The Fire That Drives Us: Earnhardt, David, and the Pursuit of Something More

It started, as these things often do, with a bit of a rabbit hole. I turned on the Prime documentary series Earnhardt expecting some high-octane nostalgia—but I didn’t expect to feel so much. It was incredibly well done, a compelling look at a man who was equal parts myth and mystery, all wrapped up in black paint and grit.

Dale Earnhardt was fascinating. Tough, relentless, carved out of steel and sweat. A man with that rare inner drive—the kind that doesn’t need permission, doesn’t care who’s watching, and doesn’t know how to quit. His rise was legendary. But what lingered for me was something quieter: the echoes of a generational pattern. A father who was hard on him. A son who became like that father. That stubborn gravity we all feel—that pull to repeat the wounds we never fully processed.

I couldn’t help but notice how Dale ended up treating his children in ways that mirrored how he had been treated. Not with malice, but with that familiar mix of distance, drive, and demand. You see it all the time: men who only know how to love through pressure. Men whose worth is tied up in performance. It’s not cruelty—it’s inheritance.

Then, only a few days later, I found myself sitting in the darkened theater at Sight & Sound in Branson, watching David. What a contrast. Here was another man of fire, another fierce competitor, another name etched into the world’s memory. But this time, the story wasn’t just grit and glory—it had God in it.

David, like Earnhardt, was a fighter. Ambitious, courageous, flawed. But his story didn’t just echo with victory—it pulsed with repentance. It sang with longing. His psalms pulled heaven close, and even at his lowest, you sensed he was reaching for something greater than his own name. And that’s the phrase that won’t leave me alone: a man after God’s own heart.

Two men. Two fires. One burned for greatness. The other burned for God.

And that’s where I feel the tension rise—not between them, but inside me.

How do I know what I burn for?

Because if I’m honest, a lot of the fire in me feels aimed at... me. I get so focused on what I want to achieve, how I want to be seen, what I hope to become. It’s subtle sometimes. Dressed up in good intentions. But underneath, there’s that familiar ache for validation. A need to be respected. A hunger for meaning that wears the mask of ambition.

Sometimes I wonder: is that what’s really driving me? Not purpose. Not love. Not even God. Just... me.

There’s a part of me—and maybe it’s in many men—that’s drawn toward the glory story. Toward stacking wins, collecting admiration, building a reputation that says, 'A Man Who MATTERS'. We chase legacy like it’s salvation. The pleasure of being known, respected, even envied—it’s addictive. But it’s also a trap. Because none of those things love you back. They smile for the cameras, but they vanish when the lights go out.

I remember when I was burning to win a state title—I wanted it so badly. And when we did win, I looked around to make sure my faith, my family, and my friends were still beside me. Thankfully, they were. But that wasn't a PINNACLE event, in fact as time goes on, I'm not sure if it even is a milestone. I have championship rings gathering dust in a case on my desk downstairs, but the achievements don''t necessarily signify success. The old memories are special between the people who did it together - but no one else- not much more value than trivia.

But I’ve been asking myself lately: where’s the fire now? And what is it burning for?

The sobering truth is, the more we chase things like pleasure, fortune, power, or fame, the less they satisfy. They're hollow echoes of the real thing. The world hands us trophies for our shelves, but it cannot fill the ache in our soul.

So I ask again: how do we know what I burn for?

Maybe the answer isn’t in what we chase. Maybe it’s in what we keep chasing, even after we’ve been disappointed. Maybe it’s what we go to in our solitude, what we pray about when no one’s listening, what we still ache for when we’re too tired to impress anyone.

And maybe the point of all this—Earnhardt’s story, David’s story, even mine—isn’t to shame the fire in us. It’s to name it. To look at what drives us and ask the harder, braver question:

Is it worth the chase?

Because some fires make you famous. But there is no one in the ashes to love you back.
And some fires make you whole. A refining fire, that leaves healing, healthy relationships, and a more holy journey.

One last side note- not many men "WIN" at the level of those we write stories for. Most men fail.

When you fail in the 'glory story', it creates a lot of negative momentum, shame, and very little esteem. But maybe that is a blessing in disguise.

When you fail chasing God's path, it isn't permanent- it is even kind of expected. The Bible says, Get up and keep walking.... and the march is to a tune of grace.

“Whoever would save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for My sake will find it.”
—Matthew 16:25