The Day I Went to the Cemetery Looking for Perspective

I wasn't attending a funeral.

I wasn't visiting a loved one's grave.

I WENT ON PURPOSE.

I drove past a particular cemetery at least five days a week, but a few days before my 60th birthday, I actually drove into it, parked, and slowly walked to the graves. It was quiet and peaceful with no one else around.

The idea of turning 60 hit me harder than I expected. It wasn't vanity. It wasn't fear of getting older. It was something deeper.

I was wrestling with a question I couldn't shake:

What am I doing with the years I have left?

As I walked among the tombstones, I thought about the hundreds and hundreds of people represented there. Every one of them had dreams, plans, talents, ideas, relationships, callings. They all had things they hoped to accomplish and people they hoped to impact.

And then their time was up.

Some lived long lives. Others very short lives.

It was sobering.

Not because I was afraid of dying, because I was afraid of not fully living.

It's been said that the richest place on earth is the graveyard because it's full of dreams and unrealized potential.

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The weight of unrealized potential.

Here's the deal: I wasn't where I wanted to be in life. I knew I had gifts to offer. I knew I had accumulated decades of wisdom and experience. I knew I could help people.

And honestly, I knew the direction I needed to go. I had been talking about it for years. But client work kept me busy, useful, needed, and productive... and almost successful enough to avoid the deeper risk of becoming visible.

My business continued through repeat clients and referrals, which I was grateful for. But that also allowed me to stay comfortable. I didn't have to put myself out there publicly. I didn't have to risk rejection. I didn't have to feel like I was running naked in the streets on social media.

So I stayed behind the scenes helping others shine while remaining largely invisible myself.

As I walked through that cemetery, life suddenly felt very short and I couldn't shake the question:‍

"What am I here to do with the years I have left?"

That question followed me home and has followed me ever since.

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Identity Runs the Show

Over the last four years, I've slowly begun to understand that many of the things I thought were business problems were actually identity problems.

I wasn't missing strategy. I needed conviction.

I needed to believe that the value I carried was worth sharing.

I needed to stop confusing humility with playing small.

I needed to stop underrepresenting myself.

Most of all, I needed to stop stalling.

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‍A friend once said something to me that I've never forgotten.

We were having lunch, and I was passionately talking about how frustrating it is to see Christians show up so poorly in the marketplace. Afterall, we should be setting the standard for excellence. We should be building businesses, brands, ministries, and organizations that reflect the excellence of the One we serve.

She stopped me mid-sentence and said:

"THAT.

Right there.

When you started talking about that, everything about you changed. Your voice. Your pace. Your face. Your passion. That!

‍You should go do that!"

At the time, I already knew she was right, but knowing is not the same as becoming.

I knew the message mattered. I knew I cared deeply about the work. I knew I was called to help people show up with greater clarity, excellence, and courage.

But I had not yet become fully convinced of the value of what I was offering or my ability to deliver it at the level I knew was possible. I was not proud of my own brand. In fact, I was my own worst example.

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That began to change when Brand with Bravery™ started taking shape.

I put myself through my own process and for the first time, I wasn't simply offering branding, messaging, positioning, or design.

I was building something I truly believed in. Something that could help thoughtful leaders, experts, entrepreneurs, and ministry leaders stop underrepresenting themselves, own their value, and become visible with confidence.

The outer work finally matched the inner conviction.

And that changed everything.

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The things that change us rarely happen all at once.

For me, it was a series of moments.

A conversation. A challenge. A birthday. A walk through a cemetery.

A growing awareness that time is precious and that stewardship matters.

And eventually, a prayer that has become increasingly meaningful to me:

"LORD, BE LORD OVER WHAT'S LEFT."

Not what's already gone.

Not the opportunities I missed.

Not the years I wish I had used differently.

What's left.

The years ahead.

The gifts still entrusted to me.

The people I'm still called to serve.

The contribution I'm still capable of making.

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Today, I don't claim to have everything figured out.

But I do know this: The question that matters most isn't how old you are.

It's what you're doing with the time you've been given.

• What wisdom are you carrying that someone else needs?
• What assignment have you been postponing?
• What gifts are still waiting to be stewarded?
• What difference are you here to make?

Because one day, all of us will run out of time.

Until then, we have a choice.

We can stay close to the wall, cautiously testing the waters, waiting for certainty.

Or we can commit.

We can step forward.

We can become visible.

We can steward what we've been given.

And we can spend the years we have left making the contribution we were created to make.

For me, that's the journey I'm on.

And perhaps, if you're reading this, it's the journey you're being invited into as well.

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