Category: Leadership (Page 4 of 24)

The Shadow Side of Leadership

June 4, 2025 / / 1 Comment

Leadership has a spotlight. People see you on the platform, hear your words, watch your decisions, and feel your energy. They see the meetings, the prayers, the big ideas, the vision cast into motion. But behind that spotlight, there’s a shadow few people talk about. It’s the part of leadership that doesn’t make it into the highlight reels or Instagram stories. It’s quiet. It’s invisible. And for many of us, it’s achingly personal.

For me, the shadow shows up when I walk through the door at home.

After pouring myself out all day listening, guiding, teaching, and carrying the emotional and spiritual burdens of others, I often come home on the verge of empty. Not because I don’t love my family deeply, but because I’ve already spent everything I had to give. My family often doesn’t get the version of me who stood strong at the funeral or prayed boldly in the hospital. They get the version who crashes on the couch, struggling to engage in conversation, completely zoned out to the world around me, and often too tired to really be present.

It’s a strange contrast: I can rally the energy to lead a meeting of twenty or preach to a crowd of hundreds, but when I’m in the comfort of my home with my family I’m sometimes disconnected and have a hard time holding down a real conversation. I know the right thing to do. I want to be fully present. But sometimes the cost of being “on” all day means I end up emotionally “off” at home.

There’s guilt there. And a bit of shame too. And then there’s the quiet wondering: Is this what they signed up for?

This is the shadow side of leadership where passion meets limitation, where strength in public masks weariness in private. Most people don’t see the pastor who silently prays on the drive home just to have enough energy left to be fully engaged when he gets home.

But here’s what I’m learning: acknowledging the shadow doesn’t make me a failure. It makes me human.

And more than that, it makes space for grace. Not just from others, but from God. His power is made perfect in weakness, not in performance. My family doesn’t need the best version of me; they need the real one. The one who admits when he’s tired. The one who asks for help something I don’t do very well at all. The one who chooses to show up even when it’s hard.

Leadership in the spotlight may inspire people. But how we live in the shadows, that’s where real integrity is forged.

So to all the tired leaders, the weary parents, the ones who give their best in public but feel spent in private: You are not alone. Your shadow doesn’t disqualify you. It just means you’re carrying more than most people can see.

And maybe today, that’s the place where God wants to meet you. Not in your strength, but in your surrender.

The Lost Art of Showing Up

May 29, 2025 / / 0 Comments

We used to just… show up.

To the game. The dinner. The awkward backyard birthday party. We brought a dish, stayed longer than we meant to, and lingered on front porches just because we could.

Now? We RSVP “maybe,” scroll past the invite, tell ourselves we’ll catch up sometime. We’re busy, tired, behind, and convinced we have nothing left to give.

But we’re losing something sacred.

There’s a quiet magic in just being there. Being physically, emotionally, and relationally present. Not with a perfect gift or polished words. Just with your presence. In a world that’s over-connected and under-committed, showing up is a radical act of love.

And maybe the people in your life don’t need a fixer, a genius, or a social media-worthy gesture. Maybe they just need you to show up.

So how do we reclaim this lost art?

1. Stop waiting for perfect conditions.

You’re never going to feel fully ready, rested, or caught up. Life rarely clears the runway. Show up anyway. Show up with your messy hair, tired eyes, and half-baked casserole. Your presence matters more than perfection.

2. Make it local, not epic.

You don’t need to fly across the country to prove you care. Text a neighbor to grab coffee. Walk across the street. Bring someone a plate of cookies just because. Community starts close to home.

3. Let it be awkward.

Not every connection feels natural at first. That’s okay. Real relationships take time, silence, and a little discomfort. Keep showing up until awkward becomes authentic.

4. Say yes to small things.

Not every moment needs to be a grand gesture. Say yes to the lunch invite. The volunteer spot. The walk around the block. Small presence plants deep roots.

