Tag: leadership (Page 3 of 28)

Why Most People Quit on the New Year by January 15 and How Not to Be One of Them

January 2, 2026 / / 0 Comments

Most people don’t fail at change because they lack motivation.
They fail because they try to change everything at once.

New year energy is high. Expectations are even higher. And by mid-January, a lot of people are already quietly quitting yet again.

So this year let’s try something different.

If you want 2026 to actually feel different, don’t overhaul your life. Build a few simple habits you can keep. Not impressive ones. Sustainable ones.

Here are three simple tips that work because they’re small enough to stick and strong enough to matter.

1. Start Smaller Than You Think You Should

Most people aim for dramatic. Lose 50 pounds by the end of the year. Save $1000 more per month, even though the budget can’t sustain it. Run a marathon, even though you don’t run at all. People often think big change requires big effort.

But it doesn’t. It requires consistent effort.

Ten minutes of anything beats an hour you never show up for.
One page read beats a book you never open.
One prayer spoken beats a spiritual plan that lives in your notes app.

If a habit feels heavy before you even start, it’s simply too big.

Simple truth: Momentum is built by keeping promises to yourself, not by making ambitious ones.

Ask yourself: What’s the smallest version of this habit I could actually do most days?
Start there.

2. Attach New Habits to Old Rhythms

Willpower is unreliable. Structure is not.

The easiest way to build something new is to attach it to something you already do:

  • Coffee in the morning → one quiet moment of prayer or reflection
  • Commute → listen to an audio book, podcast, or even your daily Bible plan
  • Brushing your teeth → have one question you ask yourself daily

You don’t need more time.
You need to use the time you have more efficiently.

This works for faith, fitness, reading, leadership. It works for pretty much everything.

Simple truth: If it doesn’t have a place in your day, it won’t last.

3. Measure Faithfulness, Not Outcomes

Most people quit because they measure the wrong thing.

They ask:

  • “Am I seeing results yet?”
  • “Do I feel different?”
  • “Is this working?”
  • “Do I weigh less today than yesterday?”

A better question: Did I show up today?

Showing up is the win. Repeating it is the breakthrough.

Growth, whether that’s spiritual, physical, or emotional, often happens quietly. You don’t notice it until you look back and realize you’re not where you used to be.

Simple truth: Consistency compounds even when you can’t see it yet.

A Final Coaching Question

Before this year fills up with noise, schedules, and expectations, wrestle with this:

What is one habit that if you practiced it most days would make the biggest difference by the end of the year?

Not five habits.
Not a perfect plan.
Just one habit.

Start there. Stay with it. Adjust as needed. Repeat.

And if you want help thinking through habits, rhythms, or next steps, whether faith-related or life-related in any way, I do offer one-on-one coaching. You don’t have to figure everything out alone.

Just email me here if that would be helpful.

This year doesn’t change because it’s new.
It changes when you do something new and keep doing it.

Be well, friends.

The Long Night & The Light That Still Comes

December 23, 2025 / / 1 Comment

There’s a certain point every December where the dark feels just plain heavy.

You notice it when you pull into the driveway at 4:50 p.m. and your headlights hit the same patch of ground they hit at 8 p.m. It’s the long night. The season where the sun seems to give up early. The time of year where the cold settles in your bones and even the land feels like it’s bracing itself.

This is the month when the chickens go to bed way too soon, the fields disappear into a huge shadow of darkness, and the only light I see is whatever spills out from the porch lamp or flickers inside the fireplace.

The long night is real in more places than the just the farm.

December brings its own shadows. It comes in the griefs that resurface. The pressure that tightens. The loneliness that sneaks up. The exhaustion that no amount of caffeine can solve. The reminder of what didn’t go as planned this year.

Nobody advertises that part of Christmas.

But the long night shows up anyway. On the land. In the house. In the heart.

And that’s exactly where Advent speaks the strongest.

Because Advent never pretended the night wasn’t long. It just proclaimed, with stubborn hope: The Light still comes.

Not because we earned it.
Not because we’re ready.
Not because we finally got our spiritual crap together.

But because God refuses to let the darkness win.

