I haven't had a successful life; and now that God has blessed me

Hear, O listeners, the words of Scott Cawthon, who confessed with humility: “I haven’t had a successful life; and now that God has blessed me with some success, I’m doing my best to be responsible with that success.” These words strike not as the proud cry of the conqueror, but as the trembling voice of one who has walked through failure, despair, and shadow, only to find himself lifted by grace into the light. In them we hear a lesson eternal: that success is not guaranteed, nor is it earned by might alone—it is a gift, and with it comes the burden of stewardship.

Consider first the weight of his beginning: “I haven’t had a successful life.” Many men and women toil, striving for greatness, yet their labors yield little fruit. They see others climb swiftly while they themselves stumble. This was the path of Cawthon, who endured obscurity and rejection before his creation found its place in the hearts of millions. Yet what is failure but the forge of humility? What is obscurity but the soil from which gratitude may spring? By confessing his lack of past success, he reminds us that triumph shines brightest when it rises from the ashes of defeat.

History bears witness to such truths. Consider the story of Abraham Lincoln, who failed in business, lost elections, and bore many personal sorrows before rising to lead a nation through its darkest hour. His youth was marked not by shining victories but by deep disappointments. And yet, when at last success came, it did not intoxicate him—it sobered him. He bore it with responsibility, guiding his people with humility and strength. Like Lincoln, Cawthon testifies that the man who has tasted failure values more dearly the fragile gift of victory, and seeks to wield it wisely.

The second part of his confession holds the heart of wisdom: “Now that God has blessed me with some success, I’m doing my best to be responsible with that success.” Here he acknowledges the divine hand in his ascent. He claims no throne for himself, but bows in gratitude to the Giver of blessings. And more: he recognizes that success is not meant for self-indulgence. It is a trust, a charge, a sacred responsibility. The wealth, the recognition, the influence—these are not treasures to be hoarded, but tools to be used in service of others, in care of the community, in witness to the One who bestows them.

How many have stumbled when granted sudden power! Kings have fallen to corruption, artists have been consumed by vanity, leaders have destroyed the very people they were meant to protect. But Cawthon reminds us that responsibility is the true measure of greatness. The careless squander their fortune; the wise turn it into a river that nourishes many. Thus, the question is not whether one gains success, but whether one bears it honorably once it is given.

The lesson for us is clear: do not despise failure, nor idolize success. Failures teach, they temper, they prepare the heart to carry burdens with humility. And when success comes—whether in work, in family, in art, or in spirit—receive it not with arrogance but with gratitude. Ask yourself not, “How may I enjoy this?” but rather, “How may I use this well? How may I give back? How may I be faithful to the blessing entrusted to me?” For the measure of a man is not how high he climbs, but how he carries what he is given.

Therefore, take this path in your own life. If you labor and fail, endure, for failure may be your teacher. If you rise and taste success, be vigilant, for responsibility will then be your test. Share what you have. Use your influence to lift others. Offer your time, your wisdom, your compassion. And never forget that every blessing is both gift and burden, joy and duty.

Thus speaks the spirit of Scott Cawthon’s words: that success is not the end of the road, but the beginning of a new labor. Walk humbly, live gratefully, act responsibly, and you will not only honor the blessing—you will ensure that your legacy sings beyond your lifetime.