5. Check in, for real.

A 30-second “Hey, just thinking about you. How’s your week?” text can change someone’s day. Don’t underestimate the power of a simple nudge that says, You matter. I see you.

We don’t have to be everywhere. But we can be somewhere. Fully. Intentionally. Present. One philosophy I’ve tried to live for years is to do for one what you wish you could do for everyone.

We’ll never be able to be all things to all people. We can’t help everyone. But what if you can make a difference for one person. Start there and see where it goes.

Because sometimes the most powerful thing you can do for your family, your community, your world is to simply show up and stay.

You don’t have to fix the world.

Just be in it, with love.

So keep finding common ground, one small act of presence at a time.

The Price of Your Picnic

May 24, 2025 / / 0 Comments

This weekend, grills will fire up, flags will wave, and kids will run through sprinklers while parents kick back with a cold drink. Memorial Day, for many Americans, has become synonymous with sunshine, burgers, and an extra day off. But behind the laughter and leisure lies a blood-stained history too sacred to ignore. It’s time we faced it.

Your picnic came at a price.

Not a price paid at the grocery store or gas pump, but in trenches, in jungles, in deserts, and stormed beaches. It was paid in letters home that would never be answered. It was paid with dog tags and folded flags, with tears on gravestones and children growing up without their parent. Memorial Day is not just a holiday. It’s a holy reminder that freedom isn’t free.

We’ve gotten too casual about it. We slap “Happy Memorial Day” on store signs and social media posts, as if this day is about celebration instead of solemn remembrance. But Memorial Day is not Veterans Day. It’s not about thanking the living. It’s about honoring the dead. Specifically, the men and women of the armed forces who gave their lives so you could enjoy yours.

Think about that for a moment.

While you’re biting into a hot dog, someone else’s son bled out in a field in Normandy so that tyranny wouldn’t rule the world. While you’re laughing around a bonfire, a father died in the sands of Iraq so your kids could live free of fear. While you’re scrolling on your phone, a young woman took a bullet in Afghanistan and never came home to her dreams, her wedding day, or her family. And we’re worried about overcooked burgers?

Memorial Day is the most sacred secular holiday we have. And it should feel weighty.

Yes, go ahead and gather with your family. Yes, enjoy the beautiful day and the blessings we have. But do it with reverence. Let your children know why school is out. Let your conversations remember the cost. Pray for the families who don’t get to picnic because they’ll be at a cemetery. Fly the flag, not because it’s festive, but because it’s a symbol of lives laid down.

Jesus once said, “Greater love has no one than this, that someone lay down his life for his friends” (John 15:13, ESV). Memorial Day reminds us that some among us have lived and died that very truth. Whether they believed in Jesus or not, their sacrifice reflects the greatest love we’ve ever known.

So as the grill sizzles and your kids laugh and the sun shines down, take a moment. Pause. Reflect. Thank God for the freedom you enjoy and the fallen who paid for it.

Because that picnic?

It wasn’t free.

Why We’re All Tired (and What to Do About It)

May 22, 2025 / / 0 Comments

Over the next 8 weeks we’re going to pause on Thursdays for what I’m calling a Common Ground Project. It’s a reflection on what we have in common in life. This week it’s exhaustion. Yeah, you’re not alone. It’s not just you.

You’re not imagining it. You’re not weak. And you’re definitely not the only one who wakes up more exhausted than when you went to bed, even if you technically “slept.” Something deeper is going on, and everyone feels it.

Sure, life is full. But this is more than busy. This is like a soul-tired kind of feeling. Deep in your core you’re just exhausted.

We’re trying to carry everything from work stress, to endless news cycles, to aging parents, to demanding schedules, to that invisible weight of trying to be okay for everyone else. Even our “free time” feels like another item on the to-do list. And somehow, we still think the answer is to do more, be more, hustle more.

But what if the answer is actually less? What if less is more?