“The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.” – John 1:5 (ESV)

Every December night on this thirteen acre piece of land the same truth is preached to me.

When I walk from the barn to the house and the only illumination is a thin beam from a flashlight. When the cold wraps around me like a heavy blanket. When the trees stand like dark silhouettes against the sky.

That’s when I remember. Light doesn’t need ideal conditions. It just needs to show up.

And Jesus showed up.

Not in a palace. Not in a spotlight. Not when everyone was fine. Not when the world was filled with peace and calm.

He stepped into the long night of a world that couldn’t save itself. He stepped into Roman oppression. Into spiritual confusion. Into political tension. Into ordinary people living ordinary struggles.

He came into our darkness – not to judge us for it, but to break it.

And He’s still doing it.

He does it in hospital rooms. In quiet living rooms lit by a single Christmas tree. In sanctuaries where candles flicker against stained glass. In cars where people cry on their way home. In barns and bedrooms and kitchens and churches and cold nights out on the land.

The Light still comes. And the darkness still loses.

So as Christmas arrives and this series closes, here’s your last Christmas invite:

Don’t fear the long night. Instead look for the Light. Even the smallest flame pushes back the dark. Even the faintest glow announces hope. Even the smallest spark of faith proclaims: He’s here.

On these acres, in this season, in this life of yours Advent ends with one promise. The Light has come, the Light is here, and the Light will keep coming.

And the darkness? It never gets the final word.

Splitting Wood & Spiritual Strength

December 19, 2025 / / 0 Comments

How resistance shapes us in Advent.

If you want to know who you really are, grab an axe and head to the woodpile.

There’s something brutally honest about splitting wood. It’s you, the log, the cold, and the undeniable truth that no amount of wishful thinking will split that piece of oak for you.

You swing.
You miss.
You curse under your breath.
You readjust.
You swing again.
Eventually something gives, either the log… or your back.

And standing there in the bite of December, with woodchips sticking to your jeans and steam rising off your breath, the Advent lesson hits hard:

Strength doesn’t appear out of nowhere. It’s built. Slowly. Repetitively. Through resistance.

We love the idea of spiritual strength. We want deeper faith, stronger trust, steadier souls, and an unshakeable hope.

But we quietly, secretly, and deeply wish we could gain all of that without the swing of the axe, without the struggle, without the repetition. Heck without the resistance!

The woodpile disagrees.

And if we’re honest, so does Scripture.

“Not only that, but we rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope.” – Romans 5:3-4 (ESV)

Suffering → endurance → character → hope. It’s the spiritual version of swing → resistance → breakthrough → warmth.

Nobody gets firewood without effort. Nobody gets spiritual fire without endurance.

When I’m out on my acreage with a pile of unsplit logs staring me down, I realize how often I want Advent to be sentimental instead of strengthening. I want warm lights and hot drinks and sweet moments not the hard work of shaping a soul.

But Advent wasn’t meant to be sentimental. It was meant to build strength.

Strength to wait.
Strength to trust.
Strength to hope in the dark.
Strength to believe God is working even when the world feels cold and stubborn.

Jesus didn’t come because we were strong. He came because we couldn’t be.

And yet, He doesn’t leave us weak.

He shapes us.
He strengthens us.
He forms us like a woodcutter forms kindling. He does it through pressure, repetition, faithfulness, and time.

So here’s this week’s invitation:

When life feels heavy and the resistance feels real… don’t despise the woodpile. God might be building the exact strength you’ve been praying for.

Breakthrough doesn’t come without the swing. Warmth doesn’t come without effort. Spiritual strength doesn’t come without God using the hard places to shape us.

Advent continues not just warming our hearts for Christmas, but forging them for the world we’re called to love.

Frozen Chicken Waterers & Faithfulness

December 12, 2025 / / 0 Comments

Sometimes it’s about showing up in the hard moments of Advent.

There’s nothing quite like the sound of cracking ice out of a chicken waterer at 5:15 a.m. in December to remind you that life isn’t always inspirational.

The sun isn’t up.
The wind is disrespectfully strong.
Your gloves are never as warm as the advertisement promises.
And the chickens, God bless them, stare at you like you caused winter.

