peace, after the struggle

This past week, I’ve been sitting with Scripture as I navigate conflict. Fun fact: this is a lesson that I've learned the hard way.

Not the dramatic kind. Not public or loud. The quieter kind that surfaces questions about trust, integrity, and how we live together in community. The kind that doesn’t just challenge decisions, but reaches into places shaped long before the present moment.

At church, we've been in a sermon study through 1 Samuel. Personally, I've been elbows deep in the OT (my millennial translation of the Old Testament) and studying through the era of the Kings. One thing that is impossible to miss is how often leadership formation happens in tension. Rarely does it happen in clarity and almost never in comfort. Where does it happen? Almost always in community.

That realization has been both grounding... and unsettling.

a season where integrity carried more weight than faith

Earlier in my leadership journey, I was part of a professional community where my identity and my work were deeply intertwined. At the time, I didn’t yet have a rooted sense of faith to interpret conflict or loss. What I did have were strong morals, clear principles, and a deep sense of responsibility.

Integrity mattered to me.

It still does.

So when that season ended abruptly (and surprisingly), it wasn’t just professional disruption. It was an identity rupture. To feel misunderstood or displaced when you believe you’ve acted with honesty and care can rock something foundational. It completely derailed my sense of self because the framework I was using to make sense of the world suddenly felt fragile.

Looking back now, I can see that the Lord’s removal from that place was mercy, and I’m deeply grateful for it. But gratitude doesn’t erase the emotions that formed there.

The confusion.

The grief.

The quiet fear that asks, If my principles weren’t enough to protect me, what can I trust?

Those questions don’t disappear just because time passes. They resurface when integrity feels tender.

marked by the encounter

As our church has been studying 1 Samuel, I’ve been struck by how often leaders are formed before they have language for what God is doing.

Samuel hears God’s voice before he knows how to recognize it. David is anointed long before he understands what kingship will cost. Saul is given responsibility before his inner life is ready to carry it.

Again and again, Scripture shows leaders being shaped in seasons of partial understanding. Identity comes before clarity. Calling before confidence.

It’s been comforting to realize that God was at work in my life long before I knew how to name Him there.

Formation doesn’t begin once our theology is tidy.

God looks at the heart long before the story makes sense.

“Man looks at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart.”

-1 Samuel 16:7

kings and the slow work of maturity

Kings has been showing me something completely different, but just as necessary.

Leadership doesn’t mature in isolation. It matures in the tension of responsibility, misunderstanding, and relationship. Kings is full of leaders who are misread, challenged, confronted, and refined.

God does not seem interested in shielding leaders from conflict. He seems interested in what conflict reveals and how leaders respond.

What stands out to me is this: when conflict arises, God’s response is rarely shame. More often, it’s clarity. Clearer authority. Clearer responsibility. Clearer boundaries. Clearer dependence on Him.

I’m learning that conflict is not a sign of failure. It’s often a sign that growth is required.

learning to read my own reactions with grace

Conflict still touches old places in me. Questions about ethics or trust land deeply, not from a place of defensiveness, but because integrity has always been sacred ground.

One of the gifts of therapy has been learning to stay present in moments like that, rather than bracing against them. To be open rather than guarded. Aware rather than reactive. Willing to reflect instead of rushing to a resolution.

What I’m learning now, through Scripture and prayer, is that emotion doesn’t have to be something I suppress. It can be information: an invitation to pay attention.

To notice what’s being stirred and ask what might need clarity, protection, or formation.

For a long time, I relied almost entirely on principle.

Doing the right thing.

Holding the line.

Keeping my footing through conviction alone.

Faith has given me a deeper anchor. Where I once interpreted conflict as a threat, I’m learning to see it as a place where God is forming maturity, where presence matters more than proving, where trust is practiced, not demanded.

Healthy community doesn’t avoid conflict. It learns how to hold it with care.

That kind of care asks us to slow down, to listen well, and to remain open to what God might be revealing in us, not just what needs to be resolved between us.

when Scripture follows you home

After a tough conversation this week, I got in the car and started the drive home. My body was still holding the weight of it. The kind that settles in your chest before your mind has caught up.

Unplanned, the Jacob Collection playlist began playing. Scripture I’ve been sitting with. Stories we've been studying together on Abundance. And then “Faithful Wounds” by Cory Asbury came on.

I had read Genesis 32 so many times. Jacob wrestling through the night. Refusing to let go. Leaving the encounter limping, renamed, marked.

I’ve always known that passage was about transformation. I didn’t realize how personal it was until that moment.

The song gave language to something I hadn’t fully named yet: that some wounds are not evidence of failure, but of God’s nearness.

Jacob didn’t leave that night untouched. He left changed.

The wound didn’t disqualify him. It clarified him.

It ended a season of striving and began a new way of walking, even if it was slower.

“So Jacob called the place Peniel, saying, ‘For I have seen God face to face, and yet my life has been delivered.’”

-Genesis 32:30

Jacob didn’t name the place for the wound.

He named it for the encounter.

Driving home, I realized that conflict has a way of reopening old places. But faith gives us a way to stay present instead of defensive.

To listen instead of brace. To let God meet us not just in resolution, but in the wrestling itself.

why this matters for how we live together

If we choose to live in community, conflict is inevitable. Shared values alone are not enough to sustain us. Without clarity, curiosity, and trust, even the best intentions can fracture under pressure.

Scripture doesn’t offer a conflict-free vision of leadership. It offers a faithful one.

One where we learn to lead without striving, to respond without accusation, and to trust that God is present even in moments that feel unsettled.

A meaningful, healthy professional community, for me, does not mean conflict will be absent. It implies that God's presence is within it if we accept His invitation and guidance.

It’s peace in completeness through Christ.

Peace in contentment through the Father.

Peace in community through the Spirit.

I’m still learning what it means to lead through conflict with that kind of peace.

But Scripture has been reminding me that formation is often quiet, slow, and deeply personal.

And that God is faithful to meet us there.

a gentle invitation

If you’re leading in community, I wonder what Scripture might be showing you about how conflict is forming you. Not as a failure, but as part of the work God is doing.

Where might God be inviting you to trade striving for trust

and clarity for fear?

This is not a platform. It’s a table. And there is room here to sit, exhale, and be formed.