There’s a moment after the games where you huddle up with the team and do your little post-game speech. Parents hover at a distance to act like they can’t hear but they are listening. I remember another coach friend of mine, Dave, who would hold the pow-wow in the outfield, far away from the parents.

“Hey, Dave, why do you do it that way?”

“Parents don’t need to hear what I say. The kids will tell them anyways. Not a secret but a team conversation.”

Made sense. So when I managed my second season—now a pro—I would run with the team into the outfield for the post-game moment. It was fun to watch Bennett—one of the fastest kids on the team—use it as an opportunity to see how far he could slide. You play like you practice.

Little League Accountability

Quickly in the season, that moment became what we called “shout-outs and own-ups.”

Shout-outs: Talk about something good one of your teammates did this game.

Own-ups: Talk about a way you know you could’ve improved.

I wanted a time that wasn’t built on me having to fill the team moment with platitudes like “You guys have what it takes.”

What surprised me was how quickly it took. These kids were about ten at the time and they took to the opportunity to do both.

Shout-Outs (in kid terms, without significant specificity):

• Jake came in and pitched great.

• Brayden had a good hit.

• Mac was funny.

It was great to see how quickly the boys volunteered support to one another and highlighted the contributions of their teammates.

Own-Ups were my favorite, though.

• I let my attitude get the best of me.

• I missed an easy throw that I should’ve made.

• I didn’t hustle on that hit.

• I got in my head during my at-bats.

I was proud of the kids for how easily it came to them with a simple structure for how to engage, encourage, and take accountability.

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Structuring for Accountability

What was I going for? There’s a proverb that says, “Let another praise you and not your own mouth.” So I wanted to create a space where others could be encouraged and lifted up. I had a buddy at school who would say, “I do not think anyone can be overly-encouraged.” It might be uncomfortable to hear (especially if we aren’t used to it), but it isn’t rejected. Encouragement is like oxygen—and most of us are deprived.

I also want people to have enough humility to realize there is always room to grow. So the “own-up” produces a space where people are expected to name areas where they know they need to improve.

And here’s the truth: you don’t have to be ten or eleven to do it.

I’ve run this with 30- and 40-year-olds—same words, same structure, same result.

I think my favorite moment to watch—regardless of team—is how surprised people become with how their teammates view them. What I’ve seen on teams—in work, in marriages—is that they operate at an encouragement deficit.

So when the team starts to praise one another (even if they have real trust issues to deal with), it becomes an antidote for the cynicism that creeps in.

I sat in a room and watched someone begin to tear up as she realized the value the team saw in her. There’s a significant difference between “I think I do good work” and hearing people say, “You do good work.” You might believe you’re a good communicator. But hearing someone else say it? That lands differently.

Similarly, when a leader says, “I’m failing you guys by not giving enough attention to supporting you,” the team doesn’t get mad—they get helpful.

That’s the permission we’ve been waiting for—a place where praise remains constant and failures don’t bring retaliation.

Whether it is your workplace, your marriage and family, your friendships, or your 12u baseball team—we all need it.

What do you need contribute more of—shouting out or owning up?

I was guarding this guy, I think it was Andrew. Andrew is probably 5-10 years younger than I am and very fast. I pride myself in old man defense—using your size and your brain to not kill yourself. So I get low and wide and put my left foot down.

Pop.

I’ve heard the phrase “I felt a pop” before but have never experienced it. It felt like they said—something in my knee popped. Immediate weakness.

Over the next week, it started to swell. I had a PT friend test it. ACL seemed intact.

“Probably a meniscus.”

“Do I fix it?”

“Nah. You’re not an athlete. If you can function with it and walk around, then you’re fine. Fix it when you can’t handle it anymore.”

Re-Injury Anxiety

There’s a real thing called kinesiophobia: an irrational fear of movement triggered by a former injury.

Sports medicine has a whole assessment framework for psychological readiness to return to sport—separate from physical clearance. It shows up especially around significant injuries like an ACL, where the last time you trusted your knee to handle the force of planting your foot, your ACL said, “No, thanks.”

Even with repair and rehab, some people can’t get past the thought that their knee won’t be able to withstand the force. It’s why athletes talk about physical rehab and mental rehab.

In my case, I never got the repair. I walk around with a pain of 1 or 2 out of 10 most days. Largely fine. But certain moves give me pause. I don’t like moving left and then changing direction. Much of my basketball is behind me. I can jog, but I go straight and rarely turn.

I operate differently.

Note: Even knowing this, I don’t follow my own advice. Here’s proof.

Repaired Teams, Same Behaviors

Every team is a system of relationships, and that system produces behaviors that become ingrained. We don’t even know we’ve learned a way of operating.

• John shows up bugged most mornings, so people stay away from him.

• Hans (different Hans, I promise) shows up overly critical, so people stop bringing ideas.

• David can’t keep a secret, so people stay surface level.

• The boss always does what he wants, so people know their input won’t matter and stop contributing.

Those behaviors become the team's muscle memory—like me showing up differently at the gym.

But what if the change is real?

• John’s anger softens and he starts to listen.

• Hans starts to encourage.

• David becomes trustworthy.

• The boss stops demanding outcomes.

Many times, we still don't believe it. We want to—but last time we tried, we got burned.

So we keep doing what we’ve always done: avoidance, no vulnerability, no real contribution. We behave as if the repair can’t hold.

When we believe nothing’s changed, nothing changes.

The Mental Game of Teamwork

The big change in teamwork is always the change in us. We’re John—or Hans, or David, or whoever. There’s some way we’re contributing to the strain, and we have to keep looking at that honestly.

Someone on staff recently mentioned that, at times, I have a look on my face when they come into my office of, “Why the heck are you in here?” The result? Guess who will come into the office less?

But just as the first change is in us, the second change is also in us.

Assume the team begins to change. John really is different. He’s changed and is changing. Hans does want you in the office. There’s a line from 1 Corinthians 13—probably read at a wedding near you—that love “believes all things.”

What does that mean?

It means extending trust to the person who has changed and believing the repair is real. Choosing that posture before the track record is long enough to be convincing—because it’s the better posture to have.

You have to believe the dynamics are different with very little evidence.

You have to plant your foot.

Say it Out Loud

Take a moment and consider your own relationships. There’s either someone you’re avoiding or someone who is avoiding you. There’s a disengagement somewhere—and someone misses their connection with you.

Whatever it is, name it. Don’t let it exist in the dark.

“I’m afraid of contributing ideas because I’ve been critiqued too often.”

Then bring a trusted person or two into the light with it. Tell them what it is, what you’re working on, and why. Naming it changes your relationship to it—and gives the people around you a chance to respond to the real thing, not the compensation pattern.

And then?

Do it again.

I’ll start with one of the more obvious dumb tasks: air conditioner repair.

Our office has roughly 15 air conditioners. When your facility has been frankensteined together over 30-40 years, you make do. They’re almost all residential units. Deferred maintenance has meant that in the past 26 months we have replaced (I think) six of them. We have done repairs and diagnostics on another three or four. One currently doesn’t work. Another one has a wire mesh screwed over the top of the condenser unit.

One of our AC vendors keeps vampire hours. He’ll work on a unit until late into the night if the customer is up for it. He was built for odd hours and has the stories to show it.

So he has to replace one of our bigger units and he chose vampire time to take care of it. No problem, I thought. I’ll volunteer as tribute.

It’s the right thing to do.

Assuming the Role of the Joyful Martyr

If you’re like me, you might be a joyful martyr—that person who gladly suffers just a little more because you assume nobody else will join you or help you.

On the surface you’re the team-player. You’re the “take the lowest place” kind of person. You live to serve, right? Nothing wrong with that.

Not so fast.

The joyful martyr assumes nobody else is interested. He or she takes the place, in part, because of an inflated view of self-importance. (I speak about myself here.)

