I had a conversation with my twelve-year-old the other day: I broke the news to him about the Kansas City Chiefs releasing Kareem Hunt. He asked why, of course, since he’s been watching Kareem Hunt set NFL records for the last two seasons. Kareem Hunt was one of the three most important members of the Chiefs’ offense, and this year the Chiefs are among the top contenders to represent the AFC in the Superbowl.
I explained it in terms he could understand, then reflected on the reasons myself. There were several factors, some moral, some more related to the football side of the equation, and others having to do with PR. While the fact remains that what he did was very bad (you can watch it for yourself), that’s not why he was fired. He was released because he tried to sweep it under the rug. He was released because he broke trust.
When confronted with the opportunity to disclose the incident, he downplayed it. He lied. When the truth came out – in full color HD – all he could do was apologize. When the Chiefs realized they had a young man willing to lie to them, all they could do was let him go. Too little, too late, and everyone loses.
We have a saying in our house: Keep short accounts. We’re training our kids to be the kind of adults who deal with situations head-on, as they occur, resolving them as soon as possible. They don’t — not always anyway. Not yet. But they will.
I’ve learned through hard experience about the ramifications for letting things fester, putting them off to some indeterminate future, or maybe just wishing that time and distance from our action will make the whole thing just fade away. It doesn’t. I once heard the cowardly propensity to wait away our responsibilities another way: The bill always comes due. I remember hearing a podcaster say that once on my drive home. I don’t remember what he was talking about, but the phrase stuck with me because it’s simple, yet profound and true.
Kareem Hunt has things in his past he thought were non-issues, and maybe so do you — things you wish you could take back, undo. Maybe if enough time goes by, the problem will fade away? Maybe the debt will fall through the cracks, or the authorities will get tired of the pursuit? Maybe what I did wasn’t that bad after all? We can use all variety of moral gymnastics to justify our actions, but in my experience the deciding factor concerning full-disclosure is contingent on the likelihood of getting caught. We need to turn this process on its head. There is only one option: pay the bill.
I know that’s probably not what you’re wanting to hear, but for the most part you still have time. Pay that bill before the penalty is assessed, because, believe me, it’s not one you can afford.
Would you like to know another secret? That thing — the one that makes your heart race when you think about it, that causes you to abruptly change the topic of conversation, or fail to look your wife in the eye, or makes you squirm in your seat — it will never go away. Never. Even if the only people who ever find out about it are you and your Maker, it will linger. It will fester. It will put you in a place you don’t want to be, a place where you look yourself in the mirror and don’t like what you see.
But there is also a solution, because that thing doesn’t get to hold power over you unless you let it.
I hope you’re ready to rewrite the narrative. I hope you’re ready to look that thing in the face and tell it to go to Hell because that is where it belongs, and that is what your God designed you to do. It will, but not by choice. “Shame off you,” I’ve often heard a friend say. Shame, regret, fear, cowardice; these demons only leave when you pick them up by the belt buckle and throw them out the door. They won’t go quietly, and they might break some things on the way out. It’s okay. You can rebuild what those demons have broken. But the longer you entertain them, the more damage they’ll cause, and when the bill comes due, they’re not the ones who are going to have to pay it.