Author: John DeFere

  • Learning to Cheer More and Lecture Less

    Learning to Cheer More and Lecture Less

    One Real Story From Life

    Growing up, I played a lot of baseball at a high level. I had all kinds of coaches, but my favorites were always the ones who were direct. If you did something wrong, they told you. Then they followed it up with encouragement and a clear next step. That combination of correction and confidence shaped the way I learned to love the game.

    Now my kids are playing the same sport I grew up playing and eventually loving, and if I’m honest, that is where things have gotten complicated. I find myself coaching from the sidelines—sometimes helpfully, sometimes not. Because they do not always play with the same passion or intensity I once had, I can feel myself trying to pull more out of them than they may be ready for. One of my daughters especially gets to me. She has real potential, and I have caught myself wanting to force it to the surface instead of patiently helping it grow.

    This past weekend, I knew I needed a different approach. Before one of her games started, I pulled out my phone—not to scroll, but to spend a few quiet minutes in the Word and prayer. I asked God for wisdom, not just for what to say, but for when to say it and when to stay quiet. James 1:5 reminds us that when we lack wisdom, we do not have to pretend otherwise; we can ask God, and He gives generously.

    In the first game of the day, she stepped up to the plate and grounded out to the right side. I could see she was late on her swing. Old me would have launched into a full hitting lesson before she even reached the dugout. But because I had prayed first, I kept it simple. I told her that with a slight adjustment in timing, her at-bats could change drastically. That was it. No lecture. No frustration. Just one clear adjustment and one quiet word of belief.

    The next day, she made the adjustment. She had several solid at-bats and hit the ball hard most of the day. I was thrilled—not just because of the result, but because she got to see the fruit of her own work. I got to celebrate her growth instead of over-coaching every detail.

    Later in the game, a high fly ball was hit right to her. It was the kind of ball she should have caught, and it dropped right in front of her. On the inside, I was furious. I knew what that out could have meant for the inning, maybe even the game. Every instinct in me wanted to correct her immediately. I wanted to yell across the field or give her a sharp word when she came off. I wanted to fix the mistake before it had time to settle.

    Instead, I thought back to that quiet prayer before the game. I had already asked God for wisdom before I acted. In that moment, wisdom did not look like a speech. It looked like silence.

    After the game, we packed up and started walking to the car. Without any prompting from me, she said, “Dad, I should have totally caught that ball. That would have ended the game.” She had already seen it. She had already felt it. She did not need my frustration to make the lesson clearer. She needed room to own it for herself.

    As we talked, I told her something I needed her to hear clearly: it did not matter to me if she made errors or struck out every time. What would bless me most was seeing her enjoy herself, play with passion, and hustle every play. I wanted her to know that my joy as her dad was not tied to a perfect stat line. It was tied to the kind of heart she brought to the field.

    On the final day of the weekend, I saw it. I saw joy. I saw effort. I saw energy. I saw her playing free. And my heart was filled with joy—not because everything was perfect, but because something deeper was taking root in her.

    One Key Principle From God’s Word

    James 1:5 says:

    “If any of you lack wisdom, let him ask of God, that giveth to all men liberally, and upbraideth not; and it shall be given him.”

    That promise meets us right where most of life actually happens—in regular days, real conversations, and split-second reactions. When we do not know how to respond, we are not stuck with our first impulse; we can stop and ask God how to answer instead.

    God’s wisdom does more than give us the “right answer.” It shapes how we show up in the moment—tone, timing, and even how many words we use. Sometimes that means offering a clear correction. Sometimes it means a simple word of encouragement. Sometimes it means saying nothing at all. For parents, coaches, and leaders, that kind of wisdom matters because our words are not just shaping behavior; they are shaping hearts.

    Honest Reflections From a Dad’s Seat

    Walking through that weekend with my daughter has stayed with me, both as a dad and as someone who wants to lead well at home and at work. A few reflections:

    • Not every mistake needs an immediate speech. Sometimes the lesson is already landing, and adding more words only adds more weight.
    • Wisdom is not just knowing what is true; it is knowing what is needed right now. A mechanical adjustment helped at the plate. Silence helped after the fly ball.
    • What we celebrate shapes what grows. When I made it clear that joy, passion, and hustle mattered more to me than error-free performance, I could see something change in her.
    • Leadership at home is not about controlling every outcome. It is about helping our kids grow in courage, ownership, and freedom.

    One Simple Step For This Week

    To build hearts, homes, and leaders right where you are, try this:

    Ask God for wisdom in one specific relationship before you speak.

    As you move through this week, pay attention:

    • Is there a pattern where you tend to jump in too quickly with correction?
    • Is there a recent moment you wish you had handled with fewer words?
    • Is there a place where a shorter, calmer response—or even silence—might help someone grow more than another speech?

    You do not have to get every moment right. But you can let God’s wisdom shape your next one.

  • Three Tryouts and a Different Kind of Win

    Three Tryouts and a Different Kind of Win

    One Real Story From Life

    One of our daughters was so excited about trying out for the middle school softball team. In sixth grade, she talked about it for weeks—about positions, uniforms, and playing under the lights. But as tryout day got closer, the “what ifs” started getting louder. What if I mess up? What if I’m not good enough?

    On the day of tryouts, fear won. She stayed home. That afternoon, my wife and I watched the disappointment settle in. She didn’t need a lecture; she already knew what she’d missed. Instead of treating that decision like it would define her forever, we just encouraged her and kept the door open for “next time.”

