Dear God,

The other day, a good friend invited me to join the planning committee for a Christian conference for women. I said yes.
Then I walked into the first meeting… and nearly walked back out. Not because anyone was unkind, but because the room was intimidating.
Around that table sat women whose names carried weight. CEOs. Executives. Entrepreneurs. Women whose LinkedIn profiles looked like they had swallowed the entire Fortune 500 companies for breakfast. And then there were the handbags.
Dad, some handbags deserved their own security detail. Now, before we become too spiritual too quickly, let me confess something. There were two distinct categories of women in that room. The first category introduced themselves. The second category introduced their achievements. You know the type, right?
Before they say their names, they have already informed you about their latest promotion, the luxury SUV outside, the number of countries they have been to and the important people who apparently cannot breathe without consulting them. Their egos entered the room several minutes before they did.
But the women who truly impressed me? You almost missed them. Real greatness has this annoying habit of whispering while insecurity hires a microphone. As introductions went around the room, the lady sitting beside me leaned over and smiled.
“You amaze me,” she said.
I laughed. “What have I done already?”
“No,” she said. “You amaze me because you’re… this big… and yet this humble.”
I blinked. “I’m sorry…”
“You’re running the affairs of a global company,” she continued. “Yet here you are sitting on the floor with everyone else, arranging chairs, discussing refreshments and volunteering for assignments.”
I laughed. “Sweetheart,” I said, “it’s a job.”
She frowned. “No… it’s more than a job.”
“No,” I smiled. “The position owns the prestige. I own my character.”
She stared at me.
“But how do you stop the position from getting into your head?”
Ah. Now that… …that was a worthy question.
I smiled because, Dad, You and I have had this conversation countless times.
“There is one story that permanently keeps my ego on a leash”, I said to her. “Whenever pride starts stretching its legs… …this story quietly pulls it back home. Let me tell you”.
Many years ago, I had just entered the technology industry. Fresh out of school. Ambitious. Hungry. Inexperienced enough to believe enthusiasm could solve everything. I had one mission. Close a deal. Any deal. Quickly. Because every new salesperson secretly believes their first sale will determine whether they belong.
There was one C-Level Manager in a particular bank. To call him influential would be an understatement. Salespeople practically treated him like tech-royalty. He knew it too. He was brilliant. But brilliance wrapped in arrogance becomes difficult to admire. He was rude, dismissive and spoke to vendors as though they existed for his entertainment.
Still…
I wanted that account. So, I worked for it. I did presentations, negotiations, price reviews, endless meetings, obsessive follow-ups…. name it. Persistence became my middle name. Finally, after weeks of chasing him, he looked at me and said,
“Just deliver the equipment, while we work to release the Purchase Order.”
Looking back now… …I can see youth and inexperience wearing confidence as a disguise in me. I convinced my manager. He hesitated. I insisted. Eventually, we requested a formal email authorising delivery. They sent it. We supplied. Hurray! Victory! I had made my 1st sale in that difficult account. Or so I thought.
When the Purchase Order for that same order was eventually released…, it went to another company.
I was shattered. When I confronted him, he casually blamed management, then, with breathtaking indifference, he said, “You can come and carry your equipment.”
That’s all. Just like that.
Father Lord… I cried. Not the elegant movie tears, real wail-out tears. My heart was shattered into invisible piece; my confidence took a massive blow. I sat outside that bank and wept like a child whose dreams had been publicly rejected.
He walked past me. Looked at me and kept walking. As though I was invisible. What heartlessness!
That day, my manager did something remarkable. He refused to let one man’s arrogance become my identity. He simply said, “This isn’t the end. Learn the lesson. Don’t lose yourself.”
I listened, I learnt and I grew. (Hey Frankie, if you ever read this, “Thank You”. Thank you for standing with me when my shit hit the roof).
Years passed. Life changed. Diligence paid off and opportunities expanded for me. One promotion became another. Then another and eventually, I found myself leading a business across West Africa for my global technology company.
Funny how life writes chapters of your life you never see coming. One afternoon, I had just finished a meeting and was seeing the customer out when I noticed his familiar face sitting quietly at the reception. I paused but I wasn’t sure. He looked…different. Much older. Much thinner. Life had edited him without permission. Our receptionist stopped me.
“Ma’am … do you know him?”
I looked again. Then he said his name. My heart froze. It was him. The almighty tech-mini-god. Except… he wasn’t mighty anymore. That bank had been acquired years earlier. His position had disappeared. His influence had disappeared. His audience had disappeared. Only “the man” remained. And the man didn’t look like much. His shoes had worked overtime. His jacket had retired years ago but hadn’t been informed. He had been waiting for hours at the reception hoping someone could help him.
Hmmm.
That’s when the two voices started arguing inside my head. The first one… Oh, that one was loud.
“Boom Shakalaka, see what Karma dragged in, it’s your turn, serve him the same meal he served you years ago.” “Justice has arrived.”
Then came the still small voice. Quiet. Almost irritatingly gentle.
“Yes, it’s your turn, but show him what power is always supposed to look like.”
Hmm, Dad, sometimes Your suggestions require far too much maturity to execute, and I was not feeling very matured at that time. I wanted to…… But….
I sighed. I escorted him into the conference room, pulled together a team, called distributors, contacted the channel partners, and secured commercial approvals for him. I coordinated the conversations, and within a few hours, everything he needed had been resolved. He left with a genuine quotation, a channel commitment, and a valid Purchase Order from the customer. In just a few hours, I revalidated a business opportunity that was going south on him.
And the entire time… he barely spoke. He simply watched me in action. When we finally reached the reception area on his way out, he looked at me for what felt like forever. Then quietly said, “Thank you.”
Only two words. But I knew that carried every weight of his apologies. I knew he remembered how he treated me when he had his position. I knew he was comparing it with how I treated him when I had the position. A few minutes later, a text message appeared on my phone.
It was long. Very long. But the final sentence…Dad, …that sentence has never left me.
“Today I learnt a lesson I will never forget. Life didn’t humble me… you humbled me.”
No, sir. I didn’t. Life did. I simply refused to become the person who once hurt me. And that’s the difference.
You see, “positions” are rented. You are a tenant. One day your tenure will expire, and another tenant will occupy the position. “But Character” is owned. Titles expire. Integrity doesn’t. The respect people give your office is often mistaken for respect they have for you. No, Sir! They’re not always the same thing.
Listen to me dearest, remove the title, take away the office, park that official car, cancel the executive benefits. Then ask yourself… Who am I now?
If that question makes you uncomfortable… perhaps you’ve confused “the position” with “the person”. Every “position” is simply “a place” of stewardship. Do not turn the place into the person.
Power was never given so we could make people feel small. It was entrusted to us so someone else’s journey could become easier because we passed that way first. So, before you use your position to frustrate someone…, before you flex, before you remind people who you are…, Please make sure you are not standing in the way of someone God is quietly lifting.
There is a reason the Scripture says, “Touch not My anointed.”
It is not merely a warning. It is wisdom, because sometimes the person you are looking down on today… is tomorrow’s answer to your prayer.
Dad…, Am I humble?
I honestly don’t know. But this much I know. I am anchored. Every now and then You remind me that the office I occupy is temporary…… but the woman occupying it is under Your shadows. And that woman, by Your grace, must always be worth more than her title.
That woman, Lord, is Your daughter, forgive my long absence, I am checking in now.