Didn’t See the Tree for the Forest
A Lesson in Leadership, Priorities, and the Moments We Miss
I was in a workshop with a group of artists. We had been meeting weekly, building something that mattered, trying to create language, structure, and possibility for collaboration and sustainability.
Although, I’m a leader in this space, I wasn’t facilitating. I was participating, observing, and supporting; on the surface, everything looked good. People were engaged, the energy was steady, and it felt like something was working.
But, one week, sitting right next to me was someone who was not okay.
You could see it if you were paying attention. Their body was tight, their presence strained. Every now and then, a tear would fall, and they would quickly wipe it away with a simple gesture, pull everything back in, trying not to be seen.
And I saw them. What we miss is rarely invisible.
You’re looking at everything. But what are you actually seeing?
The Moment I Missed
Then came the moment.
That quiet, immediate instinct to reach out. Not to fix anything or interrupt, just to acknowledge them. A simple touch. A quiet check-in. Something human.
But I didn’t move.
Instead, I started thinking through all the reasons not to act. Would it be appropriate? Did I know them well enough? Would it draw attention or make things worse? My focus split between the responsibility to the group and the person sitting right next to me.
I told myself I would check on them after. I told myself there would be another moment. By the time I finished thinking, I determined that the moment was not now, but later; they were still sitting there, holding more than anyone knew, and holding it alone.
About an hour into the workshop, they couldn’t hold it anymore. They leaned over to the person who invited them, said a few words, hugged them, apologized, and left. By this time tears were falling.
The room paused briefly with concern. People noticed. But once they left, the workshop continued.
And just like that, I let the real moment pass me by.
I’m someone who thinks in systems. Vision, structure, possibility; that’s where I live. I’m always looking at how things connect, how one action can serve multiple purposes, how one plus one becomes eleven. The big picture.
And there’s a tension that comes with that kind of thinking. Between that big picture and the moment right in front of you. Between what you’re building and who is sitting next to you while you’re building it. This was one of those moments. I’m not proud of what I did in that moment, but it has shaped what I do moving forward.
Where Faith and Responsibility Meet
Afterward, we learned some of what was going on. They were grieving a recent death in the family, and it had opened up older wounds.
I know that space. I’ve buried my parents. I’ve planned funerals. I understand what it means to carry that kind of weight and still try to function in the world. I could have done something, even if it was small. A moment of care. A moment of connection.
A few days later, we learned that person lost their life that very night. From an accident, natural causes, or their own hands, we don’t know.
This is where my faith and my responsibility meet. I do not believe that moment was random. I do not believe it was meaningless. I believe I was there for a reason, even if I don’t fully understand that reason. At the same time, I have to tell the truth. I am not under the delusion that I could have stopped that death from happening. I am not God. I do not control life or death like that. But I also refuse to dismiss what was placed in front of me. Through my actions, I could have been a positive presence in whatever that night became. A moment of care. A moment of interruption. A moment of connection. That could have changed the outcome or even if it didn’t change the outcome, it could have changed their experience.
And that matters.
Scripture speaks about both these realities:
“To him who knows to do good and does it not, to him it is sin.”
— James 4:17
“For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways, saith the Lord.”
— Isaiah 55:8
There are things we will never fully understand. But we are still called to act when we are led.
Every day, we hear stories of people who act in moments. People who pull someone from a burning house, jump into rushing water, stop a stranger on a bridge, or notice something is off and refuse to ignore it.
They don’t always have more information. They don’t always have more authority. They just move.
I didn’t.
That realization stung. I was sad. And yes, I was ashamed; not just because of what happened, but because I saw clearly where I did not rise to the moment. I did not understand the assignment.
But I am not staying there. I am choosing to be refined by it. Sharpened but it; reinvigorated but it.
Focus isn’t the problem. Clarity is.
What We Miss Is Rarely Invisible
The truth is, we are presented with moments every day. Most of them are quiet. A nudge. A look. A pause in someone’s voice. A shift in their energy. And in those moments, we have a choice; to move, or to reason ourselves out of it.
I reasoned myself out of it once.
That will not be my pattern. I pledge to never miss that moment again.
When I feel that nudge, I will move. Not perfectly or forcefully, but faithfully. If I see someone struggling, I will acknowledge them. If I feel led to check in, I will check in. If the moment calls for presence, I will be present.
I am not here to save people, but I am responsible for how I show up when I am placed in front of them.
This is what I believe grounds all of it: There are no coincidences. Everything happens for a reason, and sometimes those reasons are far beyond our understanding. Because I do not believe anything is accidental, I refuse to treat moments like they are ever again.
Moments like this don't announce themselves. They show up quietly, and what we do in them matters more than we think.
This humbling experience didn’t stay in that room. It followed me. It changed how I move when something feels off. It sharpened how I respond when I see what others might ignore.
I see that same pattern in leadership every week. Leaders know something is off in their teams, their systems, or their results. They can feel it, but they can’t quite name it. And because they can’t name it, they can’t take action. They can’t fix it.
The truth is simple. What we miss is rarely invisible. We see it. We feel it. We just don’t always trust what we’re seeing. That can change; we can see the tree and still have view of the forest. This is my new pattern.
I build strong foundations and structures that last.
Clarity isn’t the end. It’s the moment you’re called to act.
