Today I had a moment of clarity while walking through Keith’s school.
As a young boy, I had my own lawn care company. I worked hard, showed up consistently, earned clients on my own, and built something that felt completely tied to my own effort. I remember the satisfaction of being able to say, “I did this.”
There have been many moments in life where I’ve carried that same mindset — believing my hard work, determination, and abilities were the primary reasons for whatever success I experienced.
But recently, I’ve found myself stepping into situations far bigger than anything I would have chosen or attempted on my own.
Buying a massive junior high school is one of those moments.
Standing in front of that building today, I realized something very clearly: this has nothing to do with me being smart enough, wealthy enough, or talented enough to make it happen.
These opportunities feel less like accomplishments and more like gifts — and honestly, responsibilities.
There’s a difference between building something through your own effort and being entrusted with something beyond your own capacity. Stewarding a structure like this, stewarding a vision like this, carries a weight that immediately humbles you.
As I pulled up to the building today, I almost laughed at myself because there was nothing inside me that said, “This is mine.”
Instead, the overwhelming feeling was this:
God has done more than I ever could.
And strangely, there’s a tremendous amount of peace in realizing that.
There’s clarity in understanding that not everything good in life is simply the product of our own hard work. Yes, discipline matters. Effort matters. Responsibility matters. But sometimes we’re given opportunities, relationships, or assignments that clearly exceed our own natural abilities.
Those moments force us to ask a deeper question:
How did I really get here?
Was it purely because I worked harder than everyone else? Because I was smarter? More fortunate?
Or is it possible that God has entrusted me with something I never could have obtained on my own?
That perspective changes everything.
It replaces pride with gratitude. It replaces ownership with stewardship.
Nothing we have is truly ours forever anyway. We came into this world with nothing, and we’ll leave the same way.
So whatever you’re building, leading, or pursuing today, remember this: it may not actually belong to you. It may simply be something you’ve been entrusted to steward well for a season.
And there’s wisdom, humility, and peace in recognizing that.
“Naked we came, naked we leave. Blessed be the name of the Lord.”