I mean, can you not even ask?

So there I am, sitting up at the building. It’s 10pm, 11pm, 12am. It’s so dumb. I’m exhausted. Why am I not just leaving the guys here? If we can’t hire a trustworthy contractor we have more than AC problems.

But there I sit. Forever. I go sit in my office, do work, and then climb the stairs and check in on the guys working.

“Done yet?”

“Not yet. Need to do a few more things.”

Sitting. Waiting. Walking. Working.

Now I’m annoyed. “Joyful” left a long time ago.

Keeping Help at Bay

The joyful martyr in me enjoys being the last to leave and the one who appears the most willing to help.

But all of this got slowed (I won’t yet say “halted”) a year or so ago. I was in an eval with some other leaders on the team and my propensity for stepping in and taking on tasks I assumed no one else wanted came up.

“We’re on the same team. You have to stop taking these on yourself.”

Okay, so maybe the joyful side isn’t as obvious as I thought it was.

What mindset did I actually have? One that assumed only I was the one who needed to do the most annoying tasks. Such a perspective limits in at least two, inter-connected ways: (1) it removes the chance that someone else might actually want to do the task and enjoy it, and (2) it prevents me from leaning on those around me.

But assume that nobody wants the task (which with vampire ACs is usually the case) and it is no one’s direct job to keep vampire AC hours (besides the AC vendor himself). What then?

This is where that second reason becomes so important.

It doesn’t have to be your job to step in—it can happen simply because you’re on the team. You share the tasks and distribute the load.

Just Ask

It might sound simple but the allure of being the joyful martyr—and that little bit of self-inflicted suffering we get from it—keeps us from leaning on others.

Every team has vampire tasks (even if it isn’t necessarily keeping late hours). Sometimes those tasks have a clear owner; other times they don’t.

Rather than assume you need to do it because you’re the bigger servant, share the load. Let others step in. Let them help. Without it, you’re assuming the team you’re on can’t handle the load and you have to take it on yourself.

That’s not a team I’d want to be on (even if I am complicit in creating it).

And what do you gain when you ask? You gain a team with a new capacity to serve one another.

Where are you under-estimating those around you?

(Also, for the record, I just leave our AC guy at the building now.)

They’re there when you get together with a group of friends at night—that person who wants to explain their (accurate) opinion on everything that is wrong with the world. You just want to enjoy your dinner.

You might live by them—that individual who has details on every person in the neighborhood.

In a staff meeting years ago, one of our staffers taught me a phrase she has used for such relationships: sandpaper people.

What is a sandpaper person? They’re someone who is rough to us. They make us uneasy for any myriad reasons. It could be they’re too opinionated, needy, confusing, insecure, overly confident, too outgoing, too introverted.

I can’t tell you who your sandpaper person is and you can’t tell me who mine is. Depends on the day, the hour, my mood.

We’re all fickle about who these people are.

You Are Someone Else’s Sandpaper

Before it becomes too much about “them,” you need to know that you are someone else’s sandpaper person. Someone (or many someones) in your life has to adjust who they feel like they are when you show up in their world.

For a while—I kid you not—I had a staff member or two tell me that they got nervous walking by my office. Because of where my desk is located, if my door is open, I see anyone who comes in (unless one guy tries really hard not to be seen). I don’t want that, do I?

Could it be that I’m the difficult one? I wonder if maybe the idea I originally had for sandpaper people was wrong.

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Sandpaper People: Who is the Problem?

Different grit sandpapers serve different needs—but all of it smooths. We might think that these rougher people are the problem, but that isn’t the case. Then, after one type, the other type doesn’t hurt nearly as much.

If we sit in the center of our universe, then sandpaper people are those who are merely hindrances to us getting what we want. If that is the case there’s really only one thing to do: avoid them at all costs.

But such an approach removes the very thing that might be good for us. If we avoid those more difficult relationships, we lose out on our own growth.

That’s when I realized the person at work who taught me this very phrase taught it to me to teach me a lesson: that these people aren’t the problem, but that I have the rough edges that need smoothing.

I didn’t like hearing that idea because it is far easier to address others—to address “them”—as the issue. If that’s the case, I am fine and everyone else is the problem.

If you flip the script, I am the problem—we are the problem—that needs changing.

Behind the scenes of Sandpaper People

Sandpaper People: How Can I Grow?

This concept stuck with me because of how me-centered my universe can be.

I started a task this year in order to start learning the ways that I can be the problem in relationships. Twice a month I ask someone in my life this question: How can I improve? I let them answer the question however they want. Different people know me in different ways and the feedback will be varied based upon the contours of that relationship.

I tend to ask this to anyone I’m around at the time. I’ve started mainly with people who know me well—it is safer. But recently I asked someone in my extended network just to see how it might go.

I was at lunch with a few other leaders in the area. I asked the question to the whole table but directed it at my friend Michael—I wanted his answer (honestly, because I felt he’d be the most likely to give it).

“Oh no. I’ve learned not to answer those types of questions after a lunch.”

“Come on! Anyone?”

Michael chimes in, “Okay, I have one.”

“Great.”

“This doesn’t bother me; I like vinegar on my fries.”

I had no idea where this was headed.

“Okay?”

“You are very intense. For a guy like me, that’s fine. I’ll match that. But others won’t be able to handle it. You need to be aware of what other people are needing in a conversation so that you don’t miss an opportunity to serve them in a way that helps them.”

“Man. That’s perceptive.”

I’ve only spent a few hours of my life with this guy and yet, anyone who has known me for years would tell you the same thing.

How kind of a friend of mine to take a moment to point out an area where I cause others discomfort. I took a note in my “How Can I Improve? Convos” file.

And it was a huge help.

Rather than look at your relationships thinking of how people are difficult for you, I’d invite you to join me in learning how you might be difficult for others.

How are you someone else’s sandpaper person?

You tell your co-worker, or your spouse, or your friend, or your mail lady that you will get something for them tomorrow.

“Sure thing, Pam. I’ll gladly get you that document in the afternoon.”

“Great. Thank you!”

At that moment, all parties have a level of confidence that said document will be in Pam's hands tomorrow afternoon. Jim, who we’ll say is the promiser here, has a lot riding on his success.

The next day comes and goes and that promise is broken.

The standard response?

“No big deal!”

This phrase, or one of its counterparts, exists in relational lore.

• Totes fine.

• Not a problem.

• It’ll get it done.

• You’re good.

• Don’t worry about it.

Why do we paper over offenses?

Your response need not be catastrophic (“HOW DARE YOU!”) but if we want to be men and women of integrity, and I assume you do, then keeping even small commitments matters. People watch. People remember.

If you’re married, I hope you keep your wedding vows. That’s a big vow. But if you told someone you’d buy them a book and you forgot, that’s still a type of vow—a promise, a commitment, an agreement that you will deliver.

It does us good to keep our word.

Yet our misplaced desire to appear gracious actually prevents us from extending grace. In our attempt to make it better and fill the gap that has been created, we short-circuit an important part of our relational needs: making amends.

Admit, Ask, Make Amends

To the one who caused the offense: run to the problem. Don’t run from it.

This isn’t just spiritual jargon. This isn’t if you told your pastor you’d be in church Sunday and then you weren’t. This is for the time you forgot about a lunch date.

It doesn’t matter what the offense is: don’t be the judge of how much you did or did not offend someone. Simply make it a practice to do three things:

• Admit that you didn’t deliver (“I failed you.”): Own the offense you caused. Don’t wait to get found out.

• Ask for Forgiveness (“Will you forgive me?”): You’re at a deficit that you created. Ask the one you offended to forgive it—fill it back up.

• Make Amends (“How do I make it right?”): Don’t miss this one. Don’t let someone rush to forgive you while you still have a promise you can make good on.

