I was enjoying Akintayo Akiwande’s Praise Medley 4 on my way to church this bright Sunday morning.
I absolutely love this medley. It’s such a beautiful arrangement of music, and a wonderful way to worship and glorify God.
If you doubt me, hit play and see it.

But while I was enjoying the music, I was also painfully aware that I was running late. I knew that by the time I parked across the street and walked into church, I would probably be five to seven minutes late.

And I was beating myself up about it because I really did not want to be late. In my mind, I had done everything possible, or at least everything within my power, to make sure I got there on time.

I had picked out my outfit the day before. I was going with a blue ensemble, complete with a tie, pocket square, and lapel pin. I had also picked out these really nice shoes.
They weren’t entirely brown, more of a maroon, chocolatey, wine-colored brown. Whatever the proper name for that color is, they were cute.

And yet, here I was, still going to pull up to church late.

At one point, I tried to console myself. Look, I tried. I really tried. I tried to leave early and get there on time.

But then I asked myself a more uncomfortable question.

Did I really do everything within my power to be there on time?

The honest answer was no.

What I realized was that, even though I had picked out my outfit the night before, I hadn’t actually picked out every detail. That morning, I still had four pocket square options I was trying to decide between because I hadn’t settled on a tie. Once I finally picked a tie, I had to find the pocket square holder, which took a few more minutes. Then I picked up my pants and realized they were wrinkled, with a double crease running down the back, so I had to iron them.

All in all, I could identify six or seven little things I did that morning that, collectively, accounted for those five to seven minutes.

And somewhere along the drive to church, the Holy Spirit began to minister to me about something much bigger than being late.

Intent versus impact.

The headline was simple: I was supposed to walk into church at 10:30 a.m. Instead, I walked in at 10:36.

Six minutes late.

Everything that happened before 10:36, every explanation I could offer, every little thing that delayed me, did not change that outcome. My intention was to be there by 10:30, but the impact was that I wasn’t.

Now, could I have done things differently to arrive on time? Absolutely.

I could have chosen my entire outfit the night before, including the tie, pocket square, and every other detail. I could have ironed everything and laid it all out so that the morning required as little decision-making as possible.

And there’s another thing I could have done. I typically love recording a fit check on Sunday mornings, or whenever I’m leaving the house dressed up. But could I have recorded that video on Saturday instead?

I’ve done that before, and when I do, I feel so much lighter. There’s less pressure and less rushing around trying to deliver on something in the very moment I’m supposed to be getting out of the door.

So the question I keep coming back to is this: What stops us from doing that little bit of extra work that makes the difference?

I continue to believe that so much of the greatness we’re searching for is rooted in that extra step. That additional preparation. That willingness to do the work ahead of time so that our intentions and our impact are more likely to align.

And I think a lot of us make excuses for not doing it.

I certainly tried to that morning. I wanted to tell myself that I had tried my best, that I had put my clothes together, and that I had made an effort.

And to be fair, it was an improvement. There have been Sundays when I’ve arrived at 10:49 or 10:50, essentially missing all of praise and worship. There have also been Sundays when I’ve been significantly more punctual because I woke up on time and planned my morning properly. I’ve even showered during the first half of a Premier League game so I could make sure I got to church on time.

The point is, I’ve experienced both sides of it. I’ve seen what happens when I prepare, and I’ve seen what happens when I don’t.

And I’m responsible for both.

You are responsible for the outcome you repeatedly create, even when you have a perfectly reasonable explanation for how you got there.

As I’ve gotten older, I’ve started to realize that the difference between being good and pursuing greatness often lives in the details. It’s in the preparation nobody sees, the extra step nobody asks you to take, and the discipline to do something ahead of time rather than relying on yourself to figure it out in the moment.

It’s in understanding that you have to take ownership of the impact, not just defend your intent.

My intent was to be at church by 10:30. But when I honestly examined my morning, I realized that I hadn’t done everything within my power to make that happen.

And that realization matters because this lesson extends far beyond being late to church.

It shows up in our relationships, when we say we care about someone but repeatedly fail to show up for them. It shows up at work, when we intend to deliver something excellent but don’t give ourselves enough time to do it well. It shows up in our personal goals, when we say we want to change but don’t build the habits and systems that make change possible.

We can have the best intentions in the world. But intentions alone don’t erase the impact of our actions.

Now, of course, there are things outside our control. You can prepare the night before, wake up early, leave with enough time to spare, and still encounter unexpected traffic. That’s life. Sometimes, despite doing everything right, things won’t go according to plan.

But that should be the exception, not the norm.

And I think that’s the shift in mentality many of us need to make: moving from a place of constantly explaining what happened to taking responsibility for the things we could have done differently.

Not beating ourselves up. Not pretending that circumstances don’t matter. And certainly not demanding perfection from ourselves.

Just being honest enough to recognize where we fell short, take responsibility for it, and do something differently next time.

Because if you want to be received a certain way, you have to take responsibility for showing up that way. You cannot continually rely on what you intended to do while ignoring the experience other people actually have of you.

So, as you go about your week, take a little time to examine the stories you tell yourself.
The explanations that make you feel better about an outcome you know you could have influenced.
The moments when you say you tried your best without honestly examining whether you did everything you reasonably could.

Sometimes, the difference between where you are and where you want to be isn’t some extraordinary breakthrough. Sometimes, it’s the extra ten minutes you spent preparing the night before.

Until next time, stay strapped in.