What Quiet Seasons Build in Leaders
There are seasons when nothing looks like it’s changing.
No visible traction.
No measurable momentum.
No external proof that what you are building is working.
And yet, something is happening.
Over the past eighteen months, I began to realize that the quiet season had not just shifted my circumstances. It had changed me.
The change began with exposure.
Not public exposure. Internal exposure.
What Had to Die
I had to let security die.
Not just financial security — though that was real. But the deeper security of knowing how to behave. As a CFO, I know the room. I know the posture. I know the language. I know how to add value immediately. There is comfort in that competence. There is safety in that identity.
Leaving that behind meant stepping into spaces where I no longer knew what I “do.”
That is exposure.
There is also a strange comfort in busyness. Too much work. Too many responsibilities. A full schedule that reinforces usefulness. I know how to carry weight. I’ve done it for decades.
But busyness can become armor. It can protect you from asking whether the work is still aligned with who you are becoming.
In this quiet season, some of that armor had to come off.
Security died.
Busyness died.
The automatic script of “this is what I do” began to dissolve.
And for a while, I didn’t know who I was without it.
But what the quiet season revealed was this: God was not removing my purpose. He was refining its expression.
The title was never the center.
The activity was never the center.
Even the competence was not the center.
Calling remained.
Purpose remained.
The desire to walk with leaders remained.
What changed was me.
What the Quiet Built
What I was looking for during those months was external proof.
Traction.
Momentum.
Visible growth.
I wanted to perceive the sprout Isaiah speaks of.
But I was looking in the wrong place.
The sprout was not outside of me.
It was inside.
The quiet season built resolve.
It built a willingness to continue doing hard things without immediate reward. To write when no one responded. To refine systems when no one applauded. To show up consistently when the only evidence of progress was discipline itself.
It built steady confidence.
There was a time I carried quiet doubts: that I wasn’t strong enough in my writing, that people wouldn’t connect, that if I couldn’t communicate clearly the business would stall. Those doubts did not disappear overnight. They lost power through practice.
Through writing.
Through testing.
Through refining.
Through pressing publish anyway.
It also built structure.
Once I stopped fighting how my mind works and began building rhythms that fit it, something shifted. What once felt chaotic began to feel intentional. The work stopped feeling reactive and began feeling aligned.
And perhaps most importantly, it built courage.
I am no longer worried about whether I will be received.
That does not mean I don’t care. It means reception is no longer the foundation. Obedience is.
The quiet season did not make me more visible.
It made me more steady.
Formation Before Assignment
There is a pattern in Scripture we sometimes need to be reminded of.
God rarely changes the assignment first.
He changes the leader.
Nehemiah was a cupbearer long before he was a builder. Months passed between the burden he felt and the request he made. Even more time passed before he stood in front of broken walls.
What changed first was not his title.
It was his courage.
The quiet strengthened him before the commission required him.
Faith-based executives navigating a pivot can assume that the evidence of change will be external.
A new role.
A new contract.
A measurable breakthrough.
Clear confirmation.
But sometimes the evidence is internal.
A steadier resolve.
A quieter confidence.
A diminished fear.
A growing clarity about what no longer fits.
You may still be in the same office.
The same title.
The same financial tension.
The same unanswered questions.
But if you are different — more aligned, more courageous, less driven by fear — then something is already sprouting.
The danger in quiet seasons is misdiagnosis.
We look for revenue.
God builds resilience.
We look for momentum.
God builds maturity.
We look for proof.
God builds the person who can carry what comes next.
If you are in a quiet season right now, it may not be empty.
It may be construction.
And the structure being reinforced may be you.
Even Now It Sprouts
Earlier this year, I wrote about the space between preparation and proof.
[The Work Between Preparation and Proof]
I’ve reflected on winter and the work God does between chapters.
[The Quiet of Winter]
I’ve wrestled with detours that didn’t determine destiny.
[Detours Don’t Determine Destiny]
What I see now is that those reflections were not separate themes.
They were stages of formation.
The verse that has followed me this year says:
“Even now it sprouts… do you not perceive it?”
For a long time, my honest answer was no.
I did not perceive it.
Because I was looking for visible fruit.
But the sprout was not outside of me.
It was the quiet resolve to continue.
The willingness to let identity refine.
The courage to release what once felt secure.
The steadiness forming beneath the surface.
If you cannot yet see external evidence, it does not mean nothing is growing.
It may mean the roots are deepening.
And roots are what allow the next season to hold weight.
What quiet seasons build is not wasted.
It is preparation.
It is alignment.
It is strengthening.
And sometimes, the first sign of growth is simply this:
You are not the same person you were when the season began.
That may be the sprout.
And that is enough reason to keep going.
A Quiet Conversation
If this reflection resonates — if you find yourself in a season where the work feels hidden but something inside you is shifting — you don’t have to navigate that alone.
I spend much of my work walking alongside faith-based leaders in transitions like this.
If a quiet conversation would be helpful, I would be honored to listen.