Here’s the truth: We weren’t made to live like machines. Constant output, zero margin, endless comparison. We were made for rhythm. That ebb and flow, work and rest, noise and silence. But somewhere along the way, we replaced rest with scrolling, and silence with streaming.

So what do we do?

It’s actually far easier than we might think. So for starters don’t overcomplicate it. Here are four small but powerful ways to start fighting your soul-tiredness today:

1. Name It

Take 10 minutes. Just you and a notebook and your favorite pen, and ask yourself: What’s actually wearing me out right now? Is it physical? Emotional? Mental? Relational? You see getting honest about the source helps you stop blaming the wrong things. And when we stop blaming the wrong things we’re able to tackle the right ones.

2. Build Micro-Margins

You might not be able to take a two-week sabbatical, but you can create 15-minute moments of calm. A walk without your phone. A slow cup of coffee. Sitting in the car in silence before going inside. Don’t underestimate the restoration that can come from tiny moments of peace.

3. Let Something Go

Not everything needs to get done today. Seriously. Choose one thing this week you can stop doing. Maybe it’s a social obligation, a load of laundry, a screen time habit, and simply trade it for breathing room. Rest takes intention. It’s a choice, not an accident. You can accidentally fall asleep but you can’t accidentally rest.

4. Ask for Help

You don’t get extra points for doing life alone. Tell someone what you’re feeling. Ask a friend to take your kids for an hour. Let your partner know you’re running on empty. Community doesn’t fix everything, but it keeps you from falling apart alone. Remember even the Lone Ranger had his trusty friend Tonto by his side.

Here’s the good news: This tired doesn’t have to be forever. You can rebuild rest into your life. No, not the kind of rest that’s just sleep (though that matters too), but the kind that lets your soul exhale. The kind that reminds you that you’re human, not a machine.

You’re not broken for being tired. You’re just human. And being human means learning how to live at a livable pace again.

So maybe today, you don’t need to push harder.

Maybe you just need to breathe.

Never Quit. Even If You Have to Crawl Across the Finish Line

May 21, 2025 / / 0 Comments

Earlier this week, I went to my daughter’s final track meet of the season. Now, before you picture me in running shorts and a stopwatch yelling, “Let’s go!”—let’s get one thing straight: I do not run. I respect running. I admire people who run. But me? If you see me running, call the police because something has gone terribly wrong.

So there I was, dad on the sidelines mentally applauding every single runner for voluntarily doing what I would only do if chased by a bear.

Then came her event, the 4×800 meter relay. Now, this was brand new territory. She’s trained as a sprinter. Give her a 100 meter dash and she’s golden. 200 is even cool. Her comfort zone is short, fast, and done. But there she was, taking on two full laps around the track. And when that baton hit her hand, she launched off the line like she was running the 100-meter dash.

The first lap was great. She was out front, flying. I was proud and also slightly nervous. Because, well, pace matters. You can’t treat an 800 like a sprint… unless you’re trying to see Jesus early.

Then came the second lap.

Halfway around, you could see it. That burst of speed had caught up to her. Her arms got heavy. Her face said, “Why did I agree to this?” And honestly, I felt it too. Not in my legs, of course, but in my soul.

She was tired. Gassed. Ready to throw in the towel.

But she didn’t.

She kept going. Slower? Yes. Suffering? Probably. But quitting? Not an option. She made it to the finish line, gave everything she had, and handed off the baton with pure grit and determination.

And that, friends, is the picture of perseverance.

You and I? We’ve all had “second-lap” moments in life. We start strong. The new job, the big dream, the spiritual commitment, the fresh relationship. But then reality sets in. The pace gets heavy. The excitement fades. We get tired. Discouraged. Maybe we’re ready to give up.

But don’t.

Push through. Even if your pace slows to a crawl. Even if you’re limping through pain or panting through exhaustion. Even if you have to walk, crawl, roll, or yes even puke before you get there… just don’t quit.

Because quitters don’t finish, and finishers don’t quit.

