I still remember that day. Not because it was special, but precisely because I tried to make it sound like it was. There I was at a worksite, standing near one of my employees—Peter, I think his name was—who looked at me with the sort of admiration usually reserved for IPL players or actors. “Sir,” he said, eyes wide and voice laced with reverence, “you’re a lucky man. To have built a business so fast!”

Now, any decent person would’ve nodded humbly, maybe mumbled something about God’s blessings or shrugged off the praise with a chuckle.

But not me.

“Oh, Peter,” I began, puffing up like a balloon in a storm, “luck had nothing to do with it! I built this from scratch. Hard work. Grit. Strategy. Vision! While others were sleeping in bed, I was out there selling and meeting customers!”

Honestly, if there had been a mirror nearby, I’d have probably blown a kiss to my reflection.

And just then the phone rang.

One of my workers had had an accident. A serious one. I rushed over to the hospital where they had rushed him, my heart pounding, self-praise now stuck somewhere between my throat and guilt. The worker didn’t make it. I had to deal with his devastated family, the police, the paperwork, and yes, the compensation—which wasn’t just financial.

That moment humbled me. It reminded me of something I should’ve known all along—that I wasn’t the architect of my success. I was just the builder who’d been handed good tools. And I’d forgotten to thank the Giver.

I thought of that moment this morning while reading Acts Chapter 12. Ah yes—King Herod Agrippa. The man had just delivered a thunderous public address. And the people, either hypnotized or angling for a government contract, cried out, “This is the voice of a god, not a man!”

Now here’s where things get interesting. Instead of saying, “Oh stop it, you flatterers, it’s all thanks to the Almighty,” Herod soaked it in like a sponge. Didn’t deflect. Didn’t even pretend to brush it aside.

And just like that, boom—an angel appears, he’s struck down, eaten by worms, and it’s all over!

Now, I’m not saying I was about to be worm food. But that moment with Peter my worker, taught me something. You don’t have to be a king to be foolish. You can wear a tie, build a business, and still forget who gave you breath, wisdom, and, well, the very people who work for you.

It’s a lesson I’ve carried since.

So, the next time someone says you’re brilliant, successful, or just plain amazing, or if you’re someone arrogant about your intelligence, talent or success, don’t make it a TED Talk about yourself. Just look up, smile, and say, “Thank you God.”

Because He’s listening.

And so maybe, are the worms…!

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