    In year two, she decided next time had come. She pushed through the nerves, showed up, and tried out. When the list came out, her name wasn’t on it. This time the disappointment was loud—tears, questions, and that quiet ache of “maybe I’m just not good enough.” But somewhere underneath the hurt, she made a quiet decision: “I’m going to work hard and try again next year.”

    In her final year of middle school, she tried out one more time. She’d practiced, prepared, and handled the drills well. We really thought this might be the year. But when the list went up, her name still wasn’t on it. Only this time, something had changed in her. She wasn’t crushed. She took a deep breath, lifted her head, and moved on to the next activity with a little hop in her step, because she knew she’d given it everything she had.

    Was I disappointed that she didn’t make the team? Honestly, yes. But more than making the roster, I was proud of the way she’d grown. Those tryouts didn’t just test her softball skills; they shaped how she handled fear, failure, and disappointment. Watching her walk away without being defined by the outcome reminded me that in God’s hands, even the days that don’t go how we hoped can grow something strong and steady inside us.

    One Key Principle From God’s Word

    Romans 5 talks about how pressure and hardship grow perseverance, which in turn develops character and a steady kind of hope. The days we would never choose can become the very places where we grow our believing, develop a greater trust in God and just keep going. He isn’t measuring us by scoreboards or lists.  Our consistent, faithful effort grows real, lasting fruit in our lives. My daughter’s journey—from not showing up, to trying and failing, to trying again with courage—looked a lot like that process in real time.

    Identity comes before outcomes. In our own lives, and in the lives of our kids and teammates, God’s love and calling do not rise and fall with whether we make the list.

    As parents and leaders, we get to echo that truth. When we walk with people through disappointment, we can quietly remind them: This result matters, but it doesn’t define you. God is still at work, and this is part of the growing process.

    Honest Reflections From a Dad’s Seat

    Walking through those three years of tryouts with my daughter has stayed with me, both as a dad and as someone who wants to lead well at home and at work. A few reflections:

    • How we respond to disappointment teaches more than how we respond to success. I would have celebrated with her if she’d made the team, but the deeper lessons came on the days when she didn’t. That’s true in families and on teams—people are watching what we do when things don’t go our way.
    • Courage isn’t the absence of fear; it’s showing up anyway. In sixth grade, fear kept her from even going. By eighth grade, fear was still there, but it no longer got the final vote. Growth rarely means the nerves disappear; it means they stop driving the decision.
    • Good leadership separates outcome from value. My role wasn’t to guarantee a spot on the team; it was to sit with her in the “no,” acknowledge that it hurt, and still affirm her effort, growth, and worth. In workplaces and homes, people need that same combination of honesty and steady encouragement when something they hoped for doesn’t work out.

    One Simple Step for This Week

    To build hearts, homes, and leaders right where you are, try this:

    Walk with someone through one disappointment in a way that grows courage instead of shrinking it.

    1. Pick one real situation.
      Think of a specific place where you or someone close to you recently faced a “no”: a team, a role, an opportunity, or a conversation that didn’t go the way you hoped.
    2. Talk honestly about what hurt.
      Name what was hard or disappointing in clear, simple language. Give space for questions and emotion instead of rushing to, “It’s fine.”
    3. Name what grew.
      Ask, “What did you do differently this time? Where did you show courage? What did you learn?” Put into words the progress you see, even if the outcome was the same.
    4. Agree on one next step.
      Choose a concrete action that reflects faithfulness more than guarantees: practicing a skill, asking for feedback, signing up again, or exploring a different opportunity instead of quitting altogether.

    You may not be able to control the list, the decision, or the scoreboard. But you can help shape the kind of person who walks away—whether it’s a “yes” or a “no”—with a steady heart that keeps trusting God and keeps showing up.

  • One Sentence That Opened a New Conversation

    One Sentence That Opened a New Conversation

    Earlier this week, I was sketching out topics and notes for the next several weeks of Lunchbox Leadership. Before I locked anything in, I decided to ask one of my favorite “content advisors” for help—my daughter.

    I said, “If you could pick the topic for this week, what would you want me to focus on?”

    Without any hesitation, she said, “Can you focus on starting conversations? I always feel awkward starting conversations and feeling confident that I’ll know what to say.”

    I loved that answer. It was honest, practical, and exactly where a lot of kids—and plenty of adults—live. So we built the week’s notes around it. As comments and messages started coming in on social media, I shared some of them with her. It was fun watching her realize that what she wrestles with is something many others wrestle with too, and that her question was serving people beyond our house.

    A night or two later, I came home and told her I wanted to talk for a minute. I said something like, “You should be proud of yourself for everything you’ve stepped into this year—the activities you’ve tried, the ways you’ve shown up, the things you’ve pushed through.”

    Her response left me speechless for a moment.

    With a boldness I hadn’t heard from her before, she said, “I am proud of myself.”

    I paused, just taking that in.

    Then she went on to explain what she meant—how she’d noticed her own growth, where she’d chosen courage, and how this year felt different than previous ones. That one small shift in how I spoke to her led to one of the most heartfelt conversations we’ve had in a long time. Instead of me just pouring encouragement into her, she was learning to recognize and say it for herself.

    In that moment, I realized: I had done something different on purpose—and it changed the conversation.

    One Key Principle From God’s Word

    All week, our lunchbox notes have been circling one big idea: the way we use our words shapes the people around us—and the person we’re becoming. We’ve talked about starting conversations, speaking up with courage, listening well, and using our voices to encourage others.