This is the part of acreage living nobody puts on Instagram.
This is the part of ministry no one writes worship songs about.
This is the part of December that Hallmark keeps pretending doesn’t exist.

But here’s the undeniable truth: Faithfulness rarely feels glamorous. Most days it looks like freezing fingers, stubborn chores, and showing up anyway.

While I’m kicking an ice block out of a bucket before the first cup of coffee, Advent hits me with another lesson:

God didn’t wait for ideal conditions to show up. So I can’t either?

He came when the world was cold.
He came when the night was long.
He came when the people were tired, worn, frustrated, waiting, fed up, and spiritually frozen.

He came into the mess not after the mess cleaned itself up.

That little water bucket in the coop preaches the Gospel better than half the sermons I write:

Faithfulness is doing what’s needed even when it’s inconvenient, unseen, and uncelebrated.

Advent reminds me that God Himself is faithful in the same way. Not flashy. Not loud. Not waiting for me to be impressive.

Just showing up. Every day. Every moment. Every season.

Jesus didn’t come because the world finally got it together. He came because we couldn’t.

And He kept showing up…
in Nazareth,
in the wilderness,
in people’s pain,
in their questioning,
in the overlooked corners of life.

If God can show up in a manger, He can show up in my frozen chicken coop. He can show up in your stress-filled December. He can show up in worship number three of the week. He can show up when the schedule is too full, the emotions are thin, and the to-do list is laughing at you.

So here’s the heart of Advent Week 2:

Advent faith isn’t built in warm moments. It’s built in cold mornings.
It’s built when you show up even when you don’t feel like it.
It’s built in small, faithful steps that nobody sees but God.

The chickens never say thank you. Life doesn’t always say thank you. Ministry certainly doesn’t always say thank you.

But faithfulness was never about applause. It’s about presence.

God’s presence with us. Our presence in the small things. His steady love. Our steady steps.

Even if those steps involve a frozen chicken waterer and breath you can see in the air.

Advent continues one cold morning at a time. And yep…God is still faithful.

The Angel’s Share

December 10, 2025 / / 0 Comments

If you’ve spent any time around bourbon, you know the distillers have a strange way of talking about loss.

You see every year a portion of the aging bourbon evaporates through the barrel.

Nope. It’s not spilled. Not wasted. Not mismanaged. Just… gone.

They call it the angel’s share. That phrase has to be read in a deep and mysterious kind of voice by the way.

I remember the first time I heard that term. I thought, Only the bourbon world could romanticize losing product and actually celebrate it.

But the longer I sit with this idea. And frankly the longer I sit with life, the more I realize they’re actually onto something spiritual.

The Loss No One Likes… but Everyone Needs

The angel’s share can take 2–5% of the barrel every single year. Yeah! That adds up fast.

Imagine running a business where a chunk of your inventory literally disappears into the air and you just shrug and smile.

But distillers understand something we often forget: If the bourbon isn’t evaporating, it isn’t maturing.

The loss is a sign that transformation is happening deep inside the wood. Something slow, hidden, and impossible to reverse.

You don’t get complex, rich bourbon without the angel’s share. And you don’t get deep, resilient faith without losing some of yourself along the way.

The Parts of Life You Think You’re Losing…May Be Exactly What God Is Using

Friends, here’s the part no one likes to say out loud:

Some of the losses you grieve were never meant to stay with you.
Some dreams needed to evaporate.
Some plans had to leave the barrel of your life so something stronger, wiser, and more Christlike could form in their place.

We don’t think that way, at least not naturally. We see loss as failure. We see change as disruption. We see evaporation as a problem to fix.

But in the hands of God? Loss becomes formation. Surrender becomes strength. Letting go becomes freedom. And the things that slip through the cracks may very well be the things that were holding you back.

What evaporates is not always what’s essential. Sometimes it’s what’s excess.

Distillers don’t panic when the angel’s share takes its portion. They expect it. They plan for it. They even build their warehouses knowing that warm summers mean more loss and more flavor.

Loss is built into the process.

When was the last time you saw your life that way?