We’re not called to be perfect. We’re called to endure. To finish our race. To hand off the baton of faith, love, and hope to those coming after us. So keep going. One step at a time.

And if you’re ever tempted to give up? Just picture a tired teenager on her second lap, digging deep to find strength she didn’t know she had because sometimes the greatest victories come not from speed, but from stubborn, courageous endurance.

Never quit. You’ve got this.

When Questions Are Silenced, the Church Suffocates

May 14, 2025 / / 0 Comments

Let’s stop pretending the Church is fine.

It’s not.

The numbers say it. The exodus of young people says it. The stale worship. The empty classrooms. The leadership pipelines that dried up a decade ago. They all scream what no one wants to admit: we are stuck. Not in doctrine. Not in Jesus. But in methods, mindsets, and models that have lost their grip on reality.

And every time someone dares to raise a hand to ask, What if we tried…? the answer isn’t curiosity. It’s control.

Let’s name the poison: fear.
Fear of change. Fear of innovation. Fear of losing comfort, influence, or nostalgia. Fear that masquerades as faithfulness.

And under the weight of that fear, creativity is choked out, ideas are left to rot in meeting minutes, and the Spirit-led boldness that marked the early Church has been traded for policy manuals and committee reports.

When questions are silenced instead of answered, the Church doesn’t just stagnate. She suffers. People suffer.

Whole communities go unreached. Entire generations leave because they were told their questions were divisive, their ideas disruptive, their creativity unorthodox.

All the while, Jesus weeps.

The Gospel is unchanging. But the way we carry it never was.

Jesus didn’t call the disciples to maintain a system. He called them to overturn one. He didn’t say, “Find the most comfortable way to reach people like you.” He said, “Go make disciples of all nations.” That meant language barriers. Cultural shifts. Wild methods. Radical risk.

He preached from boats. He taught with stories. He sat with outcasts. He blew up traditions that had calcified into idolatry.

“You have heard it said… but I say to you…” That wasn’t safe. That was revolutionary.

Yet in 2025, the Church shrinks back from that same edge. We cling to what’s known, what’s approved, what’s “how we’ve always done it.” We turn down the volume on innovation. We run creative leaders out of the room. We label new ministries unnecessary. We crush Holy Spirit dreams under layers of bureaucracy, protocol, and denominational red tape.

Jesus flipped tables in the temple. It seems the best we can do is form a committee to discuss whether the tables are Lutheran enough (insert your own denomination there).

And we wonder why no one’s listening. The world doesn’t care how it’s always been done. They care how Jesus lived, loved and lead.

Silencing questions is not just bad leadership. It’s spiritual malpractice!

When we shut down the dreamers, we shut out the very people God is calling to lead the next generation. When we ignore the young leader with a passion for digital ministry because “we’ve never done it that way,” we lose a voice who could reach those we’ve never reached. Heck we’ve probably never thought of reaching some of these people!

When we refuse to plant new ministries because “the budget doesn’t allow,” what we’re really saying is, “We don’t trust God to provide for the things He inspires.”

When we fail to mentor new leaders because we’re afraid they’ll do things differently, we’re not protecting the Church. We’re burying the talent God gave us and expecting applause for our caution. Newsflash friend, Jesus condemned that talent burying servant as wicked and worthless. I think we might be on the wrong side of this argument.

The Church is dying not because the Gospel lacks power—but because the Gospel-bearers lack courage.

Courage to ask, “What if?”
Courage to step out of the boat.
Courage to let go of sacred cows and grab hold of a cross.

Do we believe the Holy Spirit still speaks? Still moves? Still creates new things?Then why do we act like the Great Commission was fulfilled in 1965 and now we just need to maintain the property?

Jesus didn’t die so we could die on the hill of tradition. He rose so we could move forward with the message of the resurrection into our neighborhoods.

