Holding Fast: Leadership in a Season of Waiting

Recently, I came across the obituary of a man I knew in my youth, someone I had always looked up to, deeply respected, and admired. In his obituary, the MacLeod clan motto was explained as a call to hold fast in times of trial: to remain stoic in pursuit, trusting that time will eventually reveal answers the present cannot yet offer.

Those words stayed with me.

Growing up, we didn’t have much. By today’s standards, we might have been considered “poor,” though not in the "Angela’s Ashes" sense. I don’t share this to compare suffering, only to say that scarcity, hunger, and uncertainty were at times more familiar companions than abundance or ease. My childhood was at times traumatic, yet many, many flashes of joy fueled my spirit. Those moments planted hope, hope for something better, something worth being stoic about.

Reflecting on his obituary, I had a sudden realization: I should’ve been a MacLeod! I have tremendous pride in my family name, but their motto resonates deeply.

My life has often felt like one long waiting game, waiting for clarity, for direction, for time to unravel its mysteries. Waiting for God to open the heavens. Somewhere deep inside, I’ve always believed I’m meant for something meaningful, even great! Being a mom and wife has been extraordinary, but it's different from this. I don’t know exactly what it looks like, but I feel it in the core of my being.

Some nights, lying awake, I ponder my truth and my life. The waiting continues, but so does my conviction. I want to build momentum, an unstoppable force toward a magnificent adventure. I can feel it coming...

This inner-city-turned-country kid… will she be the real deal?

And so I wait. Living fully in the present, while the future remains a place of wonder and anticipation.

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Over the past few weeks, I’ve been doing a lot of soul-searching. I’ve been navigating some personal health challenges. We’ll just call it “women’s stuff”, and it’s left me feeling out of the loop since last July, unable to fully engage in life the way I normally do.

At the same time, my world has shifted dramatically.

With our big move from Twizel to Christchurch, I suddenly realized something startling: for the first time in my adult life, I have almost nothing on my plate for 2026.

I’m used to full calendars. I’ve run two businesses. I’ve volunteered endlessly. I’ve served on boards. I have always worked full-time. I’ve worked in higher education and senior leadership, which was once my dream, my goal. Now, living here in New Zealand, I’ve been out of that sector for nearly a decade. I’ve sold my shop. I’m revamping my consulting work. And yet… here I am.

Empty space.

I texted a priest friend who once served as my spiritual director and told him, half-panicked, that I had nothing lined up in 2026. He had invited me a few weeks earlier to go to Medjugorje in April or May 2026, so I said yes! Count me in.

But still, I asked him: What am I going to do with my life? I have nothing to do in 2026?

His response caught me off guard.

“Praise God. Isn’t that amazing?”

That was my aha moment.

Instead of fear, he saw freedom. Instead of emptiness, he saw possibility.

I began to glimpse the peace and joy hidden in this wide-open space.

I’ll be honest, part of me still wants to “fill it up.” I’m betwixt and between: cautious, hopeful, a little ambivalent, and quietly joyful all at once. I’m preparing my consulting website. I’m tending to what’s in front of me. But mostly, I’m trying to let this year unfold naturally, to see where the Lord leads, and how my life realigns with who I am now, not who I used to be. For so long, I struggled with questions like: Is this the right job? Am I doing what I’m supposed to be doing?

Now, I’m in a holding pattern, but it feels pivotal.

What a gift.

So I’m choosing to sit here for a while. To practice patience. To stay calm. To resist the urge to sprint toward some imaginary finish line. I’m learning not to measure myself against other people’s expectations, or even against my former dreams.

They say when the Lord closes a window, He opens a wide door.

Maybe that door is already open.

Maybe this season, this quiet, spacious, uncertain season … is the invitation.

My teachable moment is simply this: be in it. Enjoy it. Trust it.

Hold fast.

And remain stoic.

A wee leadership insight…

What this season is teaching me, and what sits at the heart of my work through the Principled Leadership Institute, is that real leadership doesn’t always look like motion. Sometimes it looks like restraint. Sometimes it looks like waiting.

We live in a culture that rewards busyness, visibility, and constant output. But principled leadership asks something different of us: clarity before action, identity before ambition, and purpose before pace. It invites us to lead from the inside out, grounded in values, anchored in faith, and courageous enough to sit with uncertainty.

This holding pattern I’m in? It’s not wasted time. Its formation. It’s the quiet work of becoming. And I’m reminded that the strongest leaders aren’t the ones who rush toward the next title or task; they’re the ones who can pause, listen deeply, and trust that alignment matters more than acceleration.

So please keep me in your prayers. You are always in mine.

sharon