And if you hear “It’s no big deal” about to emerge from the other person, stop it and say, “No, it is a big deal. I gave you my word and I didn’t follow through. Even though you’re okay, it wasn’t okay that I did what I did.”

Feel, Forgive, Move Forward

To the one offended: hear them out and speak honestly.

Do not short-circuit the process by cutting someone off at the conversational pass. Let them say what they need to say. Then, you have your moves:

• Feel the offense (“That hurt.”): If we’re honest, we don’t like when even small offenses occur. We get pretty good and calloused toward them, but we still don’t like them. Explain the hurt the offense caused.

• Forgive the person (“I forgive you.”): You have to mean it. To forgive it means you’ll absorb all the consequences of the offense and never bring it back up to that person again. Unforgiveness carries shrapnel and the collateral damage can last a long time.

• Move Forward (“Here’s what we can do.”): Explain what moving forward looks like. If the commitment can still be made, albeit a little later, let them finish it. If it can’t be and it’s done, then figure out how to make the miss less likely next time.

When both offender and offended do their part, the relationship actually gets stronger.

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Take an Inventory, Make it Right

If you’re like me, you probably have a couple of outstanding commitments you never closed out. There’s a guy I’ve never met face-to-face but I committed (either internally or directly to him) to give $100 for some advice he gave me back in 2019.

It took me six years to pay him.

Are you doing the math? That’s right. 2025. By that time we usually have moved on and put down deep roots into “It’s no big deal” land.

But it was a big deal.

Even though we'd never met or even spoken on the phone—just emails and texts—that nagging feeling stayed with me. I knew I'd made a commitment and tried to move past it, but that reminder kept coming back.

“He won’t care. That was so long ago. He doesn’t even need the money.”

I reached out to the number I had for him to ask if it was still him. While I didn’t go through all the steps (I hadn’t written this post yet), I did tell him I owed it to him, never paid it, and wanted to pay him.

He did not “no big deal” me. He said he wouldn’t turn it down. I found a way to get him the money (thanks, Zelle), added some interest, and got his reply.

“Definitely not necessary, but what a story that this makes about answering spam messages.”

From spam to one less broken commitment. I’m sure there are more I need to make in my inventory. I wonder what will come to mind next.

What about you? Where can you make it right?

He didn’t give exams in class. Instead, he gave “celebrations of learning.” You had to take them outside of class time, without notes, and answer his handful of open-ended questions. When you finished, you’d have almost ten pages and over 3,000 words written. It wasn’t uncommon to get failing grades on these exams.

He expected a lot of us.

One class period he kept asking us questions about a specific period of history. The class was unprepared to answer his questions.

“Okay. Nobody is ready. Class dismissed. Go to the library and read about this and then come back next time ready to discuss.”

He wasn’t joking, either. Stunned, we all shuffled out of class.

When you were with him, it felt like life mattered to him.

He stood for something.

And then, one time, he said the phrase that connected a lot of the dots for me:

He didn’t claim originality. He attributed the phrase to someone else, but I never actually found the original quote from that someone.

To me, he’s the one who said it. And I’ve never forgotten it.

The Balance Brigade

A “whatabout” exists around every corner of passion.

I never know precisely when salience comes into a human heart regarding a direction, but when it does, look out.

The fire that shows up in the belly of a person who has pored over a new idea, longed for a new startup, knew it was time for a career change, or was ready to tackle a new problem stands out. It’s like a brand-new engine gets dropped inside that person—and the capacity is unimaginable.

Then come the doubters.

“We’ve tried that before.”

“But what about your family? How do they feel?”

“You have a good job.”

“You don’t want to burn out.”

“I don’t see that working.”

“Slow down. Have you thought about the implications?”

Those moments are tough. I’ve been a wet blanket a few too many times for people who want to pursue an idea.

Those moments are when our passion gets tested. Sometimes we have the fortitude to push through. Other times we back off. Often, a gap exists between our passion and the opportunity to execute. Doubts (and doubters) thrive in the waiting.

I’ve had passions I’ve backed off of—youthful or otherwise—and others I’ve kept at.

But a desire for “balance” won’t get you far. The desire will just keep you—keep us—a little safer, maybe with a little more money in the bank and a handful more regrets than some other folks.

Let Imbalance Make You Uncomfortable

But if we could be a little imbalanced—if there is midnight oil to spare—we might realize there’s more in us than we thought. What might be missing is an awakening to pursue something worth fighting for, losing sleep over, and maybe even arguing about.1

• This is the young woman who decided to quit her job to pour into her kids while they’re in the home. It’s unbalanced. She left money on the table.

• This is the small business owner who worked a month straight because he knew good would come from his idea. He’s a little more tired but ends the month grateful.

• This is the friend who goes to school at night for a new degree. “I think it’s crazy,” you say. But five years later, your friend finishes and you realize all you’ve done is thought he was crazy.

• This is the high schooler (he might be related to me) who spends his free time running disc golf tournaments to try and build a community in the city. “Yeah, but you can’t make a career out of that.” (How many high schoolers are building a place to connect youth and adults around a fun hobby?)

• This is the professor who makes his students leave class because they aren’t ready to have a real discussion.

Don’t make that fire in your belly the measuring rod for someone else. I can’t carry your fire, but I can let it illuminate parts of my own life and knock me off balance in the best of ways.

My professor’s words ring true even 20 years later: balanced people have nothing to say.

So say something.

Where have you let a good idea die due to inattention, discouragement, or distraction? We all have them. What does it take to knock the rust off and get back after it? I’d love to hear about it (and potentially help you get back after it).

• The responsible is the one doing the work.

• The accountable is the one ultimately in charge of the project.

• The consulted don’t do the work but are brought in when their voice matters.

• The informed are those who need to know what’s going on at the right time.

One word: Boring.

One question: Are we allowed to say “RACI” anymore? It has an unfortunate homonym that I think might get you fired.

One thought: The chart doesn’t even flow in a logical order. Why would the second person on the list be the one ultimately responsible?

Then again, running around saying “ARCI” isn’t really any better, is it?

ORCA Delegation Clears up the Confusion

One staff meeting, I simultaneously lamented our staff’s struggle to appropriately assign responsibility and my disdain of RACI because it won’t work. Within five minutes, maybe my most favorite staff creation came about—from word to dumb GPT-created logo.

O – Owner: The person ultimately accountable for the item being discussed. Any item in question only has one owner. We cannot make a department or team the owner. However, an owner might exist on a team of responsible parties.

R – Responsible: The doer(s). They’re hands-on, executing the work and moving the ball forward. They report to the owner. An event or ministry might have multiple areas of responsibility, but there is still one responsible person per task or deliverable.

C – Coordinated: The people who need to stay in sync on any project. They often interact with the responsible party or parties. They’re not doing the work, but their input, timing, and/or alignment matters.

A – Aware: These are the people who are kept in the loop. They’re informed, not involved in the doing or deciding, but benefit from visibility. Awareness helps them stay aligned and ready to support if needed.

Implementing ORCA

Say you have an idea or there’s a new project. The flow becomes simple.

Assign the Owner: Any project or task the team is working on needs one leader—the Owner. You should keep asking, “Who owns that?” until it’s crystal clear and one name is attached.

Determine Spans of Responsibility: The Owner helps determine the other roles needed. Owners can also have some area of responsibility, should their time allow, but the responsible parties all need to know what they’re responsible for.

Let your Rs Run Free: Not too free, but their lane should be clear enough that they know what to do. They can bring in the people they need (Cs, largely) to get it done.

Make Aware When Needed: The group who needs to be aware can change, but the people closest to the activity likely have the best idea of who needs to be where.

By using ORCA, you bring some clarity to your collaboration (and yes, whales). It helps us avoid confusion, reduce duplication, and ensure everyone knows their role and who they’re responsible to—so we can serve with excellence and move forward together.

