These last few weeks have been really rough. I’ve been constantly reminded of every single failure I’ve had to walk through. I’ve been told things I never knew, and blamed for outcomes shaped by unspoken truths and unseen moments.
I’ve been told I allow too much autonomy in my business—that if I would start controlling instead of trusting, things would turn out better. That I’m not open to change, and even when given feedback, I’d do nothing with it. That I wouldn’t change.
I’ve been told I listen too much to others—and at the same time, not enough. That I’m too direct. That I’m insensitive.
The list of my failures stretches as far as the skyline. And sometimes, it feels like the weight of them is too much for this world to bear—failures I’ve allowed the heavens to make space for.
I feel unworthy to sit at this table and eat with fullness—hearty with gratitude, grace, and thanksgiving. Unworthy to lead anyone to a place of healing and peace. My words don’t always seem to carry the weight needed to rally spirits toward a calling greater than myself. More important than me. Because I feel I have no place here—to create space, to be seen.
I am a failure. That much feels undeniable.
And yet—I am still Chosen by God, even though I carry no greatness of my own.
I fail, and I fall—to the tune of a song that rises in me like a symphony. And then I realize: I had never truly fallen at all.
I am a failure, ordained by greatness, even though I am nothing at all.
Without my failures, I go unseen. Because it is through my failures that greatness is born. And even though it hurts, I now see: without my failures, I am not truly me.
Be Blessed.