    Verses like 1 Timothy 4:12 and Proverbs 16:24 remind us that our words can set an example and bring strength:

    • “Be thou an example of the believers, in word, in conversation…”
    • “Pleasant words are as an honeycomb, sweet to the soul, and health to the bones.”

    That applies to how we talk to others, but it also touches how we talk to ourselves. At times, we can be our own worst critics—downplaying growth, rehearsing mistakes, and talking ourselves out of courage. The lunchbox theme this week invites us to do something different: to notice where God is helping us grow and to agree with that truth instead of only repeating our doubts.

    When my daughter said, “I am proud of myself,” she was recognizing real growth and saying it out loud. That kind of honest, God‑aware self‑talk strengthens our confidence to step into conversations, relationships, and opportunities with a clearer sense of how God is already at work in us.

    Honest Reflections From a Dad’s Heart

    That short exchange with my daughter taught me a few things.

    First, asking instead of assuming matters. When I invited her to help pick this week’s topic, I discovered a real area where she wanted to grow. It reminded me that leadership at home starts with listening, not just deciding.

    Second, how we phrase encouragement can change the response. I’ve said “I’m proud of you” many times, but “You should be proud of yourself” opened a different door. It invited her to stand in the growth God has been working in her, not just hear about it from me.

    Finally, helping our kids find their voice begins in everyday conversations. Practicing honest, encouraging words at home—around the table, in the car, at bedtime—gives them a safe place to learn how to speak up, both with others and within their own hearts.

    One Simple Step for This Week

    To build hearts, homes, and leaders where you are, try this:

    Don’t just say, “I’m proud of you”—help someone see why they can be grateful for how God is growing them.

    1. Think of one child, friend, or teammate who has taken real steps forward this year—at school, at work, in their character, or in their courage.
    2. Tell them specifically what you see: “You should be proud of yourself for the way you’ve…” and name the effort, growth, or faithfulness you’ve noticed.
    3. After you share, ask a simple follow‑up: “What are you most thankful for in how you’ve grown lately?”
    4. Listen, and let the conversation run. If it fits, gently connect their growth back to God’s help and care.

    We can’t control every situation our kids or teammates walk into—awkward conversations, new environments, challenging opportunities. But we can shape the conversations that happen around our tables and in our living rooms. When we listen, speak life, and invite people to see the growth God is working in them, we help them find a steady, God‑centered voice they can carry into every room they enter.

  • What My Son Taught Me About Waiting Well

    What My Son Taught Me About Waiting Well

    When we moved from North Carolina to Kansas, our family settled in quickly. We’ve enjoyed the change—new surroundings, new routines, new opportunities. But for me, one part of this transition had been especially stretching: stepping out of a role I loved and back into the job market. The first few months were a grind—applications, silence, a few closed doors—and even while trusting God, the day‑to‑day reality of searching for work was challenging and at times heavy.

    The applications went out. The responses—when they came—were slow and sometimes discouraging. I never doubted that God was with me or that He would provide, yet the waiting was still challenging and felt heavy at times.

    Then the call finally came: an interview.

    I prepared, prayed, and walked in optimistic. I felt like the conversation went well, but when it ended, there was no immediate sense of next steps. No quick “We’d like to move forward.” Just a return to the quiet space between action and outcome.

    That afternoon, I drove to pick up my son from school. As soon as he got in the car, he asked how the interview went. I told him, “I think it went well, but I don’t know yet where I stand with the company.”

    As we turned toward our driveway, he said, “Dad, don’t rush into the house yet.”  I glanced over. “What do you mean?”  “I have something to say,” he replied.

    I pulled into the driveway and shifted into park. Right there in the car, he bowed his head and began to pray—for my job, for the right opportunity, and for me to work somewhere that would appreciate what I bring. In that moment, tears filled my eyes. I was overwhelmed with gratitude for my family and for the way their godly encouragement met me exactly when I needed it most.

    Nothing about the external situation changed in that instant. But inside, something settled. My courage was refreshed. The wait hadn’t disappeared, but it no longer felt quite as heavy.

    One Key Principle From God’s Word

    This week’s theme has been about waiting well—staying steady when the timing is unclear and letting God strengthen us in the middle, not just at the finish line. A verse that has been at the center of that focus is Psalm 27:14:

    “Wait on the Lord: be of good courage, and he shall strengthen thine heart: wait, I say, on the Lord.”

    This verse isn’t about guessing whether God is paying attention. It points us to something sure: as we wait on the Lord, He strengthens our hearts. Sometimes we see that strengthening in the moment, and sometimes we only recognize it when we look back, but His promise stands.

    That strengthening can come in many ways—a quiet moment spent studying God’s Word, a teaching you needed to hear, a timely message from someone who cares. And sometimes, it comes through a child’s simple, sincere prayer in the front seat of your car.

    Sitting in that driveway, my optimism about the interview stayed the same, but my focus shifted. Instead of measuring the day only by the company’s response, I was reminded that God was already caring for us, already at work, and already surrounding me with encouragement I didn’t manufacture on my own.

    Isaiah 40:31 says, “But they that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength…” Waiting on God isn’t about doing nothing; it’s about trusting Him enough to let Him renew what’s wearing down on the inside—our courage, our peace, and our ability to keep showing up while the story is still unfolding.