Instead of saying, “Why is this happening to me?”
What if the question became, “Lord, what are You forming in me through this?”

Instead of asking, “Why did I lose that opportunity?”
What if the real question is, “What space is this creating for the next one?”

Instead of gripping tightly to the past, maybe we ask, “What are You freeing me from so I can grow into who You’re calling me to be?”

The angel’s share reminds us that maturity always costs something.

Let the Right Things Evaporate

Sometimes we need to let expectations evaporate. Or our need to control everything. Or our obsession with certainty. Or the pressure to be everything to everyone.

And sometimes we need to let old versions of ourselves fade, so Christ can form something new, something deeper inside us.

Don’t fear what God removes. Fear only the things you cling to that keep you from becoming who you were called to be.

A bourbon that never loses anything never gains anything. And neither do we.

So here’s the invitation: Trust the process. Trust the loss. Trust the God who knows exactly what needs to evaporate so your life can mature.

The angel’s share isn’t stealing from you.
It’s shaping you.

The Quiet Field

December 5, 2025 / / 0 Comments

Finding Stillness on Acres in Advent

There’s a kind of silence that you only get on thirteen acres in early December.

It isn’t peaceful in one of those “spa with music and scented candles” kind of way. Not that I’d find that peaceful anyway!

It’s peaceful in the “everything is frozen and refusing to move” kind of way.

The grass is brittle. The garden is dead. The mud is solid. The trees creak like old bones every time the wind pushes through. Even the chickens give me that look that says “really… you came out here for this?”

And honestly? I feel the same way.

December doesn’t ask permission before it steamrolls you. It shows up with a clipboard full of expectations:
Christmas programs.
Three worship services every week.
Sermons.
Meetings.
Family plans.
Shopping.
School programs.
Year-end everything.

The month demands so much noise from me… while the land around me goes completely quiet.

And that’s the first gut-punch lesson Advent always hands me: The world gets loud, but God often whispers.

You’d think the “holy season” would feel holy. But Advent rarely starts that way for me. It usually starts with me trying to figure out how to beat the sun to the chicken coop, how to not slip on the icy slope behind the barn, and how in the world I’m going to get everything done before the 24th.

But out there on that cold, stubborn ground I’m reminded that God does His best work in the quiet places.

“Be still, and know that I am God.”  Psalm 46:10 (ESV)

Be still?
In December?
Sure, God. Let me just pencil that in between “fix frozen coop door” and “write sermon number three for the week.”

But that’s exactly the point. Stillness isn’t what happens when everything calms down. Stillness is what happens when I stop pretending I can carry everything myself.

The fields don’t fight the season. The garden doesn’t resist the freeze. The trees don’t argue their way out of winter. They simply… stop. Rest. Wait.

Advent is the Church’s way of reminding us: You can’t force fruit in winter. But you can prepare your heart for the Light that’s about to break in.

So this week, here’s my Advent invitation not just to you, but to myself:

Step into the quiet field, even if it’s only for five minutes.

Bundled up. Breath in the cold air. Let the noise fall off you. Let your soul settle for a moment so you can hear the whisper again.

Because while the world is screaming for more, God is quietly preparing to give us what we could never give ourselves:

A Savior.
A Light in the long night.
Hope wrapped in flesh.

Out here on the acreage, Advent begins with a frozen field and a quiet whisper. And honestly? That’s enough.

It’s Not About Getting Over It, It’s About Moving Forward With Hope

December 4, 2025 / / 0 Comments

Grief is a beast that doesn’t play fair. It doesn’t show up on a schedule or follow a timeline even though you’d wish it would. Some people carry it quietly for years while others face a storm so fierce it shakes every part of their soul in days. And that’s okay. Everyone travels grief at their own pace, with their own pain.

There’s no “normal” when it comes to loss. No checklist or rulebook. You can’t rush it, hide from it, or power through it like a mountain to be conquered. Grief isn’t a problem to fix; it’s a journey to walk sometimes stumbling, sometimes crawling, sometimes walking with surprising strength.

