Day 155

1 Chronicles 20–22 | 1 Corinthians 12 | Proverbs 13

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I have two younger brothers: Garrett and Michael. Both were born athletes. Growing up, they could throw a spiral, hit a curveball, bench press a Buick. I, on the other hand, could design a killer student council campaign poster with nothing but a glue stick, a sharpie, and a layout grid.

They spent their high school years sweating through two-a-days in 115-degree Arizona heat. I spent mine in the air-conditioned yearbook room, arguing over fonts and cropping pictures. They were captains on the football field; I was the student body president who won in an unopposed election.

And while I smiled in the group photos, I envied their natural strength.

I still do, sometimes.

Even now, the stories around the family dinner table make it hard not to compare.

Garrett talks about a transformer that blew up two feet from his face. Michael tells how he fixed a live wire dangling over a neighborhood pool.

And it’s not just them.

My cousin Carson drives a fire engine and runs toward flames. My cousin Cole keeps people from bleeding out in the back of an ambulance. My cousin Cade jumps out of helicopters in Afghanistan.

My buddy Jason runs point on 911 calls that end up on the evening news.

These are my people. And they all have stories that are dangerous, important, brave.

Eventually, the question comes.

“What about you, Grant? What’d you do this week?”

And my response usually goes something like this:

“Well, I wrote a very tight 400-word press release about the new general counsel we just hired.”

Not quite the same.

But that’s the danger of comparison.

It makes you forget what God gave you—because you’re too busy wishing you had what He gave someone else instead.

One Body. Many Parts.

In 1 Corinthians 12, Paul is laying out the framework of spiritual gifts.

The same Spirit. Different gifts. One body.

But then he says something that feels eerily familiar:

“If the foot should say, ‘Because I am not a hand, I do not belong to the body,’ that would not make it any less a part of the body.” (v. 15)

In other words, just because you’re not Jason or Garrett or Michael doesn’t mean your gift doesn’t matter.

You may not carry a badge.

Or a hard hat.

Or a fire hose.

Or a stethoscope.

But if you carry the Spirit, you carry something eternal.

And maybe your words have stopped someone from walking off a cliff.

Maybe an email you wrote helped someone finally see truth clearly.

Maybe your quiet encouragement kept someone from falling apart.

It may not make headlines.

But it might just echo in eternity.

Stop Diminishing What God Designed

The Spirit doesn’t make mistakes.

He didn’t give you your gift out of leftovers.

He gave it by design.

And when you diminish that gift—even silently—you’re not just insulting yourself. You’re insulting the Giver.

So use it.

Even if no one claps.

Even if it feels small.

Even if others don’t notice.

Because the question isn’t: “Is my gift as impressive as theirs?”

It’s: “Am I using the gift God gave me to serve the body?”

Here’s the part I’m still learning:

I don’t need to be the one with the wildest story.

I just need to be faithful with my assignment.

Maybe my words won’t rescue someone from a burning building.

But maybe, by God’s grace, they’ll reach someone who feels like they’re already in one.

And that’s worth showing up for. Even when my brothers—by bond and by blood—have stories that are more dangerous, more important, and far more brave.

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Lord, forgive me for every time I’ve envied someone else’s gift—and ignored the one You gave me. For every moment I’ve measured my worth by applause or adrenaline instead of obedience. Teach me to treasure the role You’ve assigned. Let me be faithful in it. Grateful for it. And humble enough to use it—not for credit, but for the good of Your people and the glory of Your name. Amen.