    Honest Reflections From the Driveway

    That few minutes sitting in the driveway surfaced some important lessons for me.

    First, waiting seasons are meant to be shared, not carried silently. When I answered my son honestly about the interview instead of brushing it off, it opened the door for him to step in with encouragement and prayer. As leaders and parents, we don’t have to share every detail, but letting trusted people into our “in‑between” moments makes room for support and believing together.

    Second, what we build into our homes shows up when life feels heavy. That prayer in the driveway didn’t come out of nowhere. It was a fruit of many small conversations, notes, and moments where we’ve talked about believing God in everyday life. It reminded me that the quiet, consistent seeds we sow as parents and leaders really do take root—and often, they show up right when we need them.

    Finally, the driveway reminded me that my identity and security are settled before any email arrives. I still wanted a good outcome from that interview. But as my son prayed, I was reminded that I am already known, loved, and cared for by the Lord. Job decisions are important, but they do not get to define who we are. Remembering that truth helped place the whole situation back under God’s care instead of under the discouragement that had started to build during the process.

    One Simple Step for This Week

    To build hearts, homes, and leaders where you are, try this:

    Invite someone into your waiting, and turn it into believing together.

    1. Think of one area where you’re waiting right now—a decision, a next step, an answer you haven’t seen yet.
    2. Share it with a family member, friend, or teammate instead of carrying it quietly by yourself.
    3. Ask them to take a brief moment to pray with you about it—simple, specific, and real.
    4. As you walk away from that conversation, remind yourself: the situation may still be unfolding, but you are not walking through it alone.

    We can’t control timelines or outcomes, but we can choose how we walk through the “driveway moments” of life. When we bring them to God together—with our kids, our spouses, and our friends—homes and teams become places where waiting is marked by renewed courage, not just quiet frustration.

  • When Quiet Preparation Meets the Right Timing

    When Quiet Preparation Meets the Right Timing

    One Real Story From Life

    Our move to Kansas didn’t just change our address; it disrupted some of the things our kids loved most. For our oldest daughter, one of those things was horseback riding.

    She has loved horses since she was four years old. Back in North Carolina, she had a great setup. She rode at the same place for six years, helped out around the barn, loved her instructor, and had grown attached to a few favorite horses. Riding wasn’t just an activity; it was one of the places she felt most herself.

    When we arrived in Kansas, that rhythm was gone. She and my wife started calling around, looking for barns and lesson programs. Again and again, they ran into the same roadblocks: the discipline she loves wasn’t being offered, or the places that did offer it never called back. It would have been easy to take the silence as a sign to give up.

    Instead, she stayed ready.

    Even without a place to ride, she kept caring for her saddle as if she had a lesson coming up. Her riding bag stayed packed and waiting, ready to go if the opportunity came tomorrow. On the outside, nothing looked different. On the inside, she was still believing that this part of her story wasn’t finished.

    One day, she and my wife called a particular stable—not once, but several times. Finally, someone answered. When they asked about lessons in her discipline, the owner said something that stopped them in their tracks: “You have really great timing, because I never have openings.”

    That conversation opened the door they’d been looking for. They scheduled an evaluation with the owner, drove out, and spent time talking through expectations, safety, and style.

    This weekend is her first actual ride.

    Watching her excitement leading up to it has been a gift. She never stopped caring for what mattered to her. She never fully put away the dream. My wife and I have both been deeply impressed by her steady believing, persistent reaching out, and quiet preparation while she waited.

    One Key Principle From God’s Word

    Her story has been a living reminder to me of what vision looks like in everyday life. Vision isn’t just a big idea on a whiteboard; it’s a way of seeing what could be, even when you can’t see it yet.

    Proverbs 29:18 says, “Where there is no vision, the people perish: but he that keepeth the law, happy is he.” Vision doesn’t ignore reality. It looks at the unanswered calls, the delays, and the silence and still asks, “What could this become?”

    Our daughter couldn’t see a riding arena, a trainer, or a horse with her name on the schedule. But she could see a future where she was riding again, so she lived as if that future was possible. She held on to vision through small acts of faithfulness—oiling a saddle, keeping a bag packed, continuing to search, making one more phone call, and showing up for an evaluation instead of assuming it wouldn’t work.

    In that way, her approach to riding mirrored the kind of vision God invites us into. We may not control timing or opportunities, but we do choose whether we keep tending what He’s put in our hearts or quietly let it die.

    A Few Honest Reflections and One Simple Step

    As I’ve watched this chapter unfold, a few reflections stand out:

    • Vision often looks ordinary while you’re waiting. On the outside, a cared‑for saddle and a packed riding bag don’t look impressive. But they told the truth about what our daughter still believed was possible.
    • Preparation is a form of believing. She didn’t just hope she’d ride again; she prepared as if she would. That posture—staying ready and making one more call—meant that when a “never have openings” opportunity appeared, she was able to move toward it.
    • God can line up timing we could never arrange on our own. The barn owner’s words—“You have really great timing, because I never have openings”—were a reminder that God sees the whole picture, even when all we see is a long season of waiting.

    To build hearts, homes, and leaders right where you are this week, try this simple step:

    Pick one area where you’ve quietly set your “saddle” aside—and do one small thing to pick it back up.

    Maybe it’s a dream, a calling, a skill, or a way of serving that got pushed to the side during a busy or difficult season. Instead of deciding it’s over, do one tangible thing that says, “I’m still open to what this could become.” Clean up the tools, refresh the training, reach out to someone who lives in that world, or simply try again where you stopped before.

