In his 19-year career, Kobe Bryant missed 14,481 shots. It's an NBA record. 14,481 missed field goals.

LeBron James is about to break that record. To date, Lebron has missed 14,476 shots. When the Lakers open their season on November 15, there is a good chance that king James will break Kobe's record.

Consider this paradox. On one hand, LeBron is the NBA's All-Time Leading Scorer—most makes ever. On the other hand, he's on the brink of holding the record for the most misses in a career. This juxtaposition underscores a crucial point: it's not the makes that define LeBron's greatness, but his resilience in the face of failure.

It's the misses that have endeared me to LeBron. What makes LeBron great [and Kobe and Michael, for that matter] is that he keeps shooting. The older I get, the more convinced I am that failure is essential to character and significance.

Years ago, after the Alabama football team lost the national championship game, Nick Saban commented, "We'll be okay; adversity builds character." I reached out to Coach and reminded him of a fundamental truth: adversity doesn't just build character; it reveals it. The greatest space for growth is failure, and the greatest catalyst for growth is how we respond to failure. It's in these moments of defeat that our true character is unveiled.

Useful

Failure is not a setback but a stepping stone. It's one of the most significant predictors of long-term resilience, success, and significance. Each failure we endure is a testament to God's grace and our resilience—failure is a signpost on the road to significance.

To say it another way, until you've failed, you're not useful. I am wary of the man, pastor, or leader who is always 'winning.' The man who everyone 'speaks well of.' Men who have not been tried, tested, and found wanting have little to share. Shallowness typically follows victory. Depth is the companion of defeat.

My own life is a testament to this. I'm a failure many times over.

In college, I failed my first-year history class.

When I was 23 years old, I ran for public office and lost.

I made a strategic business move right before the 08' crash... asked me how that worked out.

Once, I agreed to pastor a church, having no idea where the church stood doctrinally [truth be told, I didn't know where I stood doctrinally]. The result? Utter failure. I was ran out of town, literally.

I once led a not-for-profit and failed to raise the money needed to sustain the work. Have you ever seen the view from a sinking ship—the winds of failure blowing through your hair? Not serene.

I've failed my friends. I've failed my wife. I've failed my kids. I've failed my King.

Once, after a girlfriend had missed her cycle, I encouraged her to see a doctor who loaded her up on morning-after meds. Sometime after, she had a miscarriage at work. I felt relieved.

This failure still haunts me. Years later, after being born again and called to my first church, I remember calling a seminary professor and telling him, "I can't do it. I was a womanizer in college; I've done terrible things. I'm a failure of a man..."

I'll never forget what he said: "Chris, when your repentance is more notorious than your sins, you're okay. Your failures will give you a freedom and platform that most seminary students don't have."

In other words, my failures made me useful. My failures could fuel my faithfulness.

Keep Shooting

Of course, there's no guarantee that failure will produce faithfulness. More often than not, failure is fatal. Like an albatross around the neck, failure drives men into shame, bitterness, resentment, and fear. In those cases, failure becomes crippling and leads to stasis, which leads to death [figuratively and, sometimes, literally].

In my life, my greatest formation has come through being forged in the fires of failure. That's where God does his best work [in my life]. I once watched a silversmith forge silver. Over and over again, he plunged the silver into the fire, pulling it out, looking it over, and back into the fire. Impatient, someone asked him when he would be finished.

The smith said, "It's finished when I can see my reflection..."

Brothers, God allows us to tarry in the fire so the imperfections can be burnt away. And He will not stop until He can see the reflection of His Son in us.

Responding to failure in the right way can bring about extraordinary transformation. What if failure [whatever form it takes] is a gift of grace—tailored to instruct and equip us for better service to Christ and others?

The best men I know don't shy away from failure. They own it, recognizing it quickly. They respond to it honestly, taking full responsibility for their actions. And they learn from it, making the necessary improvements so that it won't happen again [no guarantees].

Most of all, they keep shooting.

Last year, millions of men across the globe watched and celebrated when LeBron broke Kareem Abdul-Jabbar's record. Most buckets ever. Not me; I wasn't that impressed [plus, I am a biased Jordan fan]. But on November 15, I'll be locked in. LeBron is going to break Kobe's record, and that speaks volumes about the man he is.

‘Bron, if you’re reading this, keep shooting.

From one useful failure to another,

— Harp