Put Your Socks On 🧦

Each month, The Yo Pro features experienced leaders as Guest Writers to share wisdom and equip the next generation.

Using a START, STOP, and CONTINUE model, they reflect on lessons learned from life and work as previous young professionals.

So, as we close out February 2025, enjoy story and insights from Thaddeus Moore, Director of Operations at NWA Daily—you're in for a treat!

Learning to Put My Socks On

I’ll never forget the day a mentor told me a story about how John Wooden used to make his players learn how to put their socks on right. 

It probably speaks to how much of a “not really a sports guy” that I am that my first question was, “Who’s John Wooden?” But that’s neither here nor there. 

The story goes like this. Coach John Wooden was freakishly committed to the idea that excellence was achieved by optimizing every detail within one's control and not wasting energy on the rest. 

So, when new players showed up at UCLA, part of their first practice was a detailed lesson on the correct way to put on socks….SOCKS!?!  

Sounds a bit OCD, right? But listen to Wooden’s rationale: “The little things matter. All I need is one little wrinkle in one sock to put a blister on one foot–and it could ruin my whole season. I started teaching about shoes and socks early in my career, and I saw that it really did cut down on blisters during the season. That little detail gave us an edge.”

Wooden retired with a 664W-162L record and led UCLA to 10 NCAA national championships. Sure, there are thousands of other reasons Wooden achieved success, but it started with getting the simple things right. Even things like socks. 

My mentor was trying to point out a “blister” of mine. 

In the six years I’d worked as a youth pastor, I was almost constantly in a state of “what if,” wondering if I’d chosen the right career path. I liked my job, sure! I loved my teammates and the students in our ministry, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that I wasn’t in the right lane. My uncertainty led to cycles of being distracted by “greener pastures,” followed by aggressively trying to change the whole system of our church’s youth ministry to make my role feel like a better fit. I was getting “blisters” all the time, and at times I probably was a “blister” for my whole team.  

The reason this conversation is burned into my memory is because it came about a week after one of the most clear moments in prayer I’ve ever had. 

For context, I’d finally put some serious effort into looking for a new job, but after multiple months of submitting applications, I’d only landed one interview. And I totally bombed it. 

I started entering another one of those cycles. “Maybe,” I thought, “the problem isn’t my job. Maybe I just need to be more content. Maybe I should stop even looking. Maybe if I could just change these things about my role, I’d be happier. Maybe if God would just tell me what the heck I should do, I would…”  

I suppose I should add that on top of my career uncertainty, my wife and I were young parents with two kids under the age of two (fun but difficult). I was dealing with the fallout of my parents’ recent divorce (difficult and not fun).  And there was also that whole COVID thing we were all still coming out of the fog of. 

You probably get the idea. I was feeling a little burned out by, well… life being hard. 

My in-laws have a farm outside of Fayetteville. There’s a ridge line above a valley there where I like to hike. So, one day, I took some time away to try to clear my head. 

While walking the ridge, I can’t really explain how, but I felt a sudden prompting to take off my shoes… super weird, right? I’m not a particularly charismatic faith person. It’s not that I don’t believe in that stuff. It just hasn’t been a big part of my own faith journey. But I followed the urge and, leaving my shoes behind, kept walking barefoot. To be honest, I was sort of thinking, “God, is this about to be some sort of freaky Moses-like moment where I take off my shoes and see a burning bush?” (Spoiler alert: no bushes were burned in the making of this story). 

I finally reached the gate at the edge of the property and stood there looking over the fence. On the other side, two paths split: one going straight ahead, level and even, and the other diving back down the mountain, rugged and steep, leading God knows where. 

Like I said, I’m usually pretty hesitant about the “God spoke to me” stuff, but in that moment, it was like the following conversation played out in my head with Jesus: 

Jesus: Which way would you rather go? Straight ahead on the smooth path, or bushwhacking down that steep trail? 

Me: I mean, the steep path looks more exciting if you’re asking me. 

Jesus: Hmm… you’ll probably need your shoes back on if you want to go that way. 

Me: Is this supposed to be some kind of cheesy metaphor for this whole fork-in-the-road career thing I’ve been feeling? Stick with the same road or chase after something new? 

Jesus (with a cheeky smirk): I don’t know. Do you want it to be a cheesy metaphor for that? 

Me: Doesn’t really matter, does it? This gate’s shut anyway. Kinda like how every so-called “door” keeps slamming in my face! 

Jesus: Remember that story in John 10 about me calling myself the Sheep Gate? I know when my sheep need new pastures and when they aren’t ready. I’ll open the gate when you’re ready. Now go put your shoes back on, ya little lamb! 

Ok, so maybe I embellished it a little in the rewrite, but it was something along those lines. I got the message… I wasn’t ready for any changes in the first place, and staring listlessly over the gate wasn’t going to get me ready. 

“I get it, Jesus, I need to learn to put my shoes on first.” 

As if to drive his point home even further, the Wooden story a week later served as Jesus’ reply: “Shoes? Tad, you don’t even have your friggin’ socks on right.” 

“Touché, Jesus. Touché.”  

I’d like to say I got my act together after that, but I still had tough days. However, the year following that encounter, which would be my last year as a youth pastor, was one of the sweetest. My wife and I got clearer about what we wanted for our family’s future. I reconciled a conflict with one of my supervisors. I saw a counselor to process the growing bitterness toward my family. I grew closer with my teammates, connected with new students, and preached some of my favorite sermons. 

And in the midst of all that, God provided an opportunity to take on a side gig writing for a local news outlet. Surprisingly, that side gig grew into a full-time job, and I’m getting to “bushwhack it through the woods” that is working for a media startup. It’s exciting, difficult, awesome, confusing, and a lot of pressure. I friggin’ love it. I don’t know where this path is going, but I feel more confident than ever that I’m taking steps toward the vocation I was created for.

The Gate knew when to open. 

He probably needed to learn the hard way, but if I could give my 20-something self some advice based on what I know now, I’d say: 

• Stop looking over the Gate. If you’re always looking for what’s next, you won’t be ready when the opportunities finally come. Don’t miss the double meaning in my use of “Gate.” Jesus keeps his sheep where they need to be. Don’t look past him. 

• Start putting your socks on right. What are the bare minimum, baseline things you can be excellent at in your current role? You might not want this job forever, but it might just be the training you need to enter your future sweet spot. Smooth out the wrinkles now in practice, or you’ll get blisters later in the game. Those “wrinkles” might be poor skills, lacking knowledge, or character flaws. Like me, you might need to find a coach to point them out. 

• Continue going on walks with God. Whether staying put in the same pasture or walking through gates into new ones, we’re hopeless if we don’t learn to walk in step with God. Find places and postures where prayer comes easiest and go there often. Ironically, I still find that I feel most connected to God when the socks are off, and my bare feet are touching dirt… but, then again, I am from the Ozarks, so maybe that’s just the hillbilly in me. 

May God bless your socks off, 

Thaddeus Moore 

You can find more of Thaddeus’ work HERE.

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