    You may not see the whole path yet. But like our daughter, you might find that steady, quiet preparation and a willingness to keep looking put you in the right place at the right time when the door finally opens.

  • How Listening, Trust, and a Marching Band Grew Our Family

    How Listening, Trust, and a Marching Band Grew Our Family

    One Real Story From Life

    When our family decided to move to Kansas, the biggest question on my mind wasn’t about jobs or logistics—it was our kids. How would they handle leaving their friends, their school, and everything that felt familiar? I didn’t want this decision to become a wound they carried; I wanted it to turn into a story of growth and grace.

    Our oldest daughter was getting ready to enter high school, and she had one simple request: she really wanted to be in the marching band. I promised her we would find a way.

    I started calling several schools in the area where we hoped to land. Most offices told me the same thing: “Wait until you’re registered for classes.” But one band director stood out. He took time to answer my questions and gave me all the details we needed—including one important piece of information: our daughter would have to attend a two‑week summer band camp if she was going to march in the fall.

    As the camp dates quickly approached and we still didn’t have housing, the weight of it hit me. I poured my heart out to my wife, telling her I felt like I had failed our daughter. It was starting to look like I wouldn’t be able to keep my promise about marching band. We prayed together and then got off the phone.

    A few minutes later, an email arrived from that same band director. He wrote that even if we didn’t have housing yet, we should just send our daughter—they would take care of her and make sure she was part of the team.

    That invitation opened another door. A family in Kansas made their home available so our daughter had a place to stay during those two weeks. They took her to and from practice, made sure she had meals for the day, and made her feel right at home. We had never met this couple before, so we had to talk through all the specific details, listen to their counsel on how it could work, and then decide whether we would trust God enough to say yes.

    We chose to move forward. We also invited our daughter into the bigger picture. We told her she would be our “first boots on the ground,” the one to step into this new community before the rest of us arrived. Her experience at band camp would help build the believing of our whole family and shape how we all transitioned.

    Two weeks later, when I came back to pick up my daughter after the band camp, I didn’t just see a tired teenager—I saw a changed young woman. She had new friends, new confidence, and a story of her own about how stepping into something unfamiliar had stretched her and grown her.

    One Key Principle From God’s Word

    That season reminded me that wise decisions in new seasons rarely come from going it alone. We grow stronger when we stay teachable—listening to God, to wise counsel, and to the people who know the ground we’re about to walk on.

    Proverbs 1:5 says, “The wise also will hear and increase in learning, and the person of understanding will acquire skill and attain to sound counsel [so that he may be able to steer his course rightly].” That single verse captures the heart of what we experienced. Wise people hear—they don’t just talk. They lean in, ask questions, and stay open to learning, especially when the path ahead feels unclear.

    In our move, we couldn’t “steer our course rightly” by ourselves. We had to hear and increase in learning: from a band director who knew the program, from a local family who opened their home and helped us think through the details, from each other as we worked through our concerns, and from God as we prayed and asked for direction. Every time we chose to listen instead of just pushing our own plan, we gained a little more skill, a little more clarity, and a little more peace about the next step.

    That’s the quiet power of teachability. It doesn’t erase uncertainty, but it helps us navigate it—one conversation, one prayer, one piece of sound counsel at a time.

    A Few Honest Reflections and One Simple Step

    When I think back on that move, those phone calls, that Kansas family, and that two‑week band camp, a few reflections stand out:

    • Staying teachable gives you options you didn’t know you had. If we had decided we already knew how this transition “had to” work, we might have missed the doors that opened through a band director who was willing to help and a family willing to welcome someone they’d never met.
    • God often provides timely invitations through ordinary people. Neither the director nor that host family knew every detail of our situation, but their simple invitations—“Just send her; we’ll take care of her” and “She can stay with us”—arrived at the exact moment we needed them. They became some of the ways God blessed our family and helped me keep a promise to my daughter.
    • Kids grow faster when we help them see the bigger picture they’re part of. Taking time to share with our daughter why this opportunity mattered—and how her experience could help our whole family step into a new season—gave her a sense of purpose, not just disruption. She grew into that vision.

    To build hearts, homes, and leaders right where you are this week, try this simple step:

    Open up about one transition you’re walking through and let a trusted person offer their perspective.

    Maybe you’re changing jobs, considering a move, navigating a new season in your family, or helping a child step into something unfamiliar. Instead of carrying it alone, reach out to someone who knows that world—a teacher, coach, mentor, pastor, or trusted friend.

    Ask them a few honest questions. Listen more than you talk. Be open to ideas that weren’t already on your list. You may find, like we did, that the insight provided—even their hospitality—can steady your heart, open a door you couldn’t see, and help the people you love grow through change instead of just surviving it.

  • The Power of One Quiet Voice on a Very Loud Day

    The Power of One Quiet Voice on a Very Loud Day

    One Real Story From Life

    Recently, during a job interview, I was asked, “How do you see facilities impacting the student experience in a university setting?” As I paused to answer, a vivid memory from a previous place of employment came to mind—a story that reminded me that everyone on the team can make a huge difference, no matter their title, and I knew it was the perfect opportunity to share it.

    It was freshman move‑in day on campus, and for the most part, things were going smoothly. Cars lined the curb, carts rattled over sidewalks, and the lobby buzzed with equal parts nerves and excitement as students carried boxes and pillows into a new chapter of life.

