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A few weeks ago, I spent an afternoon doing the hardest and probably most hated gardening - weeding. Not the easy kind — pulling a few stray blades of grass from a flower bed — but the real fight. Dandelions in the lawn. Clover threading through the landscape rocks, invisible until you look closely, and by then it's everywhere. If you've ever tried to remove a mature dandelion, you know the problem isn't what you see above the soil. It's what's below it. The taproot can run

There's a version of leadership we've all been trained to perform. It looks like composure. It looks like having an answer for every question, a plan for every contingency, a steady hand on every lever. We call it strength. Often, it's actually control — and control, dressed up in the language of decisiveness, is one of the most spiritually dangerous postures a leader can adopt. I want to dig into the difference between two leadership postures that can look almost identical f

I live in two time zones. Sometimes three, depending on the season and which continent I've landed on. My calendar looks like a small air traffic control tower — Apple Clock has a permanent row of cities pinned to it, Google Calendar booking schedules save my brain from all the calculations, and make it easier for clients. But this week, reading through the books of Samuel, I ran into a different kind of time zone problem. Not geography this time — history. In 1 Samuel 12:20–

David wrote Psalm 27 with armies camped against him. Not a metaphor. Not a bad quarter. The Philistines and the Ammonites had pitched their tents around Israel, and David — king, warrior, the man who'd already killed a giant — sat down and wrote this: "The Lord is my light and my salvation — whom shall I fear? The Lord is the stronghold of my life — of whom shall I be afraid? When the wicked advance against me to devour me, it is my enemies and my foes who will stumble and fa