Author’s Commentary: The value of ORCA for the team.

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When we landed on this language, we recorded a podcast on it for our church. You can listen below (the discussion happens on the back third of the podcast)

We use the Four Helpful Lists framework:

• What went right?

• What went wrong?

• What was confusing?

• What was missing?

Hearing the answers to those questions exposes a lot about our emotions. For one, we have to hear people tell us what didn’t work right—and something always didn’t work right. Additionally, you’ll likely realize that a glaring aspect of success got overlooked. In those moments, you really can feel exposed.

I remember doing one evaluation over a year ago where we realized we crashed and burned on how to appropriately support the young families in attendance. One staff member froze. He felt like all we were saying was, “This event was an absolute disaster.” That isn’t what we said. What we said was, “We really screwed this one part of the event up. How can we avoid that in the future?”

But we so often fear hearing bad news that we shift the target to feel better about ourselves.

The Evaluation is Only as Good as the Target

The key to a good evaluation is knowing precisely what you were aiming at. This change alone solves most of the issue. The only problem? We rarely start with this step: “What did we say success looked like?”

Thus, success becomes largely defined as, “Did people participate?” or, “Did I feel like it went well?”

I’ve been guilty of the same strategy. I’ve led events or entire semesters of activities where the goal was simply, “Have the activity and then see how it goes.” Then we just pat ourselves on the back when it didn’t entirely stink.

However, if we take the extra step to understand what a “win” actually is, we spend less time worried about how many people showed up or how well we feel it went. We have a clear understanding of if we did what we aimed to do.

If I want to host dinner for my neighbors, then I have one clear metric: did my neighbors come to the dinner I hosted? If I hosted dinner and a bunch of my co-workers attended, then I didn’t hit my goal. I might’ve still had a great dinner, but I didn’t actually do what I set out to do.

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Clarity Frees the Evaluation

Once we get clear about what the win is, we are free to run after it. I had this conversation with one of our staff a while back. He was re-structuring something he oversees and was excited about the idea, but he wasn’t sure how to evaluate it.

“How will you know this new idea worked?”

“Umm. I’m not sure. One new person attends.” (I don’t remember the exact number.)

“Just one? Really? You can do that without trying.”

“Okay. Ten new people attend. That makes me nervous even saying. What if I don’t hit it?”

“Then you don’t hit it and we’ll figure out why. But how will you know if someone is new?"

“I’ll find a way when they check in to confirm if this is their first time.”

“Great.”

Good news is, he hit his goal. You can say success should’ve been defined differently—and that’s fine. Once the target is defined, hold it and build off of it. Don’t change it. At least now we know what we are measuring from and can adjust in future iterations. All the other little aspects (right/wrong/confusing/missing) still get covered, but you know the main goal.

Failure Forces Curiosity

I actually love when we don’t hit our target. That area is fertile soil for self-discovery. “Why didn’t it work?” is such a great question. Whatever the reason it didn’t work, don’t flee from it, but get curious about it.

• Were we unclear to begin with?

• Did we actually define success the wrong way?

• Did we measure the wrong items to find success?

• Were our plates too full?

• Was our timing off?

• Did we not care about it as much as we thought, so we did other things instead?

I’ll tell you one of the constant themes in our initial evaluations on almost anything. We kept asking some iteration of, “Why the heck was this so hard to pull off?” or “Why did so many of us overlook what seemed so simple?” A significant reason for this problem: we didn’t actually know who was in charge of success.

All hands on deck is great, unless you’re trying to get a specific thing accomplished, then it is REALLY nice to know who is supposed to accomplish any one thing at any given time. We’ve instilled a couple of strategies to address this problem, which I’ll write about later—they’re a couple of my favorite issues.

The key here, as my friend talks about at his workplace, is you can’t be punitive. Cultures where failure results in any sort of organizational demerit means you’ll work too hard to play it safe. If you want a workplace where failure is okay, you can’t ding people for messing up or missing their target. You need to encourage it, even celebrate it, so that continued learning becomes woven into everything you do.

So try this: before your next meeting, take one minute beforehand and define success for it. Then, tell everyone what you’re going for. Finally, when it is over, ask them if you hit it.

Whether you knocked it out of the park or failed miserably, be glad. Why? Because you’re taking your own growth seriously and setting a new measure of success for you and those around you—ongoing development to better serve others.

Author’s Commentary: Here some of the story behind the post as we go through it together.

Everywhere you go, you’ll be living out cultural truths about power distance and authority.

The story of the incarnation breaks every notion of power distance.

Power distance can be seen as the acceptability of people being treated differently because of their authority. Cultures with higher power distance, like China, recognize their authorities as different from them and would not openly question decisions made by their superiors. Lower power distance countries, like the United States, expect those in authority to be highly accessible and open to being challenged.

And you, my friend, likely fall right within the low power distance structures that exist in our culture. You cannot escape it. Still, the incarnation shatters every category we’ve built around power and authority. Let’s consider two sides of the birth of Jesus.

Christ’s Flattened Power Distance

Children are inherently vulnerable, needy, and exhausting—they can do nothing for themselves. Yet this is how Christ entered the world. This form was God’s choice.

And Joseph also went up from Galilee, from the town of Nazareth, to Judea, to the city of David, which is called Bethlehem, because he was of the house and lineage of David, to be registered with Mary, his betrothed, who was with child. And while they were there, the time came for her to give birth. And she gave birth to her firstborn son and wrapped him in swaddling cloths and laid him in a manger, because there was no place for them in the inn. (Luke 2:4-7, ESV)

These few verses highlight Christ’s entrance into the world. An outsider’s outsider. A poor man’s poor man. A vulnerable child born to a working-class family, placed in a feeding trough because the usual spaces were unavailable.

How can we maintain power distance when Jesus himself removed it? How can we lord ourselves over people and flex our positions of power when the Son of God came in the lowliest place?

But Christ’s birth demonstrated he was no normal baby.

Christ’s Exalted Power Distance

Jesus received the most intense and memorable birth announcement of birth announcements. Courtney and I sent a card out to about 100 friends and family when our first child was born. The card had a printing error and made his nostril look fully blacked out so we had to get it remade.

Jesus got a chorus of angels.

And in the same region there were shepherds out in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night. And an angel of the Lord appeared to them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were filled with great fear. And the angel said to them, “Fear not, for behold, I bring you good news of great joy that will be for all the people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is Christ the Lord. And this will be a sign for you: you will find a baby wrapped in swaddling cloths and lying in a manger.” And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God and saying,

“Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace among those with whom he is pleased!” (Luke 2:8-14, ESV)

This was no ordinary baby, and yet the announcement, as grandiose as it was, also came oddly—to a small group of shepherds at night. Both exaltation and humility in one announcement.

So, while we see the humility of Jesus, we also recognize the difference of Jesus.

Access, Reverence, and You

What we learn in all of this is that Jesus perfectly existed as openly accessible and fully different. He transcended the gap of heaven to come near. He dwelt among us. Yet he was fully different than us in that he was perfect. During his ministry he was accessible enough for children to run up to him and holy enough that powerful leaders bowed down to him.

Jesus shows us that his way is the best way.

These truths—Christ’s humility and exaltation—are used by Paul, one of Jesus’ enemies turned friends, to explain to a church why they need to care about each other. They aren’t left in the ethereal realm of thought experiments; they are real.

So if there is any encouragement in Christ, any comfort from love, any participation in the Spirit, any affection and sympathy, complete my joy by being of the same mind, having the same love, being in full accord and of one mind. Do nothing from selfish ambition or conceit, but in humility count others more significant than yourselves. Let each of you look not only to his own interests, but also to the interests of others. Have this mind among yourselves, which is yours in Christ Jesus . . . . (Philippians 2:1-5, ESV)

The story of Jesus challenges our assumptions about power.