The point isn’t to just “get over it.” The point isn’t to pretend the loss never happened or shove it deep down where no one can see. The point is to keep walking, even when every step feels heavy, every breath feels sharp, and every memory cuts like a knife.

Hope is what carries us through. It’s not a vague, feel-good sentiment, but a deep, unshakable hope rooted in the promise that loss isn’t the end. That one day, healing will come in ways we can’t imagine right now. That light breaks through even the darkest of nights.

The Bible reminds us in Psalm 34:18 (ESV): “The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit.” You may feel crushed, shattered, or lost but you are not alone. God is near, holding you close through every tear and every step.

You don’t have to have it all together. You don’t have to be strong all the time. It’s okay to cry, to rage, to feel lost. It’s even okay to be pissed off at God. But don’t stop moving forward.

Lean into hope. Let it hold you when the weight is too much. Reach out to someone a friend, a counselor, a community because grief was never meant to be carried alone.

If you’re walking through grief today, this is your call: Keep going. Take one more step. Hold on to hope. You’re not alone, and healing is possible even when it feels impossible.

The Barrel Matters

December 3, 2025 / / 1 Comment

You can tell a lot about a bourbon long before you ever pop the cork. Not by its label. Not by the hype. Not even by its age.

If you really want to know what a bourbon is becoming, you’ve got to look at the barrel.

Ask any distiller and they’ll tell you the same truth every time. Up to 70% of a bourbon’s flavor comes from the barrel it rests in.

The wood. The char. The warehouse. The seasons. The environment shapes the spirit.

And sitting with a glass the other night, it hit me: It’s the same with you and me.

You Become Whatever You Soak In

Bourbon doesn’t get to choose its barrel, but you and I often do.

We decide what environments we rest our souls in. We choose what voices we let season our thinking. We choose the habits that fill our time. The people we run with. The rhythms we tolerate. And the noise we allow to flood our heads.

And then we’re shocked when the final product of our life tastes a little… off.

Look. If you spend your days soaking in anxiety, outrage, endless scrolling, and the opinions of people who don’t actually know you, then your spirit will reflect that. If you surround yourself with cynics, don’t be surprised when your joy feels watered down. If your faith is marinating in hurry, distraction, and an inch-deep spirituality, don’t wonder why you feel spiritually thin.

Your barrel shapes your spirit. Every single time.

Here’s the wild thing about bourbon barrels. They don’t just hold the bourbon. They actually transform it.

Over time the liquid pulls flavors out of the wood. The bourbon slowly takes on its color, its warmth, its depth. It becomes like whatever it rests in.

Your soul works the same way.

Spend enough time around people who love Jesus, who call out the best in you, who pray for you, who challenge you, who remind you who you are and you’ll notice your own character start to deepen.

Your thinking gets clearer. Your reactions get slower. Your compassion grows. Your faith gets steadier.

Spend enough time in Scripture, prayer, worship, and simple, quiet obedience and you’ll start tasting like the fruit of the Spirit.

You don’t become like Jesus by trying harder. You become like Jesus by staying close.

Just like bourbon in the right barrel, transformation happens through proximity, not pressure.

Check Your Barrels

Maybe the most spiritual thing some of us could do this week isn’t reading another book or listening to another podcast or heck even skimming the latest blog from our pastor. Maybe it’s doing a little inventory of the barrels we’re sitting in.

So sip on these things.

  • Who’s shaping you?
  • What are you soaking in?
  • What environment is slowly, silently forming your character?

If the answer is “I’m not really sure,” then you might already have your answer.

Friends, faith doesn’t grow in a vacuum. It grows in an environment.

And here’s the good news. You get to choose yours.

Choose the barrel that brings out the best in you.
Choose the people who speak life, not drama.
Choose the rhythms that draw you closer to Christ, not further into chaos.
Choose the habits that deepen your soul rather than drain it.

Because at the end of the day, everybody matures into something. The question is simply: What are you becoming like?

So here’s your bourbon-fueled reminder for the week: Bourbon becomes what it rests in, and so do you.

Choose your barrel wisely.

