That conversation surfaced a truth many people have lived with but struggle to name: growth requires learning how to close the door behind you and walk through the door in front of you. Closing the door does not mean forgetting what happened. It means choosing not to carry it with you. For some, this looks like leaving a workplace where your contributions were consistently overlooked. For others, it may be stepping away from a role you outgrew but stayed in out of loyalty or fear. And sometimes, it means releasing the version of yourself that responded out of frustration instead of clarity. Some of what we carry happened to us. Some happened by us. Both deserve reflection. Neither should define us.
Browsing: Ain’t That A VHIT
The cup represents our personal season. Each of us is carrying something different. For some, it is a season of growth and gratitude. For others, it is a season of waiting, healing, rebuilding, or simply surviving. Many people today are not praying for overflow; they are praying the cup does not break. They are asking God for strength to endure, clarity to move forward, and peace to make it through another day.
For much of my journey, I leaned heavily into doing. I often felt a strong sense of urgency, sometimes necessary, sometimes self-imposed. I have tried to build bridges with urgency. Not recklessly, but with a genuine desire to help close gaps and remove obstacles. When I noticed barriers, I felt compelled to respond quickly. At the time, it felt like responsibility. In reflection, I now see it was also a belief that my involvement was always required.
That’s why fighting the good fight feels personal to me. The Apostle Paul’s words, “I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith”, aren’t about perfection. They’re about endurance. About staying in the fight even when you’re tired, bruised, and unsure how the next round will go.
As a young boy who has matriculated into a semi-successful adult man, I have learned that life rarely teaches in straight lines. Some lessons arrive wrapped in encouragement and affirmation. Others come through hard knocks, moments that shake your confidence and force you to confront who you are when things do not go as planned. For a long time, I believed what looked like misfortune, mine or someone else’s, was simply bad luck. With time, reflection, and grace, I now understand that many of those moments were lessons within a lesson, shaping my maturity, my character, and my purpose.
Some journeys don’t begin with a plan. They begin with a nudge. A conversation. Someone saying, “You’re ready,” even when you’re not completely sure you are. That’s how my path into the National Forum for Black Public Administrators (NFBPA) began, unexpectedly, without a roadmap, but fueled by encouragement. I said yes without knowing exactly where the road would lead. What I’ve learned since is that the road doesn’t always make sense at first, but it stretches you in the ways you need most.
Many men, especially Black men, move through life wearing a smile that holds more weight than most people will ever understand. It is a practiced smile, a protective smile, a survival smile. Behind it lives a world of pressure, expectations, quiet fears, unspoken disappointments, and dreams we were not always told we had permission to pursue. I know this kind of smile well because I wear it too.
I had to come to an uncomfortable realization: some of the obstacles in my life weren’t placed there by systems, circumstances, or other people. I was building them myself.
There’s a saying I heard not long ago that settled deep into my spirit: “You will never be used greatly until you have been wounded deeply.” At first, it sounded poetic. Yet, the more I replayed it against my own life, the unexpected losses, the disappointments, the moments of confusion, and the seasons I didn’t think I would survive, the more I realized there was truth in those words.
There are moments in life when staying quiet, though comfortable, is no longer faithful. Times when reflection alone is not enough. When prayer must be matched with posture, and conviction must finally find its voice. These are the moments when the world is not asking for a melody; it is asking for clarity. When the world needs a trumpet, a flute will not do.