The incarnation tells us that true authority doesn’t require distance. We learn that holiness and accessibility are not mutually exclusive. We learn that the God of the universe chose vulnerability as his entry point into our world yet remained fully God while becoming fully man. And we see that this humility becomes the model for us to serve those around us.

So I ask you, readers, to consider this question: How does the incarnation change the way you invest in others this week?

Jesus gives us a better way—humility and holiness, wrapped in swaddling clothes.

Merry Christmas.

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Author’s Commentary: For a more casual re-telling of the post, see below.

Let me get up at 11am instead of 5:30am. French fries over broccoli 100 times out of 100. If I had to choose between saving for retirement or exotic travel with my family, I’d always pick traveling with my family. Never met a book I wanted to finish or an inconvenience I wanted to deal with.

Enter: habits.

Everyone talks about habits. Mine aren’t atomic, though, they’re anchoring.

I haven’t looked this up, but I assume I’m the billionth or so person to coin the phrase “anchor habits.” I’d view anchor habits as the foundational, non-negotiable practices that stabilize our lives regardless of season, circumstance, or resistance.

Anchor habits keep you steady—they’re underneath the surface and help you weather whatever may come your way.

I’ve modified my habits over the past six years, and will continue to, but as 2025 winds down, here are the habits that have anchored me throughout the year, the ones that I’ve added, and the ways I’m still needing to grow.

Year-Round Habits

These are the habits that have stayed with me five to seven days a week, every week, all year, with limited exceptions. They often take little bits of time throughout the day.

Renewal Habits

More than just a morning reading and prayer, I’ve established a few touch points to nurture my spiritual life. I use our church’s reading plan to keep up with daily reading (Monday through Saturday). I’m with my church family on Sunday. I usually read along while listening on the Dwell App (it is usually 10-15 minutes).

For prayer, I have four times I pray, of varying lengths of time. None are long. (1) in the morning after I read, (2) briefly, at lunch (along with reading a Psalm and Proverb), (3) in the afternoon (usually sometime between 2 and 4pm), and (4) before bed (I bought a kneeler for this one).

Fitness Habits

I am not a fitness geek. My change this year is I walk way more.

I started in Q1 with 7,000 steps a day, and then went up 1,000 steps a day each quarter. I’m currently at 10,000 steps a day. At the time of this writing, I do not think I’ve missed a single day. A time or two I forgot my watch, so my steps didn’t “count,” but I’m confident I’ve walked more this year than most years of my life.

I also shoot for 150 minutes of weekly activity of any kind. Doesn’t matter the kind. Gym session. Walk. Run. Bike ride. Hike. Mowing in the sun. I go by the watch and it has to be set as an activity.

Schedule Habits

During the school year? Alarm goes off at 5:30AM. Sometimes I enjoy going back to sleep but we’re up and moving at that time just about every school day. This habit does not carry into the weekends or summers or holidays. I’m not crazy. I like my breaks, but that consistent rhythm has helped. And the breaks are good, too.

I also do a daily review (each night) and weekly review (on Sundays). To manage those reviews and tasks I use Todoist and a calendar. Todoist has become so ingrained into my daily life that it might be the most significant addition to how I stay on task in a given day. We pay for the entire staff to use it, basically because it helps me and I figured maybe it could help us.

Mid-Year Additions

As a consummate tinkerer, I still found areas lacking. That bugged me. I had my baseline and felt as if I had neglected a couple of areas, so I found some small tweaks in the schedule to push a little more.

Writing Habits

I’ve thought and prayed about writing more for a year now. I just hadn’t made the time. Both the memoir and this Substack started within the last four months of the year. I spend a minimum of 20 minutes a day on the book and I work on articles in one block of time—Sunday afternoons or evenings most often. Writing has started to develop a muscle I did not know I had—it’s been a lot of fun.

Relational Habits, Part 1

I don’t engage Courtney enough—mainly in prayer. We aren’t big date-night folks. We just get together when we can. Prayer, though, was definitely lacking. I had done much better in another season of marriage praying with her (like 2011), and needed that back. So I started praying with her at least once every day. Never long—because the goal isn’t the length, the goal is the act itself .

I also invite her on a lot of the walks I go on. She never has to join, but when she does, we get another 30-45 minutes of time together. That’s also better than the gym, which she hates.

Pressure Points

I’m still finding cracks in the process that I haven’t fully adjusted yet but hope I am able to. Some areas of weaknesses that show I have plenty more mountain to climb are:

Calendar-Keeping

I keep four calendars because that’s life right now. I struggle to know exactly how much time to allocate to certain tasks. Thus, I know that 2026 will likely contain more schedule maintenance to be sure I prioritize the right aspects of my life. I’m nervous about this, honestly, because the discipline demand for it seems daunting. However, if it helps others, I’m game.

Relational Habits, Part 2

Our boys are getting older. We have two-and-a-half more years until the boys likely start moving out of the house and our lives are forever changed. I know that I need to adjust the schedule (see “calendar-keeping” above) to make more time for them and for us. I’ve taught them spades; now it is time to beat them at spades.

How About You?

Your turn, readers. What habits have helped to form you this year? Where do you know you’re weak and need adjustment? If you could embed one new anchor habit into your life right now, what would it be?

Maybe you feel stuck in a perpetual cycle of unrealized potential or frustrated feelings of failure. If that’s you, reach out. I’d be glad to see if there’s a way I can help you or those on your team.

Author’s Commentary:

Almost every Monday morning my phone buzzes—it’s buzzed this way for years. Always my friend Adam. Perusing the last batch of Mondays, I see timestamps of 7:52AM, 7:38AM, 6:35AM, 8:05AM, 8:25AM.

Always a similar introduction: “Morning Hans ☀️ checking in to see how I can be praying for you this week.” He’ll then volunteer something about what’s going on in his life, tell a funny story, or make an inside joke. Usually I don’t respond to his first request and move on to talking about what he shared or asking him a question.

We recently had a long text interaction on a Sunday. The next morning, what do I get? “I know I talked to you yesterday but still checking in this morning to see whether there’s anything I can be praying about for you this next week.”

Clockwork.

You movie buffs might remember the scene from Remember the Titans where Coach Boone unveils his offensive playbook. His other coaches show suspicion over such a small playbook. “I run six plays, split veer. It’s like Novocaine. Just give it time, always works. See you on the bus.”

Those words “give it time, it always works” roll around in my head regularly. We throw them around the office a lot (well, I do).

Trust as Consistency

When I speak about trust, I define it as “confidence in the safety and integrity of one’s relationships, leading to free-flowing cooperation.”

But how do we grow in trust? How do we lose it?

As leaders, while commitment might be the fastest way to start rebuilding trust, consistency becomes our approach to sustaining trust.1

• Moms who read to their kids every night.

• Staff who walk around the office on Monday to check in on co-workers and see how their weekend was.

• People who text you every Monday.

• The mentor who picks you up at the same time every day to bring you to your night classes.

• The employer who gives performance reviews every time they say they will and in a manner that is predictable and helpful.

Consistency doesn’t mean bland and inflexible. Consistency means reliable, safe, trustworthy. Consistency changes people.

Parents, take note. I’ve talked to so many friends over the years who reminisce about some aspect of their childhood and highlight an action that was always present. (I’m going to highlight the positive ones, but we all know the negative ones impact, too.)

“I always saw my dad early in the morning with a Bible.”

“My parents scratched my back and sang to me.”

“We always had the same family reunion and I loved it.”

For me? My mom stuffed a great stocking at Christmas. It always contained Haribo fruit-flavored gummies. She’d get them at a candy store at the mall and give them to us in plastic bags because she had to dole them out.

Consistency.

