Conviction has a way of rearranging our priorities.

It was early Monday morning, still cold and dark outside, when I pulled up to the Lone Oak office.

Jennifer wasn’t scheduled to work, which meant I was going to “get ahead” of the week—two presentations, a blog post, and a letter to residents sat at the top of my list. It was the kind of day that feels productive before it even begins.

But before anything else, I had one goal in mind: light the wood-burning stove.

There’s something sacred about that morning ritual—the natural heat, a quiet crackle, the hot flames warming the room. I wanted our team to walk in a few hours later and feel welcomed by warmth and intention.

By 7:30, I was deep into writing when I stepped outside to grab another log from under the covered boardwalk. I dropped it on the glowing coals, dusted off my hands, and sat back down.

That’s when my phone chimed.

It was a text from a friend—a mom whose son had attended our summer camp for over a decade. I hadn’t heard from her in a while.

“Hi Brian, hope you’re doing well. Steve (name changed) is needing a sanctuary today. His first thought was Lone Oak. Would it be okay if he came out?”

I wish I could say my first thought was noble and generous. It wasn’t.

My brain went straight to the to-do list. The schedule. The goals I’d gotten up early to conquer. This wasn’t part of the plan.

(Side note: My friend, Victoria, and I have a term for people who sit too long in self-pity—Poopy Pants.

Let’s just say…I was wearing mine proudly in that moment.)

Then came the quiet nudge—the kind that doesn’t shout but still pushes you toward a direction change.

What are you really here for, Brian? Where do you bring real value? If you can’t offer a quiet place to someone in need, what are you even doing?

Conviction has a way of rearranging our priorities.

I texted back:

“You’re always welcome. It’s a beautiful, sunny day. I’ve got a few meetings, but I’ll make some time.”

A few hours later, Steve arrived. We grabbed my dog and headed down one of the wooded, hiking trails. He talked about life, stress, and faith. I asked a few questions and just listened.

When I first met Steve, he was eight years old, playing trumpet at flag raising. Now he’s grown—navigating life and looking for the same peace he once found here as a young boy.

He didn’t need advice that morning. He just needed space—some quiet—and someone to listen.

After our 30-minute walk, he left me for a familiar, quiet space at the ranch to read and write.
This gave me time to finish my projects.

Funny thing—when we stay focused on what matters, the work always finds a way of getting done.

Before lunch, he stopped by my office, shared a “thank you,” gave me a hug, and went on his way.

But my day wasn’t full because of the completed list. It was full because there was meaning and personal value added.

So the next time your list feels heavy, and your plans feel sacred…look up.

There might be someone across the room who needs you more than your schedule does.

Remain encouraged,
Brian