Here’s what has to change:

  • We need leaders who ask dangerous questions. Not heretical ones, but honest ones.
  • We need churches that give permission to fail, to experiment, to build what’s never been built.
  • We need to stop confusing liturgy with legacy. Tradition with truth.
  • We need denominations that empower churches instead of controlling them.
  • We need new expressions of the unchanging Gospel. And we need them now.

This is not a call to throw out doctrine. This is a call to remember that Scripture and our tried and true doctrine is the foundation, not the ceiling. That methods are tools, not idols. That ministry is mission, not museum curation.

If we keep silencing questions, we’ll silence the Church.

But if we listen? If we empower? If we unleash Spirit-filled, question-asking, tradition-challenging, Gospel-rooted pioneers?

Then maybe, just maybe, the next generation will stop walking away. And start walking in.

The Church doesn’t need more meetings. It needs more movement.

Let’s stop being afraid of the unknown. The God I serve…He’s already there.

Towel-Bearers in the Wild: Stories of Real Leaders Doing It the Jesus Way

May 13, 2025 / / 0 Comments

Part 7 of the “Towel-Bearers: Redefining Leadership” Series

They don’t wear name tags that say “hero.”
They don’t have book deals, podcasts, or one of those larger than life cardboard checks.
But they have towels. And they’re soaked.

These are the leaders you won’t find in conference lineups.
But heaven knows their names.

Because they’re doing it the Jesus way.

The Youth Leader Who Keeps Showing Up

She preps lessons no one seems to remember.
Deals with middle school chaos and sticky floors.
Listens when a kid says, “My dad left.”
And she doesn’t flinch.

Nobody claps.
But she shows up again. And again. And again.

That’s what Jesus looks like.

The Grandma Who Prays in Secret

She doesn’t hold a title.
She can’t stand long enough to volunteer.
But every day, her Bible is open and her hands are raised for her family, her church, her nation.

No one sees the war she’s fighting on her knees.
But the heavens shake because of her faith.

That’s what Jesus looks like.

The Pastor Who Refuses to Climb the Ladder

He’s been overlooked.
Passed over for bigger churches, flashier pulpits.
But he keeps loving his people.
He weeps with them. Marries them. Buries them. Disciples them.
No fanfare. Just faithfulness.

That’s what Jesus looks like.

The Business Leader Who Leads Differently

She could build her brand.
She could chase profit.
But instead, she raises up employees with dignity.
She writes checks to single moms who can’t pay rent.
She mentors with grace and serves without needing credit.

That’s what Jesus looks like.

This Is the New Definition of Leadership

It’s not influence. It’s integrity.
It’s not followers. It’s faithfulness.
It’s not building a name. It’s bearing a cross.

Towel-bearers don’t wait for recognition.
They don’t chase platforms.
They chase Jesus—and stoop to serve.

One Day, the Towels Will Be Traded for Crowns

Maybe nobody sees you right now.
Maybe it feels like you’re throwing seed into dry ground.

But one day, the King will come.
And He’ll say the words the world could never give you:

“Well done, good and faithful servant.”

Not for how loud you were.
But for how low you knelt.
Not for how much you built.
But for how much you poured out.

You didn’t quit.
You carried the towel.

So Here’s to You—The Towel-Bearers in the Wild

You’re the real leaders.
The brave ones.
The hidden ones.
The faithful few.

Keep serving.
Keep loving.
Keep kneeling.

The world may not know your name—but heaven already carved it in glory.

Don’t Drop the Towel: What to Do When You Want to Quit

May 8, 2025 / / 0 Comments

Part 6 of the “Towel-Bearers: Redefining Leadership” Series

You’ve prayed. You’ve poured out. You’ve kept showing up.
But if you’re honest—you’re tired.
Not just physically. Soul tired.

Ministry can hurt in ways you didn’t know possible.
People ghost you.
Plans fall flat.
Recognition for carrying the extra load never comes.
The critics? Oh, they never miss a beat.