The Consistency Battle

Stop me when you’ve heard this story. You get excited about a new habit. You want to start reading every day, just ten minutes. Excellent. You also want to go on a weekly date night with your spouse. Great. You want to encourage one co-worker a week. Sounds like a plan.

Week One goes by and you are thrilled. So much enthusiasm!

Week Two goes by and you had a great time. A whole new you. You’ve never felt closer to your spouse.

Week Three goes by and you forget to encourage that co-worker. That’s okay, you’ll get it next week.

Then it is Thanksgiving week, you make some excuses, you say, “I’ll get back to all of this next week.”

Sometime around the summer solstice you go, “Man, I need to get back at it. It’s been, what, four weeks since Thanksgiving?”

So many great intentions, so many inconsistent leaders. And with each inconsistency, you inadvertently teach people just a little more you can’t be trusted.

Make No Excuses

“Nobody is perfect.”

That’s true. We will be inconsistent in more ways than one every day.

Also . . . so what? Pursue a different kind of leadership—one that fights to stay consistent even when it gets tough. Show up even when it is inconvenient. Don’t push to tomorrow that habit which today gave you enough time to finish. Make no excuses of time, of travel, of disruptions.

I have a friend I love very much who wants to have more devotional time with his family. More prayer, more presence, more of dad being home and with his kids. The problem? His job has him travel a lot. I love what he’s working on: sending quick messages to his family when he is away. Staying consistent in presence even when that presence is different.

You don’t need to announce what you’re doing; just keep doing it. Do it for the challenge. Do it for the joy. Do it for the trust you begin to build now and into the future.

Those around you won’t even realize that their hearts are taking notes, but years from now, the mark will have become indelible.

I love Monday mornings.

What acts of consistency have changed you? What ways are you striving for consistency? Reply back or post below.

Author’s Commentary. Along with the voiceover (above), I wanted to do a video where I read the article and give some commentary as we go. If you have time, or want some behind the scenes on the article, have a watch. Let me know how it works for you.

A kind reader here asked me to consider going a little further down that path, and I’d be glad to. What follows is not a clinician’s advice, but a pastor’s.

I have friends who have dedicated their lives to pointing people to Jesus in the most difficult and least-reached places in the world. The work is exhausting and often thankless. Years of your life given and perhaps not one conversion. If anything, you’re taken advantage of and mistreated far more than you’re esteemed.

Poured out.

I have other friends who have started a business to serve great coffee and minister and employ internationals here in the States. Competition can get fierce, payroll isn’t always easy to hit, and some years are decidedly better than others, but the store is still open and hearts are fuller than the coffee cups.

Poured out.

And I have you, reader, who is reading or listening to this article with whatever spare moments you have. Soon you’ll go back to whatever your “real job” is.

How will you be when you get back to work?

People use the phrase “burnout” regularly. Even in my own home several months ago Courtney said, “Maybe I’m just burned out.” Those words haven’t been said in our house until that time. Upon further reflection, Courtney redirected to “No, I was probably just depressed.” If you’ve journeyed with us at all, then you know what she’s talking about.

However, “burnout” stands out to me as an interesting phrase. It appears to have replaced many other words we would have more regularly used: exhausted, upset, anxious, bored at work, indifferent, overworked, a little bugged, and many more. If someone comes to me and says they are burned out, I get nervous because that could mean so many different things and the responses can get serious real quick.

For your consideration, I would posit this:

Defining Burnout

You cannot define burnout in the Bible, so for the theobros, I’m sorry, you’ll have to go elsewhere.

A definition you can work from is put out by the World Health Organization:

Burnout is a syndrome conceptualized as resulting from chronic workplace stress that has not been successfully managed. It is characterised by three dimensions: 1) feelings of energy depletion or exhaustion; 2) increased mental distance from one’s job, or feelings of negativism or cynicism related to one’s job; and 3) a sense of ineffectiveness and lack of accomplishment. Burn-out refers specifically to phenomena in the occupational context and should not be applied to describe experiences in other areas of life.

If this is burnout, then many of us are burned out.

• Who doesn’t have workplace stress? Anyone from the c-suite to the checkout aisle to moms homeschooling their sons and daughters has workplace stress.

• Who struggles to appropriately manage that stress? Many of us. I’ve coached middle managers, business owners, company founders, VPs, and people in between jobs. All of them have struggled to one degree or another with self-discipline, healthy habits, and managing their relationships.

• Who feels exhausted? In a given 30-day span, probably all of us?

• Who feels mental distance from their job or cynicism related to it? I work at a church. You know how many Sundays I wake up and think, “Not sure I want to do it today”? I won’t tell you because I want to stay employed.

• Who feels ineffective and unaccomplished in their roles? Also almost anyone I know.

This definition, while relatable, is broad enough to fit numerous situations and emotions into, making it decidedly less helpful for actually addressing any deeper issues.

My friend, who has counseled many people, defines it playfully like this (I’ve slightly modified):

Burnout is when you feel like you hate even people you love.

Funny, and probably somewhat true, but it still doesn’t address what’s going on underneath.

Burnout: Not Fully Biblical

I don’t find burnout to be a biblically helpful idea—though it can be culturally helpful to try and begin to locate other emotions.

Still, I think Scripture gives us better words and better illustrations for these ideas.

Elijah: Fear and Exhaustion

Exhaustion certainly exists. Probably one of the clearest images is Elijah after battling the prophets of Baal and having them get struck down (1 Kgs 18). There’s a threat to Elijah’s life and he flees in fear. We pick up here:

4 But he himself went a day’s journey into the wilderness and came and sat down under a broom tree. And he asked that he might die, saying, “It is enough; now, O LORD, take away my life, for I am no better than my fathers.” 5 And he lay down and slept under a broom tree. And behold, an angel touched him and said to him, “Arise and eat.” 6 And he looked, and behold, there was at his head a cake baked on hot stones and a jar of water. And he ate and drank and lay down again. (1 Kings 19:4-6)

What we get to see here is a man who, after giving his all, feels threatened and ready to be done living. The response? Elijah takes a nap, God provides him warm bread and water, and then he gets another nap (followed by more food). Elijah isn’t done feeling sorry for himself, but God reminds him of who he is during this entire ordeal.

Jesus: Troubled in Gethsemane

Before his death, Jesus—who only did what he was 100% supposed to—was troubled.

36 Then Jesus went with them to a place called Gethsemane, and he said to his disciples, “Sit here, while I go over there and pray.” 37 And taking with him Peter and the two sons of Zebedee, he began to be sorrowful and troubled. 38 Then he said to them, “My soul is very sorrowful, even to death; remain here, and watch with me.” (Matthew 26:36-38)

The disciples don’t remain. They fall asleep. Every time. What does Jesus want in this moment? His closest friends with him, praying.

Galatians: Deeds of the Flesh

A passage that makes me uncomfortable to read in light of the symptoms of burnout comes from Galatians, highlighting the differences of life in the flesh or by the Spirit.

19 Now the works of the flesh are evident: sexual immorality, impurity, sensuality, 20 idolatry, sorcery, enmity, strife, jealousy, fits of anger, rivalries, dissensions, divisions, 21 envy, drunkenness, orgies, and things like these. (Galatians 5:19-21a)

Now I don’t think every one of these words aligns with what we’re discussing, but several stand out: enmity (I hate my boss), strife (why is my co-worker being so difficult), jealousy (why did they get the promotion), fits of anger (how dare you talk to me that way), dissensions (office politics), drunkenness (how you cope with it all), and the lovable “and things like these.”

Poured Out: A Better Way

When I say “poured out not burned out” I mean living one’s life by God’s Spirit and not by one’s own strength. Both Paul and Jesus demonstrate this idea.

Afflicted and Poured Out

I think often of the laundry list of affliction Paul experienced. Our culture struggles to navigate this language and apply it. Why? We might feel like such a life isn’t “wise” enough.

