The Season You Didn't Choose

Hey {{first_name | there}},

Some seasons choose you. 

You didn't burn out. You didn't fail. There's no bad quarter to point to, no burned bridge, no strategy that missed. Everything was actually working — and then the pace just... shifted. Something bigger put a hand on your shoulder and said, slow down. Not as a punishment or a warning.

Just: Not like this. Not at that speed.

For a high-capacity leader, that might be one of the most disorienting places to stand. Because you know how to push through hard things. What you're less practiced at is sitting inside something you didn't ask for — and trusting that the One who changed your pace knows what He's doing.

When our family moved to Lima, Peru, I went with vision. With momentum. With a clear sense of call. And for stretches, that felt alive and right.

But there were seasons in Lima where things went quiet in ways I wasn't prepared for. The ministry wasn't landing like I expected. My cultural intelligence was exposing gaps I didn't know were there. Progress felt invisible. And I kept doing what I know how to do — I pushed.

Harder. Faster. More strategic. More effort.

It didn't work. 

Eventually — not because I was wise, but because I ran out of road — I got quiet. And in that quiet, I started to notice something. God wasn't withholding momentum from me. He was doing something in me that momentum would have prevented. 

Formation doesn't happen at sprint speed. It never has.

There's a line in Psalm 23 I've returned to more times than I can count. David writes: "He makes me lie down in green pastures."

Not invites. Not suggests. Makes. 

The shepherd knows when the sheep need to stop — even when the sheep are still moving and convinced they're fine. And what looks like a limitation from the inside often looks like protection from the outside.

C.S. Lewis wrote that "God whispers to us in our pleasures, speaks in our conscience, but shouts in our pains." I'd add: He sometimes changes the subject entirely by changing your pace. The interruption isn't the message — it's the delivery vehicle.

When God changes your pace, it's rarely about stopping you. It's almost always about forming you. 

Jeremiah 29 often gets quoted at graduations and vision nights. But the context is a people in exile — living in a place they didn't choose, at a pace they didn't plan for. And the word to them wasn't just to hold on and survive. It was: Build houses. Plant gardens. Seek the welfare of the city.

Be fully present to where I've put you. Not suspended. Not holding your breath for the pace to return. Fully engaged with the people in front of you, the work in your hands, and the season you're actually in.

That changes how you lead. You stop leading from anticipation — always angled toward what's next — and start leading from presence. Which, if you're honest, is often exactly what your team has been waiting for anyway.

The exile wasn't a mistake. It was the curriculum. 

We often refer to the 5 Voices lens when discerning how this specifically impacts our own leadership journey because your wiring shapes how a divine change of pacde feels — and what it's asking of you.

Pioneers feel it as friction. The path that was clear goes foggy. Decisiveness starts spinning without traction. The instinct is to push harder until the momentum returns. But the invitation isn't more speed — it's clarity on direction before you re-accelerate. God often slows a Pioneer down to refine what they're building toward, not just how fast.

Guardians feel it as a threat. An unplanned slowdown triggers the instinct to control everything within reach. The Guardian tightens. But what God is often doing in the pause is asking: will you protect My work, or only yours? Letting go of the grip is the formation.

Connectors feel it relationally — like disconnection. Less momentum means fewer wins to celebrate, fewer reasons people need to gather. And the Connector quietly wonders if they still matter. The invitation is depth. The pace change strips away surface activity and creates space for something more real. Don't rush to fill it.

Creatives have a complicated relationship with divine pace changes. At first, the silence can feel clarifying — new ideas, fresh vision. But extend the slowdown, and the Creative mind that loves possibility starts to loop. Restlessness disguises itself as discernment. The invitation for the Creative is to stay in the uncertainty long enough for God's vision to form — not the next idea you manufacture to escape the quiet.

Nurturers often carry the pace change quietly and personally. When the season slows, they wonder if they've let people down. They absorb the disappointment of the team, the family, the community — and make it theirs. The invitation for the Nurturer isn't to carry this more gently. It's to receive. God changing your pace is not correction. It's care. Let it be that.

Different wiring. Same invitation. Stay in the pace He's set — not because you've given up, but because you trust the One holding the timeline.

Here are three questions worth sitting with this week:

Don't answer too quickly. Sit with them.

The interruption isn't the end of the story. It might be the beginning of the most important chapter in it.

YOU are that leader. 

Always In Your Corner,

— Josh