Before the House Wakes
When the Stories of Our Past Whisper Direction for Our Future
Most leaders I work with wake up already behind.
Before their feet hit the floor, their minds are scanning: deadlines, school schedules, client demands, aging parents, performance metrics, unread texts. The day hasn’t started, and already the pressure hums.
It’s no wonder Lent can feel irrelevant. Who has time for reflection when you’re just trying to stay afloat?
And yet, when someone recently asked me what Lent means to me, my mind didn’t go to theology or discipline.
It went to the dark.
Every morning during Lent, my older sister Janet took me to 7:00 a.m. Mass at the church across the street. In the cold New York winter, it was still dark when we bundled up and slipped outside. Snow crunched under our boots. The world was quiet.
It felt like an adventure.
I felt chosen—on a mission, just the two of us—walking toward something sacred before the world stirred.
The Stories That Form Us
In my last post, I wrote about Making Sense of Your Story. This small scene is another piece of mine—my faith story.
Our stories are not sentimental nostalgia. They are formation.
They tell us where our values were born. What we learned about belonging. How we came to define success, goodness, sacrifice—even God.
Janet was the only one in our family excited about church. My parents attended occasionally for milestone events. My older sister was busy being a glamorous teenager. But Janet and I slipped away in the dark.
Sitting in that pew with the handful of faithful souls who braved the snowy morning felt almost conspiratorial—like we knew something others didn’t. A small band of worshipers who believed showing up mattered.
That memory still carries warmth.
But it’s doing more than warming me.
It’s instructing me.
Formation Is Happening Right Now
If you’re in your thirties or forties, your mornings likely look nothing like snowy walks to church.
They look like:
Packing lunches
Checking email before coffee
Negotiating toddler meltdowns or teenage silence
Preparing for presentations
Wondering if you’re falling behind
Lent can feel like one more thing to add to the list.
But here’s what that childhood memory reminds me:
Formation happens in small, repeated moments.
The person you are becoming is being shaped right now—
In how you respond when you’re tired.
In whether you check your phone or look into your child’s eyes.
In how you speak to yourself after a mistake.
In what you chase when no one is watching.
Every decade brings its own pressure.
In your thirties, it may be proving.
In your forties, sustaining.
In your fifties and beyond, releasing.
But beneath all of it is one steady question:
Who am I becoming?
The Identity Beneath the Achievement
As I approach a landmark birthday this year, I’m asking a different version of that question.
Who am I if my schedule is lighter?
If influence is quieter?
If productivity no longer defines me?
At first, that felt unsettling.
My ego had opinions.
But then that early memory resurfaced.
That little girl walking through the snow before dawn—groggy yet thrilled. Not building a résumé. Not cultivating influence. Just drawn toward God.
It feels less like retreat and more like return.
And here’s the surprising truth: whether you are building your career or recalibrating it, the deeper invitation is the same.
Maybe Lent Isn’t About Doing More
Perhaps Lent—especially for leaders carrying much—is not about adding heroic disciplines.
Maybe it’s about gentle reorientation.
Five minutes of silence before the house wakes.
One commute without a podcast.
One intentional breath in the parking lot before walking into the office.
One honest prayer whispered between meetings.
Not dramatic.
Not performative.
Just attentive.
This year, I’m choosing to read, to pray, to listen. I’m asking God to clarify the next decade—my commitments, my yes and my no.
But if you’re younger, your questions may sound different:
Am I enough?
Is this pace sustainable?
What am I sacrificing without realizing it?
Those are sacred questions too.
A Simple Reflection for Busy Leaders
Take ten quiet minutes this week and ask yourself:
What early memory shaped how I think about success?
Where did I first learn what “being good” means?
What am I chasing right now?
What might I need to release—or return to?
Your story is not just explaining your past.
It may be pointing you toward your truest future.
Ash Wednesday marks the beginning of Lent—a season of humility and recalibration. A reminder that we are dust, yes—but dust animated by breath.
Perhaps the invitation is not to strive harder, but to walk—quietly and intentionally—toward the light before dawn.
Even leaders who carry much are still invited there.
He has shown you, O man, what is good; and what does the Lord require of you but to do justly, to love mercy, and to walk humbly with your God?” - Micah 6:8
Before the House Wakes is such an inspiring story.
Thank you for this invitation to slow down and to grow from quiet presence.