24 Five times I received at the hands of the Jews the forty lashes less one. 25 Three times I was beaten with rods. Once I was stoned. Three times I was shipwrecked; a night and a day I was adrift at sea; 26 on frequent journeys, in danger from rivers, danger from robbers, danger from my own people, danger from Gentiles, danger in the city, danger in the wilderness, danger at sea, danger from false brothers; 27 in toil and hardship, through many a sleepless night, in hunger and thirst, often without food, in cold and exposure. 28 And, apart from other things, there is the daily pressure on me of my anxiety for all the churches. (2 Corinthians 11:24-28)

I love the casual, “Not only am I going to be drowned and/or maybe murdered, but I worry about you churches all the time.”

What type of life is that? A life worth living. Listen to how he finishes what is likely his final letter.

6 For I am already being poured out as a drink offering, and the time of my departure has come. 7 I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith. 8 Henceforth there is laid up for me the crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous judge, will award to me on that day, and not only to me but also to all who have loved his appearing. (2 Timothy 4:6-8)

Paul was satisfied because he knew the source: Jesus.

Abiding

Jesus teaches his followers the right way to live a fruitful life—and it isn’t circumstantial; it’s him.

I am the vine; you are the branches. Whoever abides in me and I in him, he it is that bears much fruit, for apart from me you can do nothing. (John 15:5)

“Nothing,” huh?

That’s comprehensive.

Maybe “burned out” is actually a codeword for “withered.”

I’d love to hear how you’ve learned to stay poured out instead of burned out. Reply below or reply back to let me know. And if you need help, let me know. I love helping leaders, in particular, get healthy.

In the meantime, consider a song that our family has on repeat:

The sermon:

The Deadliest Catch guys hit another level of intensity. Danger, drama, and bad dialogue all make the show great. The days are exhausting, the work is dangerous, and the characters become endearing. Most kids who have seen Cars 2 don’t even realize that Captain Sig is right there at the beginning.

But one of my favorite leadership lessons about pursuing relationships comes from the heart of that late winter Opilio crab season, as the weather gets the coldest and the elements become the most dangerous.

As winter storms threaten crews on the Bering Sea, the boats are buffeted by the waves and get sprayed with light mist that freezes on contact. Not much at first—but each second, each minute, each hour left unaddressed, adds tens of thousands of pounds to the boat. In the clip above, the captain estimates 50 to 80 thousand additional pounds are weighing the boat down.

As the boat takes on ice, it starts to list—leaning from side to side, having a harder time recovering, and making even easy moves more dangerous. Without intervention, you run the risk of capsizing.

Taking on Ice

Every relationship takes on ice over time—this outcome is inevitable. Not only is our world plagued with external threats which cause us to doubt if others are for us, but we also deal with internal struggles of anger, fear, and the constant worry that we aren’t good enough for people to like us.

The accumulation starts small and appears insignificant, falling squarely into the “NBD” category.

• Your co-worker didn’t invite you to lunch like he usually does. “No big deal,” you want to think. “But I wonder if the way I talked to him in the meeting earlier this week has him doubting me. Crap.”

• You text a friend your enthusiasm about your new job. She replies with “Cool” and leaves off an exclamation point. Now you wonder what you did to get such a tepid response. Who leaves off exclamation points?!?!

• You are left out of a closed-door meeting that you feel you should be invited into. You can’t help but wonder “What did I do?”

These are small offenses, if they are offenses at all. You don’t know until you investigate, but wanting to assume the best (or fearing you’ll hear the worst), you don’t do anything. Then another mix-up happens that you don’t address and another few millimeters of ice show up. A few months go by and two more offenses happen. Now you’re at an inch or two of ice.

At this point it is safe to say you’re listing. Even normal conversations are hard. Every motive starts to be questioned. The amount of time these relationships are spending rent-free in your head is taking a psychological toll.

I’ve done this enough times in my life as a leader to know the feeling.

Maybe you can relate—or maybe you’ve been knocked over by the elements.

You’re Probably Not Misreading It

Watch the video referenced above and you’ll hear one of the deckhands say, “We waited too long.” That’s often how I’ve seen it go with relationships of all kinds. Rather than have an easy conversation with almost no ice affecting the relationship, we start wondering if we should do something at about the two-inch mark. By that time, we’ve got some serious work to do—assuming the relationship can make it.

If you think there’s an issue to address, there probably is.

Over ten years ago I was working at my church and settling into a new role. All eyes were on the young guy—and those eyes were all older than me. I was trying to learn how to lead while actually having to be in the leadership seat I was learning.

One man and I went to lunch early on to try and get to know one another a little better.

“Hans, there was a time one morning where I looked at you and you looked at me, but you really looked right past me—like I wasn’t even there.”

I honestly did not remember that interaction, but based on his retelling, that appears par for the course. (If you’re reading this and you know me, you might’ve been the recipient of a blank stare a time or two as well. You can commiserate.)

You might think this is an unnecessary question to ask—maybe even petty. I’d disagree. Relationships need constant maintenance. None of them coast without ever taking on ice.

What my action did—as insignificant as it might’ve been—was put just a little bit of ice on the decks. This man wanted to knock it off right then and there. He wanted to clarify the experience and reset the relationship.

That type of engagement took maturity, and I’ve never forgotten it.

That’s what leaders should do.

Knocking Off the Ice

Leaders need to run toward these relational problems, not away from them, because the elements are often hostile. The sooner we can start attacking the problem, the better our organizations will be.

• Who is pulling away from you or from others in your life that you can tell is drifting?

• What small infraction have you done or has someone done to you that you can address right now?

• Which relationships are unsteady right now? What’s the next move to knock just a little bit of ice off?

Relational management is one of the most difficult and satisfying feats you will ever accomplish. I must constantly check in with people to be sure we’re good, and many others I work with and around do the same for me. It’s a necessary part of life that we can’t neglect as leaders.

The worst case scenario in all of this? You were a little oversensitive and you bring up an insignificant interaction. But even when you bring it up, the other person sees how they’re coming off and can improve. (Of course, there’s always the risk that the person you confront won’t be honest, and nothing gets addressed. But you can’t control their response—only your own willingness to knock the ice off the deck.)

The best case scenario? You get to develop a deeper and better relationship with someone.

So what ice do you need to knock off?

More from my posts on trust and relationships:

Going forward, you can expect one post from me each week, alternating between the two sections. I always love hearing from you, so please feel free to reply to any email with what resonates.

I wrote last week about the vows we make and how they form us. Today, we flip it.

While vows are a commitment we make based off of an experience, I want to now talk about commitments we make to help us become a certain kind of person—a more trustworthy one.

Trust is the currency every human deals in. It doesn’t matter if you are a mom, a pastor, a boss, an employee, a business, or a friend—everybody trades in trust. You cannot escape it, but for many of us, trust lacks. It’s a scarce commodity that you can’t do much without.

Take fifteen seconds and think about a time someone promised you something and didn’t deliver. Now think about something you told someone and you failed to deliver. (I bet you are more gracious toward yourself than you are toward them.)

How long did it take to get an example? Did it even take the whole 15 seconds or were you left with time to spare?

When promises are broken, trust vanishes.

What is Trust?

When I teach leaders on trust, I define it like this:

Trust is our confidence in the safety and integrity of one’s relationships, leading to free-flowing cooperation.

You have confidence in the relationships (these could be interpersonal, directed toward a business or organization, within a team, etc.) because they are safe (not out to harm you) and because they have integrity. Integrity means something is solid and consistent internally and externally—what is inside corresponds to what is outside.

The result of high trust? Free-flowing cooperation. The result of low-trust? Distance, avoidance, and self-reliance.

If you feel as if your boss, your spouse, or your friend is pulling away, there’s a pretty good chance the distance stems from lost trust.

