A reflection on stepping back, letting others grow, and serving without needing credit.
I must learn to let other people shine.
That sounds simple until I am in the room.
I like helping. I like solving problems. I like being useful. When I see a way forward, I usually want to say it. When I think I can help somebody avoid a mistake, I want to step in. Sometimes that is good. Sometimes people need somebody willing to move.
But sometimes I move too quickly.
I answer the question before somebody else has a chance.
I take over because I think I can do it faster.
I explain something that another person probably could have figured out on their own.
I call it helping.
Sometimes it is.
Sometimes I am taking up too much room.
That is uncomfortable for me to admit because I do not think of myself as somebody who wants all the attention. I do not walk into a room thinking, Everybody needs to notice me.
But pride does not always look like that.
Sometimes pride sounds much more respectable.
I can handle it.
Let me take care of this.
I already know how this works.
It will be easier if I just do it myself.
And before long, the people around me are watching instead of growing.
Paul wrote:
“Let nothing be done through strife or vainglory; but in lowliness of mind let each esteem other better than themselves.”
That verse is harder than it looks.
Esteem others.
Not tolerate them.
Not use them when I need help.
Actually value what God has placed in them.
That means I have to leave room for somebody else to have the idea.
Somebody else to receive the credit.
Somebody else to be the one everyone remembers.
I am learning that leadership is not always being the person in front.
Sometimes leadership means backing away far enough for someone else to discover that they can do it.
That takes patience.
Especially when I know I could do it faster.
The problem is, faster is not always better.
If I keep doing everything because I can do it better right now, nobody around me ever gets the chance to become better later.
I have to let people try.
I have to let them struggle a little.
I have to let them solve problems in ways I would not have chosen.
That is hard for somebody who likes control more than he wants to admit.
And sometimes I have to let them succeed without inserting myself into their success.
That may be harder.
John the Baptist understood something I need to learn.
People came to him worried that attention was shifting toward Jesus.
John answered:
“He must increase, but I must decrease.”
There is no panic in that sentence.
John knew who he was.
He also knew he was not the center.
That kind of security is rare.
He did not need to protect his platform.
He did not need to make sure everybody remembered who started first.
He understood that if God's purpose was being accomplished, then his own visibility could become smaller and nothing important had been lost.
I want that.
I want to be secure enough in who God called me to be that another person's success does not make me question mine.
Because comparison can sneak into good things.
I can genuinely be happy for someone and still feel that little thing inside me asking:
What about me?
Why did they get noticed?
Why did their idea work?
Why are people listening to them?
I do not like admitting that, but pretending it never happens will not make it holy.
Scripture says:
“Be kindly affectioned one to another with brotherly love; in honour preferring one another.”
Preferring one another.
Giving honor away.
That runs against something in me that wants to make sure my contribution is understood.
I have to watch that.
There is nothing wrong with being recognized for good work.
There is nothing spiritual about pretending I did nothing when I did.
But I do not want recognition to become something I need in order to feel that the work mattered.
Sometimes my job may be to prepare the ground and let somebody else stand on it.
Sometimes I may open the door and never walk through it myself.
Sometimes I may teach someone who eventually becomes better than I am.
That should not threaten me.
It should make me grateful.
Jesus told His disciples:
“Whosoever will be chief among you, let him be your servant.”
A servant does not need every good thing to point back to him.
That is the part I keep coming back to.
If I am serving, then the question is not, Did they notice what I did?
It is, Did what I did help somebody become stronger?
That changes things.
Maybe somebody else's confidence grows because I stopped correcting every little thing.
Maybe they discover a gift because I finally handed them responsibility instead of keeping it for myself.
Maybe they find their voice because I stopped filling every silence.
Maybe they learn to lead because I trusted them enough to follow for a while.
I think about Barnabas.
He could have treated Paul like competition.
Later, he could have treated John Mark like a lost cause.
Instead, Barnabas kept making room for people.
He encouraged.
He vouched for them.
He stayed close enough to help somebody else become useful.
We remember Paul because Paul became Paul.
But there was a Barnabas standing nearby when other people were still afraid of him.
That matters to me.
Some of the most important things I ever do may never have my name on them.
That used to bother me more than I want to admit.
Now I am beginning to see the beauty in it.
Paul wrote:
“I have planted, Apollos watered; but God gave the increase.”
Paul planted.
Apollos watered.
God gave the increase.
Nobody owned the whole thing.
That is how God's work is supposed to be.
I do my part.
Someone else does theirs.
God decides what grows.
I do not need to be the planter, the waterer, the one who harvests, and the person standing in the picture afterward.
I just need to be faithful with my part.
That takes pressure off me.
It also takes some pride out of me.
There are people around me who need room.
Room to think.
Room to fail.
Room to speak.
Room to become confident.
Room to become better than they are now.
If I fill all of that space, I may be useful in the moment and harmful in the long run.
I do not want that.
I want to become the kind of man who can sit in the room while someone else receives the praise and feel genuinely glad.
Not pretend.
Not smile while something ugly grows inside me.
Actually glad.
I want to be able to say, Look at what God is doing in them.
And mean it.
That kind of heart does not come naturally.
At least not to me.
I need God to work on it.
I need Him to show me when I am helping and when I am controlling.
When I am leading and when I am taking over.
When I am speaking because I have something useful to say and when I am speaking because silence makes me feel unnecessary.
That last one cuts a little deeper.
Maybe sometimes I talk because I want to know that I still matter.
But my value does not disappear because somebody else is having their moment.
God is not running out of purpose.
Another person's gift does not threaten mine.
Another person's success does not take something away from me.
There is room in God's work for more than one person to shine.
And maybe the point is not that any of us shine very long anyway.
Jesus said:
“Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father which is in heaven.”
That settles it.
The light was never supposed to end with me.
If somebody sees something good in my life, it should point beyond me.
The same is true for them.
So when somebody else shines, I do not have to move closer to the light.
I can thank God for it.
I can encourage it.
I can protect it when necessary.
I can step back.
I must learn to let others shine.
Not because I have nothing to offer.
Because they do too.
And sometimes the most faithful thing I can do is move out of the way long enough for everybody else to see it.