Author: John DeFere

One Real Story From Life

Our kids have handled a lot of change recently.
New school. New teams. New church rhythms. New neighborhood.

In so many ways, they really are doing well.
They’re showing up in class, staying active in sports, participating in our Bible fellowship, and making friends on our street.
From the outside, you’d see kids who are engaged, involved, and adjusting.

But every so often, one of them will come home from school and something is just…off.
They’re shorter with their siblings.
Quieter than usual.
More easily frustrated by small things.
And in our house, when one kid’s attitude starts to slide, it has a way of pulling everyone else in that direction too.

In those moments, my first instinct is to clamp down on the behavior.
Tighten it up. Correct the tone. Remind them how we act in this family.
There’s a place for that. But lately, my wife and I have had to remind ourselves of something simple: we really haven’t been here that long.

They’re still the “new kids.”

The kid who didn’t get invited to the after‑school hangout.
The one picked last for a team in P.E. or at recess.
The one who wasn’t on the list for that “big” birthday sleepover everyone else is talking about.

Those moments don’t always show up in a clear story right away, but they show up in the way our kids carry themselves when they walk through the door.
If I only address the behavior and never listen for the story underneath, I miss a huge opportunity.

So we correct—but we also slow down.
We ask a few questions.
We make space for them to talk about their day, not just report their grades.
We listen for the quiet pressures that come with being the new kid, and we try to meet those moments with patience and compassion.

And in those conversations, we’ve found some of our best opportunities to encourage and build them up with God’s Word.
That approach has been paying big dividends—not because every day is smooth now, but because our kids are learning that home is a place where they can be honest about both their behavior and their burdens.

One Key Principle From God’s Word

When our kids step into new atmospheres, they’re often feeling many of the same things we feel in new roles and shifting seasons:
“Do I belong here?”
“Will anyone pick me?”
“Am I going to be left out again?”

We can’t control every classroom dynamic, team decision, or birthday invitation.
But God’s Word gives us a few simple anchors we can keep coming back to together:

• God is steady when things change.
  Even when classes, teams, and friend groups shift around them, God remains the same.
• We can focus on what we can control.
  Our kids may not be able to decide who includes them, but they can still choose their attitude, their effort, and how they treat others.
• A little order at home brings surprising peace.
  When school days feel chaotic, simple, consistent routines—praying together, a quick check‑in at the table, a verse before bed—can help restore a sense of stability.
• Remembering God’s past help builds today’s courage.
  As a family, we can point back to other moves, changes, or hard seasons where God carried us through, and let those stories remind us that His faithfulness has never changed.

God has a lot to do with the growth happening in our kids’ hearts.
Our job isn’t to script every scene; it’s to keep pointing them back to Him in the middle of each new atmosphere.

Honest Reflections From a Dad’s Heart

Walking through this season with our kids has been stretching for me as a dad.
A few things keep surfacing:

• New atmospheres bring new pressure…even when kids look “fine.”
  Good grades, full schedules, and new activities can make it seem like everything is going smoothly.
  I’m learning not to assume that outward involvement automatically means their hearts are at ease.
• Behavior is often a signal, not just a problem.
  Disrespect still needs to be corrected.
  But sometimes the sharp tone or withdrawn attitude is really saying, “I felt left out today,” or “I don’t know where I fit.”
  If I rush straight to correction without listening, I miss the chance to care for the heart beneath the behavior.
• Listening is a leadership skill at home.
  At home, that looks like sitting on the edge of a bed, asking a couple of honest questions, and letting the story come out before I give a speech.
  It means I have to slow down my own reactions long enough to really hear them.
• God’s Word still speaks into school hallways and neighborhood streets.
  Verses about God’s faithfulness, our identity in Christ, and His presence in every season aren’t just “church talk.”
  They give our kids language to process being left out, overlooked, or unsure of themselves.
  We’ve seen their shoulders relax when they remember they’re seen and loved—whether or not they got invited.

If I’m honest, there are nights when I’d rather just fix the attitude and move on.
But every time we slow down long enough to listen, we find another chance to partner with what God is already doing in their hearts.

One Simple Step for This Week

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

Don’t just correct the behavior—listen for the pressures beneath it.

1. Notice one moment this week when a child or teen in your life comes home “off”—short answers, extra quiet, or easily frustrated.
2. Address any clear boundaries that were crossed, but don’t stop there. Ask one or two simple questions: “How was today, really?” or “Did anything happen that stuck with you?”
3. Listen without jumping in to fix everything. Let them finish their story.
4. Before the conversation ends, remind them of one truth from God’s Word about who they are or how He cares for them—something that anchors them beyond today’s mood or moment.

You may not be able to change the classroom, the team, or the friend group overnight.

But by listening, encouraging, and bringing God’s Word into those after‑school moments, you can help your kids find confidence in new atmospheres—and that pays dividends far beyond this season.

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.

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.

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.