And somewhere deep inside, you hear it:

“Just walk away. Drop the towel. You gave it your best shot.”

But hear me out:
Don’t do that!

Jesus Didn’t Quit—Even When Everyone Else Did

When things got hard, the disciples scattered.
The crowds vanished.
The miracles weren’t enough to keep people loyal.

But Jesus didn’t drop the towel.
He picked up the cross.

And He kept walking—for you.

You’re not carrying something He doesn’t understand.
He felt betrayal. He knows rejection. He walked the lonely road.

Hebrews 12:3 (ESV): “Consider him who endured from sinners such hostility against himself, so that you may not grow weary or fainthearted.”

He didn’t quit on you.
Don’t quit on what He’s put in you.

3 Ways to Hold the Towel When Everything in You Wants to Let Go

1. Name the Burnout. Don’t Fake the Strength.

You’re not superhuman. You’re not weak for needing rest.
You’re honest. That’s holy.

Jesus rested. Jesus wept. Jesus withdrew.

If He needed it, you definitely do.
So name it. Own it. And then bring it to Him.

2. Let Others Carry You for a While

Even Jesus let someone else carry His cross for a stretch. (See: Simon of Cyrene.)

So why are you trying to be the hero?

Ask for help. Tell someone you’re worn out.
You’re not less of a leader for leaning on others—you’re just finally leading real.

3. Reconnect to the Why

You didn’t start this to be famous.
You started because Jesus flipped your life upside down with grace.
You said yes because people matter. Because eternity matters.

When the “what” feels heavy, remember the “why.”

And remember Who you’re doing this for.

Grace Is for You Too.

Sometimes the hardest person to show grace to is the one in the mirror.
You preach it to others—now preach it to yourself:

You’re not failing. You’re not forgotten. You’re not done.

The towel might feel soaked with sweat, tears, and frustration—but it’s still in your hands. And Jesus is still washing feet with you.

Before You Quit, Remember This:

Quitting might quiet the pain—but it also silences your calling.
What you’re doing matters. Even if no one claps. Even if no one sees.

So no, don’t drop the towel.
Wipe your brow.
Fall into the arms of grace.
And keep going.

Because He’s not finished with you yet.

Next up in Part 7 of the Towel-Bearers series:
👉 “Towel-Bearers in the Wild: Stories of Real Leaders Doing It the Jesus Way” — a celebration of the unfiltered, unpolished, radically faithful.

When Nobody Claps: Finding Joy in Obscure Faithfulness

May 6, 2025 / / 0 Comments

Part 5 of the “Towel-Bearers: Redefining Leadership” Series

There’s no spotlight.
No applause.
No thank-you note.
No social media post shouting you out.

You vacuumed the church hallway.
Held the crying baby in the nursery.
Prayed for someone who never knew.
Texted the hurting at 2 a.m.
Showed up again. And again. And again.

And not a soul noticed.

But heaven did.

The World Cheers the Loudest Voices. The Kingdom Honors the Faithful Ones.

You won’t trend for folding chairs.
You won’t get likes for discipling one kid at a time.
No one will interview you for spending 10 years loving a community that barely responds.

But this is what Kingdom greatness actually looks like.

Jesus didn’t praise the Pharisees for their platforms.
He praised a widow for her two coins.
He honored a woman who poured perfume on His feet.

No PR team. No followers. No fame.
Just faithfulness.

Why Obscurity Might Be Your Greatest Gift

1. Obscurity Starves the Ego

When no one’s watching, there’s no performance to maintain.
No masks. No hype. No pressure.

It’s just you and Jesus.
And that’s where real leadership is forged.

The spotlight can inflate your pride.
Obscurity? That’s where the roots grow deep.

2. God Sees What Nobody Else Does

Hebrews 6:10 (ESV): “For God is not unjust so as to overlook your work and the love that you have shown for his name in serving the saints, as you still do.”

You’re not overlooked.
You’re not forgotten.
You’re not wasting your time.