    In the middle of that good kind of chaos, one situation took a different turn. A mother grew increasingly disappointed with the residence hall room where her daughter would be living for the next year. It wasn’t what she had pictured, and the more she talked with the director and assistant director, the more frustrated she became. They listened, explained, and did their best to reassure her, but nothing they said seemed to make a difference.

    While the conversation continued, her freshman daughter sat by herself in the lobby—shoulders slumped, eyes down, clearly discouraged. This day was supposed to feel like a beginning, but in that moment it felt heavy and uncomfortable.

    Our custodian, Ms. Mary, noticed.

    Ms. Mary didn’t have a title that showed up on brochures. She wasn’t leading the welcome program or making any room assignments. She was simply there to do what she did faithfully all year: care for the building and the people who lived in it. When she saw that young woman sitting alone, she walked over and sat near her.

    In a quiet voice, she told her that she would be there every day, that she would help take care of the space she was now calling “home,” and that things would be alright. She didn’t offer a policy change or a long speech—just calm, steady reassurance from someone who planned to show up for her all year long.

    The next morning, Ms. Mary arrived at work and found a potted plant on her table with a handwritten note. It was from the mother. She thanked Ms. Mary for being kind to her daughter and for the care and concern she had shown in a moment when they both needed it.

    What the director and assistant director couldn’t accomplish with their positions, the custodian was able to accomplish with simple, sincere presence.

    As I finished sharing that story in the interview, I could see it connect. Heads were nodding, faces softened, and I could tell that Ms. Mary’s quiet, faithful impact made the idea of “facilities” feel a lot less like a building and a lot more like people.

    One Key Principle From God’s Word

    That move‑in day is a living picture of how God measures greatness. We tend to assume the most important person in the room is the one with the highest title, the biggest office, or the loudest voice—but in God’s eyes, greatness is measured by the way we serve.

    Matthew 23:11 says, “But he that is greatest among you shall be your servant.” Ms. Mary didn’t have the authority to reassign rooms or rewrite policies, but she had something just as important: a heart willing to see and serve the person everyone else was unintentionally overlooking.

    Philippians 2:4 says, “Look not every man on his own things, but every man also on the things of others.” Ms. Mary could have stayed locked into her checklist and walked past that lobby chair. Instead, she lifted her eyes, noticed someone who was hurting, and stepped toward her.

    In a world that often chases influence, platforms, and recognition, God keeps drawing our attention back to something quieter and deeper: being faithful where we are, seeing the people in front of us, and letting His love shape the way we show up in ordinary moments.

    A Few Honest Reflections and One Simple Step

    When I think back on Ms. Mary, that potted plant, and the way her story landed in that interview room, a few reflections stand out:

    • The most powerful person in the room isn’t always the one with the highest title. The director and assistant director were doing their jobs, and their roles mattered. But the deepest impact that day came from a custodian who sat down and cared. That reminds me not to underestimate the influence of the “hidden” roles around me.
    • People remember how you made them feel more than what you explained. Years from now, that family may not recall the details of the housing conversation, but they will remember the woman who noticed their daughter’s shoulders slumped and spoke calm into a hard day. My leadership—at work, at church, and at home—will be measured more by the tone of my presence than the polish of my explanations.
    • What you do every day matters more than what’s printed on your name badge. Ms. Mary’s job description focused on a building, but the way she showed up turned ordinary tasks into moments that shaped someone’s first year away from home. It’s a reminder that attitude, attention, and care often carry more weight than position or platform.

    To build hearts, homes, and leaders right where you are this week, try this simple step:

    Look for one person on the edges of the room and move toward them.

    Maybe it’s a quiet student, a new coworker, a church guest, or even someone in your own home who seems withdrawn. Instead of assuming they’re fine, take a moment to sit near them, ask a gentle question, or offer a simple word of encouragement.

    You may not be able to change their circumstances, but you can offer something just as important: the reminder that they are seen, valued, and not alone. And sometimes, what titles and explanations can’t quite reach, quiet kindness can.

  • When You Miss Leading People (and Find a New Way)

    When You Miss Leading People (and Find a New Way)

    For the past sixteen years, most of my roles at work have been in leadership. I was used to leading teams—coaching people, setting direction, carrying responsibility for results.

    When our family moved to a new state, I stepped into a different kind of role: coordinator. It was still leadership, but it felt different. Instead of leading people directly, I was mostly leading processes—tracking details, keeping things moving, making sure nothing fell through the cracks.

    The work was good and important, but something in me missed pouring into people. I started asking, “How can I still invest in others while staying in my lane?”

    One opportunity showed up in the form of a young guy on our team.

    One Real Story From Work

    There’s a particular task in our department that not everyone loves. It’s detailed and repetitive, and there are many different ways to approach it. If you don’t know what you’re doing, you can easily go down the wrong path—prolonging the repair and pulling out expensive equipment that’s actually working just fine.

    But this young team member kept volunteering for it. Any time that task came up, he was the first to raise his hand.

    I noticed.

    Over time it became clear he wasn’t just being nice; he genuinely had an interest in that part of the job. So I pulled him aside and said something like, “You seem to really care about how this is done. What would you think about working together to build a process for our department—and maybe use it to train new employees?”

    His eyes lit up, but he also looked a little nervous. We agreed to meet for fifteen minutes each day. The plan was simple: he would explain his process; I would help capture it on paper.

