Photo by Steve West

As a child, I was taught that it didn’t matter who got the credit. For years, I believed it. It sounded noble and humble. But over time, I’ve learned that this belief can be damning, especially for Black people. Too often, the greatest achievements in life are perceived to have been invented by white people or enhanced by them, even when the truth tells a different story.

Humility is a virtue, but humility doesn’t mean thinking less of yourself—it means thinking of others more than yourself. What a struggling Black person doesn’t need from another Black person is a mindset rooted in false humility, one that shrinks from owning their greatness or refuses to celebrate their contributions. It’s damaging. Instead, we should take pride in the talents, gifts, and skills we’ve been given.

I’m proud of the things I’ve mastered, not because they make me better than anyone else, but because I can use those skills to serve others. That’s what significance is all about—using what God gave you to make a difference. And as much as I stand firm in my strengths, I also stay open to learning from those who are strong where I’m weak. I’ll gladly give credit where it’s due, even if the person doesn’t ask for it. After all, I am the byproduct of others pouring into me.

This idea of credit and recognition became even clearer to me one Sunday morning at Elizabeth Baptist Church. My pastor, Bishop Craig L. Oliver, said something profound: “We can receive credit for what we do, as long as God receives the glory.” That statement challenged the belief I grew up with—that credit doesn’t matter. It does matter. Not for self-glory, but because it can point people to the One who made it all possible.

The Bible is full of examples of people receiving credit for their actions, not to elevate them, but to magnify God’s work through them. Take Moses, for example. He’s credited with leading the Israelites out of Egypt, but the story clearly shows that it was God working through him. Or Paul, who spread the Gospel far and wide despite his troubled past. Paul himself said, “By the grace of God, I am what I am” (1 Corinthians 15:10). These stories show us that receiving credit and giving glory to God are not opposites—they go hand in hand.

When we acknowledge our contributions, we showcase how God uses ordinary people for extraordinary purposes. Jesus said it best: “Let your light shine before others, that they may see your good deeds and glorify your Father in heaven” (Matthew 5:16). Recognizing our work allows us to shine a light on God’s greatness.

For me, that starts with my family—my wife Kelli and my daughters Mackenzi and Mackenna. Serving them is my first ministry. From there, my mission grows outward to the millions I hope to inspire and lead to Christ. I don’t shy away from recognizing what God has done through me because I know it’s an opportunity to reflect His glory.

Ultimately, it does matter who gets the credit. Not for ego, but as a platform to lead others back to God. As Romans 11:36 reminds us: “For from him and through him and for him are all things. To him be the glory forever!”

So, I encourage you: Own your contributions. Celebrate your strengths. And when you receive credit, use it as a chance to give God the glory He deserves. That’s how we make our lives—and our work—significant.

We all make mistakes. Mistakes, in my view, are acts of ignorance—things we do without fully understanding the consequences. But mistakes are also where the seeds of growth are planted. As I reflect on my journey, I’ve come to see mistakes not as failures but as opportunities to struggle toward success. From that perspective, one mistake stands out as my favorite: becoming an avid runner.

This “mistake” didn’t happen by design. It began in 2020, following the tragic killing of Ahmaud Arbery. I was moved to honor him by participating in the 2020 Peachtree Road Race, the world’s largest 10K, held in Atlanta. The race was virtual that year, but the significance was deeply personal. I laced up my shoes, committed to running 6.2 miles, and finished with a sense of accomplishment. What I didn’t know was that this simple act of solidarity would transform me.

I didn’t plan to become a runner. I didn’t know what I was doing. I wasn’t prepared for the physical toll or the discipline required. Yet, that first race propelled me into a new chapter of my life. I mistakenly stumbled into a passion that has reshaped me—not just physically but mentally, emotionally, and even spiritually.

Since that first run, I’ve completed several 5Ks, 10Ks, and a 10-miler. On November 28, 2024, Friends and Family Day (also known as Thanksgiving Day), I ran my first half marathon. Crossing that finish line was a profound moment for me—a culmination of years of effort, discipline, and transformation. Running has improved my diet, changed my body, and built my confidence. I’m more disciplined, more focused, and more attuned to what it means to perform at my best—not just as a runner, but as a speaker, a writer, a husband, and a father.

I call this journey my “Steps to Significance,” a framework I’ve developed to understand how mistakes can lead to something greater. It starts with stupidity—knowing the right thing to do but choosing not to do it. The next step is struggle—making mistakes out of ignorance while striving toward success. Then comes success—achieving a goal. Finally, there’s significance—using your success to serve others.

The bridge between stupidity and struggle is humility. Humility is not thinking less of yourself but thinking of others more. When I decided to run in honor of Ahmaud Arbery, it wasn’t about me. It was about creating a moment of solidarity and reflection. That act of humility bridged the gap between my ignorance of running and my willingness to struggle toward something meaningful.

Mistakes are powerful because they force us to grow. My mistake of becoming a runner taught me the value of persistence, the importance of discipline, and the incredible gains that come from consistent effort. Running has shown me that performance isn’t just about physical ability; it’s about mindset, focus, and determination.

Today, as I look back at that “mistake” with gratitude, I celebrate the countless blessings it has brought me—greater health, deeper confidence, and a renewed sense of purpose. And as I continue to run, I’m reminded that sometimes, the best things in life come from the struggles we didn’t see coming.

Reflections:

What’s your favorite mistake? How has it shaped you? As I’ve learned, mistakes are not the end—they’re the beginning of something extraordinary. Share your thoughts below—I’d love to hear your story.