“I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Your works are wonderful; I know that full well.”
— Psalm 139:14 (NIV)
There’s a line in this verse that stops me every time.
“I know that full well.“
Because if I’m honest, most mornings don’t feel that way.
The Question That Follows Me Into Every Room
I’m 36. I’ve built a career at the intersection of technology and strategy. I occupy a visible leadership role. And still, the question follows me in.
Did they pick the wrong person?
Am I actually enough for this?
That question doesn’t announce itself loudly. It’s quieter than that. It’s the moment before a big presentation. The debrief after a decision that didn’t land. The end of a long day when confidence has been spent and all that’s left is the audit.
Imposter syndrome doesn’t disappear when you get promoted. If anything, the stakes get higher, and the voice gets louder.
What Prayer Has Taught Me Over 36 Years
Here’s what I know to be true, not from a book, from lived experience:
Whenever I pray, God does not disappoint.
Not once. Not in 36 years.
That doesn’t mean every outcome looks the way I expected. It means every time I’ve brought my actual self, the doubting, tired, questioning version, and I pray… something happens. Courage returns. Not confidence, exactly. Courage. The kind that says I don’t fully know what I’m doing, but I know who made me, and that is enough to take the next step.
Psalm 139:14 is one of those anchors. I’ve come across it more than once, and every single time, it finds me in exactly the right moment.
The Problem With Being Busy
Life moves fast. Leadership moves faster.
When your calendar is full and the decisions are heavy and the visibility is high, you forget. Not intentionally. You just get pulled so far into the doing that you lose touch with the being.
You forget what you’re made of. You forget to pray.
That’s why this verse belongs somewhere physical. On the bathroom mirror. On the desk. On your phone lock screen. Somewhere your eyes land before the day has a chance to tell you who you are.
Because the day will have opinions. The inbox will have opinions. The performance cycle will have opinions.
Psalm 139:14 has the final word.
For the Days of Tears and the Days of Wins
High-stakes roles don’t come with smooth trajectories. There are days of confidence and days of mistakes, and sometimes both before lunch.
The song, Who You Say I Am, captures this tension better than most theological arguments do. It’s a song I come back to privately, not in a crowd. In the car. In a quiet morning. When I need to be reminded that my identity isn’t assembled from performance metrics.
The song asks the question this verse answers: who gets to define me?
And I often think, I genuinely wonder, how do people carry this weight without God? Without the bedrock of knowing that the One who designed you doesn’t make mistakes? That you were not assembled carelessly?
I don’t ask that with judgment. I ask it with something closer to awe. Because on the hard days, this is the thing that keeps me upright. The belief that there is something bigger than me, inside me. Placed there intentionally. Purposefully.
Fearfully. Wonderfully.
A Reminder Worth Carrying
Print this verse. Stick it on your bathroom mirror. Prop it against your desk. Tuck it somewhere your eyes land before the world gets to you.
Not as décor. As ammunition.
Because the day will come, and it will come soon, where something shakes your confidence. A decision that backfires. A room that makes you feel small. A moment where the question creeps back in: did they pick the wrong person?
When that happens, I want you to have already seen these words that morning.
So here’s the question I’ll leave you with:
If you genuinely believed, bone-deep and not just intellectually, that you were fearfully and wonderfully made, what would you do differently tomorrow?
Sit with that.
Because the God who made you already knows the answer.
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