    At our very first meeting, he pulled out a small notebook. Inside were pages of handwritten notes—every call he’d taken for this task, every step he’d tried, every adjustment he’d made until it finally worked smoothly. He had been quietly building a process on his own long before I said anything.

    I was impressed.

    As we met, he kept saying, “I’ve never done anything like this before.” Each time, I reminded him, “You’re not doing it alone. I’m here to help you every step of the way.”

    We recently finished the first draft of the process. It’s solid. But the best part wasn’t the document—it was the look on his face. You could see the sense of accomplishment, the pride in having generated something that will help the whole team and new hires who come after him. I can’t wait to see him present it for the first time.

    One Key Principle From God’s Word

    This week’s reflections have focused on leaders who notice, make room, and use their strength to lift others. Philippians 2:4 says, “Look not every man on his own things, but every man also on the things of others.”

    In my coordinator role, it would have been easy to focus only on getting the task done and keeping my own workload under control. But leadership isn’t just about what I produce; it’s about who I notice. That young team member was quietly serving on the “edges of the room,” faithfully taking on an unglamorous assignment.

    Romans 15:1 says that those who are strong ought to shoulder the burdens of those who are still growing, not just “go our own sweet way.” In this situation, my strength wasn’t that I knew his task better than he did. My strength was experience with building processes and presenting ideas. His strength was hands‑on knowledge and initiative. As God works within both of us, He can guide us to combine those strengths in a way that benefits the whole department.

    Honest Reflections From a Coordinator’s Desk

    Walking through this reminded me of a few things:

    • Leadership titles can change, but the call to build people doesn’t. Moving from “leader of people” to “leader of processes” felt like a step away from what I love. This experience showed me there are always people to notice and invest in, no matter what’s on my business card.
    • People are often further along than we realize. Before our first meeting, I assumed we’d be building the process from scratch. Instead, he opened that notebook and showed me pages of work he’d already put in. He didn’t need me to be the hero; he needed someone to draw out what was already there and help shape it.
    • Offering your strength to lift others re‑energizes you. I went into this thinking I was doing him a favor. In reality, it stirred something in me. Seeing his confidence grow reminded me why I enjoy leadership in the first place: helping other people discover what they can do.

    Even in a process‑heavy role, God can work within us to encourage, guide, and to strengthen the people around us.

    One Simple Step for This Week

    To build hearts, homes, and leaders where you are, try this:

    Look for one person quietly doing good work—and help them take a next step.

    1. Notice consistent interest or effort.
      Pay attention to the person who keeps showing up, volunteering, or taking care of a task well—at work, at church, or at home.
    2. Show a genuine interest by asking a question.
      Try, “You seem to have a real feel for this—how do you approach it?” or “Would you walk me through how you do that?”
    3. Offer support that matches your strengths.
      Maybe you can help them organize their ideas, give feedback on something they’re building, practice a presentation, or simply encourage them to share their approach with others.
    4. Form a small opportunity.
      Look for a way they can use what they’re good at to serve more broadly—a short demo for the team, a walkthrough for a new volunteer, or a chance to teach a sibling or classmate.

    Those quiet choices—to notice, to ask, to support, and to open a door—are how ordinary days become growth moments. Over time, they shape workplaces, homes, and teams where people don’t just complete tasks; they grow into the kind of leaders who are ready to strengthen others too.

  • After a Tough Race: Choosing Love Over Lectures

    After a Tough Race: Choosing Love Over Lectures

    This weekend was a big one for our family. My daughter is a competitive swimmer, and it was time for district meets. Lots of early mornings, packed bags, wet towels, and nervous energy.

    Across the weekend she qualified for four finals out of her six races. That’s a solid meet by any standard. But on her very last race of the weekend, things went sideways.

    When the heat started, I watched her push off the blocks…and then swim one of the worst races I’ve ever seen her swim. She wasn’t slower than everyone else, but it looked like her fundamentals disappeared in the water. Breathing pattern, stroke rhythm, finishes—everything seemed off.

    By the time she touched the wall, I felt that punch‑in‑the‑gut disappointment that every competitive parent knows. Then I looked at her face. She was even more disappointed than I was. In that moment, it hit me: she didn’t need a lecture about what went wrong. She already knew. My frustration wasn’t going to fix anything. What she needed most from her dad right then was love and encouragement, not analysis.

    I grew up as an athlete. I was hard on myself about performance, fundamentals, and mental toughness. I still expect a lot from my kids—fight through adversity, focus on the basics, give your best effort. But at the end of the day, they are my kids first, not my projects.

    A few hours later, we were back home celebrating my wife’s birthday. The same girl who had just swum a rough race was now running around the house cleaning, writing notes, and setting up for “the greatest birthday party ever” for her mom. No sulking. No replaying the race out loud. Just joy, service, and excitement.

    She taught me something that day. As Ted Lasso would say, “Be a goldfish.” Feel it, learn what you can, and then move on. On to the next swim meet—without letting today’s race own your heart.

    One Key Principle From God’s Word

    This week’s notes have focused on trials, training, and steady faithfulness over time. James 1:3 says that the testing of our faith brings out endurance and steadfastness. A rough race at the end of a long meet becomes another lap in that kind of endurance—not just for kids, but for parents too.​

    Districts didn’t suddenly stop mattering because the race went badly. But that race took on a different meaning. It highlighted where fundamentals slipped and where emotions ran high, and it showed me where my own responses needed to grow gentler.