The God who counts the hairs on your head counts every act of hidden faithfulness too.

3. Your Reward Is Coming—And It’s Better Than Applause

Let the world have their claps. You’re waiting for the well done.

Matthew 6:4 (ESV): “And your Father who sees in secret will reward you.”

One day, Jesus will look you in the eyes—not the crowd, not your peers—you—and say, “Well done, good and faithful servant.”

No mic drop. No stage. Just resting in His glory.

So Keep Going, Towel-Bearer

If you’re tired of doing good and getting silence in return—don’t quit.
If you’re wondering if it’s worth it when no one seems to notice—keep showing up.

You’re not serving for a standing ovation.
You’re serving the One who knelt low and washed feet.

That’s where the joy is.
Not in being seen—but in being His.

Coming up in Part 6 of the Towel-Bearers series:
“Don’t Drop the Towel: What to Do When You Want to Quit” — because leadership is heavy, but grace is stronger.

Not Your Platform: The Kingdom Isn’t About You

May 1, 2025 / / 0 Comments

Part 4 of the “Towel-Bearers: Redefining Leadership” Series

Let’s say the quiet part out loud:
Ministry has a branding problem.
Not the logos. Not the livestreams. Not the fonts.
The ego that sometimes hides behind it all.

Somewhere along the way, some have stopped preaching Jesus and started promoting ourselves. They stopped building altars and started building platforms.
And if we’re not careful, we’ll confuse applause with anointing—and miss the whole point of the Kingdom.

This Isn’t About You

We say it’s for Jesus. We sing it loud. We hashtag it.
But if we peel back the layers… too many of us are more concerned with followers on Instagram than with following the Savior.

And that’s not leadership. That’s show business in a clerical collar.

Jesus didn’t come to be admired—He came to die.
And He didn’t call us to be influencers. He called us to be cross-bearers.

3 Platform Pitfalls That Kill Kingdom Work

1. Performance Over Presence

When the platform becomes the goal, performance becomes the method.
You start curating moments for likes, not for lives changed. You start preaching for a reaction, not transformation.

Here’s the truth: performance might impress people—but it doesn’t move heaven.

Presence does.
And you can’t manufacture that. You get it by dying to self and staying rooted in Jesus.

2. Applause Becomes the Addiction

If the only time you feel valuable is when people are clapping, you’re already in trouble.

Applause is a drug. And it will never be enough.
Ask the preachers who burned out trying to chase the next standing ovation. Ask the worship leaders who lost their joy when the setlist didn’t get a standing ovation.

Kingdom leadership isn’t about being celebrated. It’s about being faithful, even when no one notices.

3. Jesus Gets Drowned Out By Our Name

We slap His name on events, but our faces are front and center.
We say “To God be the glory,” but let’s be honest—we’re tracking analytics like stockbrokers.

Let this sink in: If people remember your name but forget His, you failed.

John the Baptist had it right: “He must increase, but I must decrease.” (John 3:30, ESV)

That’s not poetic. That’s the point. It’s time to show Jesus to others not require them to hail us as king or pastor or president or whatever our title might be.

The Platform Is a Tool—Not a Throne

God may give you influence. That’s fine. Use it well.
But the moment you start climbing the stage like it’s your throne, the towel’s slipping out of your hands.

Jesus washed feet. And then He went to a cross.
The only crown He wore down here had thorns on it.

If you’re going to follow Him, leave the spotlight behind. You can’t carry a cross and your brand at the same time.

Let’s Get Back to the Mission

The Kingdom is not about building your name. It’s about surrendering it.

Drop the need to be known.
Let go of the platform you’re building.
Pick up the towel. Take the lower seat.
And let Jesus be the only name that echoes when the lights go out.

Up next in the Towel-Bearers series:
“When Nobody Claps: Finding Joy in Obscure Faithfulness” — because sometimes, the holiest work happens when no one’s watching.

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