The King Wants Credit
I did it my way
One thing I have noticed about the king that lives inside each of us is that he has a strong appetite for credit.
When something goes well, the king is quick to step forward.
Not always in obvious ways. Sometimes it is subtle. A small comment. A gentle reminder that the idea started with him. A quiet nudge to make sure people remember who played the important role.
I have caught myself doing it more than once.
Years ago, when we were farming, there were many days when a job turned out particularly well. A field planted just right. A repair that worked better than expected. A project around the farm that came together smoothly.
The funny thing was that those successes were rarely the result of just one person.
Family members who worked beside me.
Advice from someone who had done it before.
Sometimes, even just good weather at the right moment.
Yet the king inside quietly likes to arrange the story a little differently.
He prefers a version where the success has a clear hero.
And somehow that hero often looks a lot like the person telling the story.
Over the years, I have noticed others doing the same thing. People will bring up an accomplishment from years ago, just making sure it stays on the record.
Many politicians are especially skilled at this. If you listen closely, you will often hear them remind people about something they helped accomplish long ago. They circle back to it again and again.
In fairness, we all do this to some degree.
The king inside us likes recognition. He likes the feeling of being important. Credit feeds that appetite.
But the older I get, the more I see how many good things in life are really shared accomplishments.
Communities build things together.
Families carry each other through hard times.
Even our best ideas are usually built from something we learned from someone else along the way.
When the king steps back for a moment, something interesting happens.
Gratitude begins to take the place of ownership.
Instead of saying “look what I did,” the heart begins to say “look what we were able to do.”
Life feels lighter that way.
The strange thing is that when the king stops fighting for credit, people often respect you more, not less. They trust someone willing to share the spotlight. They relax around someone who does not need to be the hero in every story.
The garden grows healthier when the king learns to step aside.
And in that quieter space, something better than credit begins to grow.
Humility.
The king always wants something — attention, control, credit, or recognition.
But every time we notice him, the garden gets a little clearer.