    Another verse from this week, 1 Corinthians 15:58, reminds us to “be firm, steadfast, immovable, always abounding in the work of the Lord,” knowing that our labor is not futile or wasted. All the practices, early mornings, and corrections weren’t erased by one off swim. The foundation she has built is still there, and the character I’m working on as a dad is still being formed as well.

    Honest Reflections From the Pool Deck

    Standing on that pool deck surfaced a few things in my own heart (and maybe in yours too):

    • Our kids don’t need us to repeat what they already feel. By the time she got out of the water, she didn’t need me to list every mistake. She felt it in her own body. What she needed first was, “I love you. I’m proud of your effort. We’ll talk about it when you’re ready.”
    • Performance can’t be the only lens. I care about effort, fundamentals, and pushing through adversity. Those are good things. But if I’m not careful, I can see my kids mostly through the lens of performance. Watching her pivot from a hard race to joyfully serving her mom reminded me: who she is matters more than what she did in one heat.
    • Sometimes our kids let go faster than we do. While I was still replaying the race in my head, she was taping up decorations, writing birthday notes, and laughing with her siblings. She had already changed lanes. That isn’t carelessness; often it’s healthy resilience.

    This weekend reminded me that sports are a classroom for both athletes and parents. The pool, the field, the court—those places reveal what’s going on inside us and give us a chance to grow.

    One Simple Step for This Week

    To build hearts, homes, and leaders where you are, try this:

    Pick one “loss” moment and lead with relationship before review.

    1. Notice the next moment when someone you love has a rough outing.
      A bad game, a failed test, a rough presentation, or a conversation that went sideways.
    2. Start with presence, not a breakdown.
      Before you give feedback, say something like, “I’m glad you’re mine,” or “That was tough—thank you for giving it your best.”
    3. Save the coaching for later.
      When emotions have cooled, then ask, “What did you notice out there?” or “What would you like to do differently next time?” Let them go first.
    4. Affirm who they are, not just what they did.
      Point out a character trait you saw—courage, effort, kindness to a teammate, composure—and let that carry as much weight as the result.

    Over time, responses like that help our kids learn that their identity is not hanging on one race, test, or performance. And they help us grow into the kind of parents and leaders whose love runs deeper than the scoreboard.

  • Building Believing in a Crowded Parking Lot

    Building Believing in a Crowded Parking Lot

    It had been a full week, and this night was the opening session of an evening class my daughter was scheduled to attend. I wasn’t taking the class myself—I was just along for the ride and planning to sit and wait while she finished.

    I’d gotten off work late, so by the time we pulled onto campus we were a little pressed for time. As we turned toward the main parking lot, the building looked busy—people were going in and out, and the lot looked packed. Several drivers had already circled through, found nothing, and were now exiting the lot to head toward a much farther one.

    My daughter watched the cars leaving and said, “See, there are no parking spots available. We should have just parked farther away.” I smiled and said, “Hey, where’s your believing? Remember—God cares about even the smallest details of our lives. There will be a spot available.”

    We eased our way into the lot. As we neared the front row, two men walked out of the building, got into a car near the entrance, and pulled out—opening a space right in front of us. My daughter turned into the spot, and we both just looked at each other and laughed.

    I told her, “God is good. We can’t forget that He takes care of us—even in little things like this.” A front‑row parking spot is not a “need,” but that night it felt like a big win and a timely reminder that God sees us, right down to where we park.

    One Key Principle From God’s Word

    Moments like that bring to mind Jesus’ words about asking and trusting: “If you ask me for anything in my name, I will do it” (John 14:14). Learning, as a child, that God cares enough to work in the details is a seed that can bear fruit for a lifetime.

    We didn’t stop and have a long prayer meeting in the car. But the conversation revealed something important: how quickly we can slide into, “It’s not going to work,” before we’ve even considered that God might already be at work. My question to my daughter—“Where is your believing?”—was really a question for both of us.

    The parking spot was small, but the reminder behind it was big. It showed us, in a very ordinary moment, that God is near, paying attention, and able to make room for us in ways we don’t expect.

    Honest Reflections From a Front‑Row Space

    That short drive through the lot surfaced a few things in my heart (and maybe in yours too):

    • Believing often gets tested in very ordinary places. It wasn’t a crisis—just a crowded lot and a tight schedule—but it revealed how quickly we can drift toward doubt instead of quiet trust.
    • Our kids are learning how to handle frustration by listening to us. My daughter made her statement about parking; I had a choice. I could agree, ignore it, or gently point her back toward believing that God cares about our steps.
    • Naming God’s kindness in small things strengthens us for bigger things. A front‑row spot won’t change the world, but when we connect it to God’s care, it builds a pattern: “He saw us here. He can be trusted there too.”

    Moments like this may seem small, but they still shape how our believing grows. They train us to look for God’s fingerprints in everyday life instead of assuming He is far away.

    One Simple Step for This Week

    To build hearts, homes, and leaders where you are, try this:

    Turn one ordinary inconvenience into a believing conversation.

    1. Notice the next “this is pointless” moment.
    2. Pause and reframe it: “God cares about the details here.”
    3. Watch for even a small way He makes room or brings peace.
    4. When you see it, say it out loud: “That was God taking care of us.

    You and I can’t control parking lots, timing, or how crowded life feels. But we can choose whether we walk through those moments expecting frustration or watching for God’s care. Over time, those small, everyday choices to believe are what build hearts, homes, and leaders who trust Him in both the small details and the big decisions.