When the Toughest Choices Are the Only Right Ones

December 2, 2025 / / 0 Comments

Hard truth – Life isn’t about the easy road. Sometimes, the thing you don’t want to do – the move, the job change, the painful goodbye is exactly the thing you have to do. There’s just no sugarcoating it.

Maybe it’s walking away from a dream you built with vast amounts of your own sweat and tears. Closing the business you poured your heart into. Selling the church property that once felt like home to make way for a new ministry that’s more alive.

It sucks. It hurts. It feels like betrayal. But guess what? Sometimes the hardest things are the right things.

If you’re waiting for clarity, it might come wrapped in heartbreak. If you’re hoping for peace, it might arrive after the storm hits hardest. The hard choices? They strip you down, shake you up, and break you open to something new which is often something better.

Jesus didn’t promise comfort. He promised transformation. The path to growth is littered with tough calls and goodbye tears. The right thing rarely feels easy or convenient. It often feels like the end of everything you know.

But that’s exactly why it’s right.

So stop waiting. Stop running. Do the hard thing. Because on the other side of pain is power. On the other side of loss is life.

And if you don’t do it? You’re stuck. Stuck in yesterday’s story. Stuck in a life that’s smaller than what God has for you.

Do the hard thing. Do it bold. Do it now.

What Bourbon Teaches About Life

November 26, 2025 / / 0 Comments

There’s something almost sacred about the way a good bourbon is made. Not rushed. Not hurried. Not microwaved or sped up or forced through shortcuts. Just time, patience, the right environment, and a process that refuses to be cheated.

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about how the best things in life take time and how often we try to rush the very moments meant to shape us.

The Unhurried Art of Bourbon

Take bourbon, for example. You can’t fake the aging process. You can’t speed-mature character into the liquid. Bourbon becomes bourbon because it rests, because it spends years in oak barrels absorbing flavor, depth, and identity from seasons of heat, cold, pressure, and change.

Life isn’t all that different.

We go through seasons of heat and seasons of chill. Moments of pressure and times of release. Chapters where everything expands and chapters where everything contracts. Every one of those seasons is meant to shape us, deepen us, and mature us into who God designed us to be.

But here’s the catch: you can’t rush maturity.

You can rush tasks. You can rush schedules. You can rush decisions. But you cannot rush character.

When we speed through the hard stuff, when we numb the pain, when we dodge the lesson, we rob ourselves of the slow aging that produces wisdom, courage, compassion, and resilience.

A Bourbon Worth Sipping: Four Roses Single Barrel

One of the bottles that reminds me of this truth is Four Roses Single Barrel. It’s a bourbon that refuses to hide its story.

Pour a glass and you’ll notice:

  • The nose: warm vanilla, hints of caramel, a gentle floral sweetness, and a little spice that almost waves hello before settling in.
  • The palate: layers of ripe fruit, honey, oak, a smidge of cinnamon, and a long, smooth finish that doesn’t hurry to leave.

It’s a bourbon with character not because someone engineered it quickly, but because it was allowed to become something worth savoring.

On a scale of 1–5, I’d give Four Roses Single Barrel a solid 4. It’s reliable, flavorful, and balanced… the kind of pour that reminds you that patience produces depth.

Slow Down and Let Life Season You

If bourbon teaches us anything, it’s this: Your life is aging into something rich and meaningful but only if you let it.

The seasons you’d rather skip? They’re the very ones adding depth.

The experiences you wish would hurry up and end? They might be shaping compassion you’ll need later.

The frustrations, the waiting, the unanswered prayers, the stretches where God feels quiet…Those are all part of your barrel time.

You are becoming. Just not at the speed you wish.

Take It Slow On Purpose

Maybe today’s invitation is simple:

  • Sit in the moment instead of sprinting past it.
  • Let the lesson settle instead of resisting it.
  • Allow God to work at the unhurried pace of transformation.

Good bourbon takes years. Good character takes a lifetime.

And both are worth the wait.

So tonight, if you pour a glass of something rich and warm, maybe pause long enough to ask:

“What is God aging in me right now?”

Because you might just find that the slowest seasons are the ones producing the deepest flavor in your life.

Cheers to patience, to growth, and to becoming who you were crafted to be.

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