I work with an organization called the Trust Edge Leadership Institute to help teams and leaders understand and grow in trust. They communicate trust as having eight pillars. One my favorite pillars: commitment.

What’s the Deal With Commitments?

Go back to the promise made to you that was broken or the promise you made that you broke. If “promise” feels too strong, just use the word “commitment.” Often, the breach is not one of catastrophic proportions; it is simple. These simple breaches are where the trust-breaking happens in full force—and often do the most long-term damage.

• You tell your son you will be home early to take him out and you get held up.

• You tell your boss you will have the report by Friday at 10am and you head into the weekend having not finished it and hoping nobody brings it up.

• You tell your friend you’ll reach out to see how her first day at the new job was and you forget.

Most of us know we have breached trust; we just hope we won’t get caught.

When I coach leaders, I will almost always leave each conversation by asking, “So what are you going to commit to have done by our next meeting?” I want simple commitments that can stack over time and that are clearly able to be marked as “done” or “not done.”

• I’ll read two chapters of the book on anxiety.

• I’ll talk to my spouse one time about our son’s schooling situation.

• I’ll ask three people their thoughts on my strengths and weaknesses and share the feedback with my best friend.

• I’ll call three potential clients and ask how to earn their business.

• I’ll spend five minutes praying every day about my anger toward my mom.

Then we write them down. Whether or not they are kept is one thing (they often aren’t hit at 100%); what I’m looking for is the honest ownership of the commitments. These leaders aren’t committing into thin air, or onto a piece of software. They’re committing to me.

I failed this one time recently. I had made a commitment to a friend, and my coach at the time, to write up a document—then I didn’t. The document was purely for me, not for him, but I committed to him that I’d do it. He smiled and asked why I didn’t follow through.

“I decided it wasn’t that important so I didn’t do it.”

“It seemed important when you said you’d do it two weeks ago. What changed?”

“What changed was how important I thought it was. Why does it matter? Leave me alone.”

“I just want to know why you cared so much about it not that long ago and now you don’t.”

“I just want you to shut up.” (I didn’t say that, but my tone did.)

Honestly, I didn’t have a good response for him. I was more just annoyed that my friend—whom I was paying to coach me—kept pointing me back to a commitment I didn’t keep.

Why am I paying him to annoy me?

Because he was right. I thought about my issue more and more. Why was I so okay breaking a commitment? After our session ended, I realized that I had no good reason not to do what I said I would do.

I did the work (late) not because I made the commitment in isolation, or because of the merits of the act in itself, but because I told a friend I would do it.

I may never use the write-up, but that wasn’t the point. The point was to keep my commitment to a friend.

What commitment should you make?

“Sorry I let you down” feels good, but what we actually need from each other is more follow-through. I’m not concerned about the apology if it fails to result in an actual change in behavior.

So what’s the one secret to gaining back trust almost immediately?

Make a commitment, keep it, then do it again.

Stack these commitments on top of each other and, over time, you will be stunned at the confidence people begin to have in you.

But what if you fail?

Get over yourself. Failure will happen if you are trying to make an impact rather than play it safe. This endeavor isn’t about 100% accuracy. Rather, it’s about (1) committing to a path, (2) owning the commitment, and, when necessary, (3) communicating our failures when they occur before they get discovered. Will you be embarrassed? Probably, but that’s okay. We need the humility.

So, what is it?

• What do you need to commit to today that can change your leadership for the better?

• What failure do you need to own and make right by your actions, not just your words?

• Who listed you as the one who made a promise and didn’t keep it, and what can you do about it today?

This change alone will put you well on your way down the path of trustworthiness, and those around you will thank you for it.

If you’re ever curious about going deeper into how to grow in trust for you and/or your team, reach out. I’d be happy to talk.

We would love to think that we always come to the table neutral in all our encounters, but we never do. Our minds are always connecting dots, filling gaps, and creating meaning—even if the meaning is wrong. In the book Crucial Conversations, the authors map the process in this way:1

The gap between our experience (“see and hear”) and our response (“act”) feels instant, but only because we’ve already called the play so many times. We often fail to realize that we are stuck in a pattern because of a story we are telling.

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Our Stories

Our stories are those experiences we have had that anchor us. As we have lived life we’ve picked up a lot of baggage—some baggage is rather light, other baggage is heavy. We’d love to check our baggage at the door, but it comes with us wherever we go. One area where we all have stories is how we engage with authority figures. Let’s try an example.

Your boss texts you and asks, “Can we meet?”

How do you respond?

For some, these three words are like poison: they get deeper into our hearts than we ever anticipated, and the rest of our day is ruined. Our immediate reaction might be, “What did I do wrong?” We process our week and find the failure points, we get self-protective. We wonder if we are going to lose our jobs. We go back to another time in our life where we got in trouble for taking initiative and we vowed to never do anything that would get us in trouble again. For others, perhaps they worked in a place where feedback was common and expected, so a request for a meeting just meant an opportunity for personal or professional growth.

Our Scripts

Our scripts are those habits that determine the way we act before we even think about it. Consider the scripts like psychological autopilot—they are how we get through the day and learn to cope with all that comes our way.

Before we respond to the text, we’ve already gone somewhere. We’ve felt something. Positively or negatively, we’ve created some picture that could easily align (but likely misalign) with reality. However, the story feels ingrained—and the response become predictable. What do we do in that instance?

For many, they withdraw and ignore the request and hope the boss forgets.

For others, they enthusiastically respond with, “Of course!”

Others go seek out validation from peers, “The boss wants to meet, can you think of anything I did lately that I’d be in trouble for.”

Others fake enthusiasm, say yes, and then worry every minute until the meeting happens.

Whatever the response, it has been finely-tuned based on prior experiences—whether we realize it or not.

Our Stories (Revisited)

These scripts create powerful feedback loops into our identity and reinforce whatever picture we had to start with. For example, if we have had good performance reviews and have had great experiences with authorities in our life, a request to meet becomes an opportunity for growth, and a reinforcement that we are good at what we do.

If a previous organization handled staff conflict poorly, we tell ourself that we can’t do anything right and we wonder where the failure was. It feeds into the story of who we are and how we show up at work, at home, or anywhere else. Those stories become very loud in our minds.

Breaking the Cycle

What’s missing, though, is that none of these reactions honor the other person (or people) in the equation. It is often unfair—not to mention potentially unloving—that our boss, our mom, or perhaps even our spouse gets treated without the benefit of the doubt. Nobody wants to operate this way.

We need to break the cycle, and there are a few strategies that can help us:

• See the Pattern: First, we need to slow down and see how we generally respond. State (out loud, if you’re comfortable) how you know you will likely respond (“I know I will want to think the worst about this situation”). We can’t address what we can’t (or are unwilling to) see.

• Flip the Script: Once the pattern is seen we can begin to flip the script. Where one’s mind might usually move to, “Why can’t I ever do the right thing?” We are freer to think, “I wonder how this conversation will help me.” We can flip the script in our response, too, refusing to revert to an old habit. If the usual pattern is disengagement, we can choose to respond quickly—even enthusiastically.

• Assume the Best: We might not need this newsflash, but most people are not out to get us. Believe the best and do not run to dark places—they only hurt. We may feel like a victim of our circumstances, but we are not. What we believe about someone is our choice, not theirs.

• Confront the Fear: This last strategy is the hardest, but perhaps the most beneficial. If we are willing, and the relationship has enough safety, address the false narrative directly. Talk to the person(s) in question and speak plainly. “Thanks for this request, I’d love to meet. In the past, I’ve had bad experiences with these types of meetings—and I often worry I did something wrong. That’s not fair to me or to you. So, to help me, can you let me know what this meeting is about?”

These strategies might feel simple, but many of us do not do them regularly. We feel stuck in our scripts and stories. However, with some simple shifts in how we think (and react) we can rewrite the scripts that we feel bound to.