When the Leaders Fail, Will You Still Lead?

What happens when we realize we've outgrown those who once guided us?

friends,

I’ve been so disappointed lately. it hurts. Disappointed in what I’m seeing from leaders—especially those who claim to move in the name of God but have no problem mistreating His people. Disappointed in the way power corrupts, how easily men like Trump, Vance, and Elon twist influence into something self-serving, something hollow. Disappointed in how so many leaders crumble when the political winds shift, their policies and philosophies bending like reeds in a storm. As if truth is something that expires when a new administration takes over.

But disappointment is not where we dwell. It is only the clearing, the place where revelation rises. And I see clearly now: We are not afraid.

As we grow, as we become the best work of our life, we will outgrow places and people who once felt spiritually safe for us. Not that our current leaders today represented it, but this will continue to happen on a macro level and also at the micro level. In our day to day lives. This is inevitable. It is not our fault. And we must recognize when it happens so it does not break us.

I had a conversation recently with someone I once considered a mentor. Someone I’ve learned from, someone whose voice once shaped my thinking. With everything unfolding—why?! taking root, BestWork becoming clearer—I was eager to share. He reached out, wanted to connect, and I gathered everything. I held it all in my hands like an offering.

But the moment I started speaking, I could feel it: the absence. He did not ask a single question. I kept opening the door—“Let me know your thoughts, let me know if you have questions”—but he gave me nothing. And then, after I had poured it all out, he finally spoke. Not with curiosity. Not with encouragement. But with doubt. Fear. Assumptions that weren’t true.

And I realized: I had outgrown him.

This is what happens when as we walk in our fullness. Those who have not yet reckoned with their own calling will not understand ours. Our clarity makes them uncomfortable. And in their discomfort, the darkness in them will try to pull us back, not because they are evil, but because our courage forces them to confront their own hesitation. Our faith becomes their indictment.

If you’ve outgrown a spiritually safe space, here’s how you will know it:

• They project doubt. They won’t ask what you see. They will tell you what they see. And they will tell you it cannot be done. That it is too much, too risky, too impossible. But the truth is, it is too much for them. They could never imagine themselves doing it, so they try to make sure you don’t either.

• They challenge your belief—not to sharpen it, but to weaken it. There is a difference between iron sharpening iron and someone trying to dull your edge. Pay attention.

• You feel the pull to make yourself smaller. To soften your convictions. To dim your light so they are not blinded by what they refuse to see in themselves. But this is not the time to make them comfortable. This is the time to stand firm in the light God has given you.

• They will try to attack the parts that hurt the most. The areas where you’ve struggled, the places where doubt has tried to creep in before. They will poke at your fears, your past failures, the soft spots you thought you had healed. Not because they are right, but because they sense where you are vulnerable. Do not let them in.

• It hits like a gut punch. Because you remember when this place, this person, was safe. When you could trust their counsel. When their words carried weight. But now you see the shift. You see the line. And you know—you cannot become in spiritually unsafe spaces.

This is the moment to double down. To turn disappointment into clarity, disillusionment into vision. We don’t just abandon old systems—we build new ones. We don’t just lament the leaders who fail—we become the leaders we need.

Now is the time to take things into our own hands. To reimagine what is possible. To create what does not yet exist. If the spaces we once trusted have become hostile to our becoming, we make new spaces. If the voices we once followed are speaking fear, we speak faith. If they say it cannot be done, we show them otherwise.

And this is exactly what the administration, the powerful, and the fearful want. They want us to believe we are unsafe. That they control the future. That their corruption, their compromises, their shifting allegiances dictate what happens next. But they are wrong.

Because we are not afraid. Because we know Who is in control. Because we serve the One who was, who is, and who is to come. The One who raises up kings and removes them, who sees the wickedness of men and does not turn a blind eye.

So let them flail. Let them grasp at power like sand slipping through their fingers. We will keep the faith. We will not be moved. We will not dim our light this season.

We will stay the course. We will keep becoming. We will keep doing the work.

And when the world looks around for answers, they will find us—unshaken, unafraid, and already building what they said could not be done.

There was a time when I would have mourned these losses, when I would have grieved over those I once called leaders. But not now. Now, I see it for what it is: an invitation. An ascension. A call to step up, to stand in the light, to lead.

sending you so much love,

m