This tree looked healthy for quite some time. About ten years to be exact. From above the surface, there was little reason to believe anything was seriously wrong. But once the soil around the base was removed, the true condition of the tree became clear. Adventitious roots had developed above the natural root flare, slowly restricting the tree and causing damage that could not be reversed. What appeared strong on the outside was being quietly compromised underneath.

Life can be much the same way.

As we enter our tenth year in business, I have found myself slowing down more often to reflect on the journey behind us. Ten years gives you a lot to celebrate. It also gives you a lot to examine.

It is easy to look at the good things that have happened and believe they are evidence of our own ability. Success can quietly convince us that we are wiser, stronger, and more capable than we really are. Somewhere inside, we begin taking credit for what has grown.

Failure often produces the opposite reaction.

When something goes wrong, we can quickly find reasons outside of ourselves. Someone did not listen. Someone did not follow through. The timing was bad. The circumstances were unfair.

It is easy to believe the victories belong to us while the failures belong to someone else. After these first ten years, I have learned that neither belief is true.

The successes we have experienced are not mine alone. They are the result of blessings that have constantly surrounded me. They have come through team members who work hard together and care deeply about serving our clients. They have come through clients who trust us, support us, and tell others about our work. They have come through vendors, service providers, family members, mentors, and friends who have helped us continue moving forward.

Very little of lasting value is ever accomplished alone. Failure has taught me something different.

When I honestly trace many of our struggles back to their beginning, I usually find an area where I carried responsibility. I may not have directly caused every problem, but I often allowed it to develop, failed to recognize it soon enough, or responded to it poorly.

I failed to communicate clearly. I spoke when I should have listened. I became distracted. I avoided difficult conversations. I gave my attention to what felt urgent instead of what was truly important.

These shortcomings have not been limited to business. I can see them in my life as a husband, a father, a friend, and a member of my community.

There have been times when I was physically present with my family but mentally consumed by work. There have been conversations where I listened only long enough to prepare my response instead of listening to understand. There have been seasons when I gave the best of my energy to solving problems and building a business, while the people I loved most received whatever energy I had left.

I have expected patience, understanding, and grace from others while failing to offer those same things as freely as I should have.

Those are difficult truths to admit.

Leadership can create pressure to appear certain, strong, and successful. We begin believing that people need us to have all the answers. We build a version of ourselves that always knows what to do, and then we spend an enormous amount of energy protecting that image.

Eventually, the image becomes a burden.

We can appear confident while being exhausted. We can look successful while being afraid. We can speak with certainty while privately wondering whether we have what it takes.

There is no shame in not having every answer. The danger comes when our pride prevents us from asking for help. Most of us are leading someone, even if we do not carry the title of leader.

We lead as spouses, parents, friends, coaches, managers, teachers, business owners, and neighbors. Someone notices how we respond to pressure, how we accept correction, how we treat people when we are tired, and whether our actions match the values we claim to believe.

Leadership does not begin when we walk into a workplace, classroom, church, or our house. It begins with how we treat the people sitting across the table from us.

This year has taught me more about responsibility than any year before it. Responsibility does not mean controlling every outcome. It means being honest about the portion of the outcome that belongs to us.

We cannot control every condition around us, but we are responsible for how we respond. We are responsible for the decisions we make, the words we speak, the habits we form, and the people we choose to become.

The longer we blame others for where we are, the longer we remain stuck there.

Transparency and vulnerability do not weaken trust. When used with wisdom, they strengthen it. People do not need perfect leaders, spouses, parents, or friends. They need people who are honest enough to admit when they are wrong and humble enough to keep learning.

Failure does not have to define us. It can instruct us. It can expose what needs attention and reveal where our character still needs to grow.

We do not become stronger by pretending we never struggle. We become stronger by facing the truth and allowing it to change us.

Every person we meet can teach us something. Every hardship can reveal something. Every mistake can become the beginning of better judgment, deeper humility, and greater compassion.

But we must remain teachable.

When we believe we have everything figured out, we stop listening. We stop growing. We begin relying on our image instead of relying on God.

The deeper lesson of these first ten years is not that I have finally learned how to lead a business. It is the realization that I am still learning how to lead myself, love my family well, serve others faithfully, and remain humble enough to be corrected.

Success should make us grateful, not proud. Failure should make us honest, not ashamed. Leadership should make us responsible, not important.

Faith should remind us that every opportunity we receive is not simply something we earned. It is something we have been entrusted with.

The strongest life is not built by protecting an image above the surface. It is built by tending carefully to what is growing beneath it.

That is where humility takes root. That is where trust begins. And that is where God does some of His greatest work.

A Question to Consider

Where in your life are you spending more energy protecting an image than facing the truth?

This week, choose one relationship where you need to listen more closely, admit a shortcoming, ask for help, or offer an apology. Growth often begins with one honest conversation.

‘Well Rooted’ is a new column to the Great Bend Tribune written by Jeremy Elliott. Elliott owns a lawncare business and lives in the Great Bend area.