Still Here

Photo by Ryan Snaadt on Unsplash

Hello.
We are all gathered here today on my Substack because I’m stuck.
Well, technically, today’s a Saturday morning, and I haven’t decided when exactly this will go live.
It’s weird. In one moment, I feel like I have so many things to choose from that it feels like paralysis by analysis. But then it also feels like I have nothing and am forced to pull a page out of a hat like a struggling magician desperate for gigs.

I opted to turn in my manuscript all at once (I think my editor preferred this, too).
She did say to reach out to her if I’m forcing myself into premature baldness. Not there quite yet.
But both she and my agent suggested that when I hit writer’s block, don’t stop writing. My agent said she tells her fiction clients, “If you’re stuck on what’s happening on the street with your main characters, write about what’s happening across the street. Or inside one of the cafes or stores on the street. Something will loosen up, and you’ll find something.”

Taking that advice to heart.
So here we are.

Since around 2019, at the start of each year, I’ve read Henri Nouwen’s In the Name of Jesus to remind myself what leadership can look like and, mostly, what the pitfalls we clergy fall into are.

It’s always the same.
And it’s the same temptation Jesus faced:
The temptation to be relevant.
The temptation to be impressive.
The temptation to be powerful.

Jesus rejected all three and instead chose humility, vulnerability, and love.
It’s a solid reminder of what ministry really is: never about me.

But this year, I… haven’t read it yet. And it’s Lenten season… so maybe this year it won’t happen. Or it will. Who knows?

I did start the year off reading The Let Them Theory by Mel Robbins.

Mel Robbins’ Let Them Theory is basically a two-word strategy for protecting your peace.
Most of our stress comes from trying to manage things that were never ours to manage in the first place. What people think about us. What they say about us. Whether they approve of us. Whether they show up. Whether they behave the way we hoped they would.

And Mel’s whole framework is this:
When people do something you don’t like… let them.

If someone wants to misunderstand you, let them.
If someone wants to gossip, let them.
If someone decides they don’t value the relationship the way you do, let them.
If someone doesn’t show up the way you hoped they would, let them.

Yes, it still hurts.
But you don’t get caught up in the illusion of trying to control other people.

The real power comes in the second step she pairs with it:
Let them. Then let me.

Let them do what they’re going to do.
Then let me decide how I respond.
Let me protect my time.
Let me move on.
Let me invest my energy in people who actually show up.
Let me stop chasing approval that was never coming.

So the theory isn’t about becoming passive or apathetic.
It’s about recognizing where your control ends and your agency begins.
You stop wasting emotional energy trying to manage everyone else.
And you start taking responsibility for your choices, your peace, and your next step.

You know what really sealed it for me?
Mel wrote something about how we can’t even control our own thoughts, so why do we think we can control other people?

Recently, a parishioner stopped by with her 4-year-old at the coffee shop I frequent.
The 4-year-old informed me that she has four grandparents.
And without even thinking, the words that came out of my mouth were:
“I used to have four grandparents too! But they’re all dead now.”

D’oh.
Why? Why of all the things I could’ve said did I say that? I didn’t have to say anything.
So if I can’t even control my own thoughts and mouth, why do I think I can control someone else?

Control is mostly an illusion.
The only real power we have is ourselves and our choices.

So, “let them” and “let me” have been guiding my year thus far.

Which leads to the second theme (guideline? I don’t know…) for 2026: what’s the worst that could happen?

Part of the “let them” aspect professionally is trusting the people who are taking on more roles in the church.
I’ve never been a micromanager. In fact, my leadership style has often been: let’s throw them into the water and hope for the best.

“Do they know how to swim?” the inner voice asks.
“I don’t know… but who doesn’t know how to swim?” is how my inner voice responds.

Sure, I’m not micromanaging, but that kind of looseness can be just as debilitating as micromanaging.

But I’ve been praying and asking, “Why have these people come to Mosaic? And how will they strengthen our community?”

There are going to be a lot of transitions and changes coming up in this season of Mosaic.
I’m resisting the desire to hold everything closely and leaning into, well… let them, because what’s the worst that could happen?

Professionally, that’s been giving me a chance to breathe.
What’s the worst that could happen?

People don’t like certain things, and they’ll leave. Okay. Cool. We’ll still move forward with our vision and expect God to continue connecting us with other people.

I’ll get fired. Okay. Cool. Worst comes to worst, I know some Korean church will hire me. But I think I’d try to be a prison chaplain… or a chaplain at a high school… before being employed at a Korean church.

I’ll say something stupid, and there’ll be a mass unfollowing of my social media accounts. Okay… and? The people who are standing on the same ground as me, breathing the same air as me, they are the ones who really matter to me. As long as I still have them, I’m okay.

Also, these guidelines or themes are mostly for the professional side.
I dare not ask “what’s the worst that could happen” in my personal life… because a lot could happen that I may never recover from.

Professionally, I’ll recover eventually.
I’ll find gainful employment.
I’m not moving forward recklessly (at least not intentionally). But I’m also not moving forward grasping tightly to anything except God’s calling on my life.

Third and final theme for 2026:
I’m trying to focus more on things I don’t know than things I do know.

There’s a story in the Gospels that would’ve irritated me if anyone other than Jesus had done it.
The disciples (before they were disciples) are fishing.
Jesus asks if they’ve caught anything, and the men respond that they have not.
Jesus then tells them to drop the net on the other side of the boat.

Now.
Come on.

Think about that for a second. And Jesus isn’t even a fisherman. He’s a carpenter.
Why would a carpenter tell fishermen how to do their job? And what kind of suggestion is “Have you tried the other side of the boat?”

But we’ve all encountered people who come into a meeting with no idea of the team’s culture, what work the team is engaged in… basically knowing nothing, yet acting like they know more than everyone else.

Not only have we encountered those people, we’ve been those people as well, offering opinions and thoughts without really knowing what the day-to-day life in that office or team is like.

Nobody likes a know-it-all.
Paul knew that. That’s why he said knowledge puffs up, but love builds up.

I’d rather be curious and focus on what I don’t know than be adamant about proving myself by trying to show everyone how much I know.

I say this often as a self-deprecating joke.
But I also 100% believe it: If I’m the smartest person in the room, we are most definitely in the wrong room.

Anyway.
All of this is far easier said than done.

But the point is, we keep trying to better ourselves. Every day, every moment, we have the opportunity to continue our journey toward becoming the human being God created and intended us to be.

Every day, we have the power to make choices that either better the world we are immersed in or make it worse.

That is great power.
And as Uncle Ben (not the rice guy) once said, with great power comes great responsibility.

What kind of world are you creating with the decisions you’re making?

Okay. One more final thought that kind of sounds like it belongs in a fortune cookie—but is still super useful to be mindful of at all times:

Your thoughts shape you.
Your habits build you.
Your choices define you.

Alright.
Back to this book. It’ll get done.
It’ll get done…