until I could do it without thinking. Then another. Then another. While others headed home, I stayed. Little by little, I improved.

The next season was better.

By my third year, I had qualified for the state wrestling tournament.

I didn't suddenly become more talented. I became more disciplined.

That lesson followed me long after I left the wrestling room.

Years later, I had the honor of serving as Polemarch — the president — of my fraternity chapter. I discovered that leadership isn't built on speeches. It's built on habits.

We became disciplined about paying our dues. Disciplined about starting meetings on time. Disciplined about communicating with one another. Disciplined about keeping our commitments.

Those sound like small things, but I've learned that great organizations aren't built by dramatic moments. They're built by people who consistently do the little things well.

Discipline earned our chapter something money can't buy. Trust.

I've seen the same principle shape another important part of my life — our family's finances.

Early in our marriage, my wife and I made a decision that lasted for nearly forty years.

Every month, when we got paid, our parents got paid.

My mother. My stepmother. My mother-in-love. My dad.

Each one received one hundred dollars every single month.

Sometimes we also helped pay a mortgage. Sometimes we bought a refrigerator or another appliance. But regardless of what else happened, that monthly gift never stopped.

It became part of our budget.

Even better, we made it payroll deductible. The money came out before we ever saw it. We treated generosity the same way we treated our house payment or the electric bill.

It wasn't optional. It was simply who we wanted to be.

Looking back, I think generosity has become one of my greatest strengths. Not because we were wealthy. But because discipline made generosity a habit instead of an occasional emotion.

I've discovered that discipline has quietly been the backbone of almost every success in my life.

It helped a discouraged young wrestler become a state qualifier. It helped a fraternity chapter become stronger. It helped my wife and me build financial security while caring for the people who first cared for us.

And every morning at six o'clock, it still helps me lace up my running shoes.

People often think discipline limits our freedom. I've found exactly the opposite.

Discipline creates freedom.

Freedom from debt. Freedom from excuses. Freedom to keep promises. Freedom to become the person you've always hoped to be.

Maybe that's why I've come to believe that extraordinary lives aren't usually built by extraordinary moments. They're built by ordinary habits repeated with extraordinary faithfulness.

Perhaps your next great success isn't waiting for more talent or more luck. Perhaps it's simply waiting for tomorrow morning… when the alarm clock rings.