We All Need Guides
Not heroes. Not saviors. But guides. People who’ve walked the road before us and can help us find our footing when the trail disappears.
Life throws rugged terrain at all of us: loss, heartbreak, self-doubt, change. Sometimes we stumble through it. Sometimes we get stuck, disoriented, or just plain tired. Sometimes, if we’re fortunate, someone shows up to walk alongside us. Not to carry us, but to walk with us on our journey.
One of the most pivotal guides I’ve had in my journey was a man named Tyler.
We met during one of the most disorienting seasons of my life—the early stages of separation and divorce. I was a walking storm cloud, emotionally exhausted, spiritually worn thin, carrying a heavy pack I didn’t know how to unload. Grief, guilt, confusion… it all clung to me like altitude sickness.
Tyler was a hardware engineer, a dad, and a man of quiet, steady faith. He wasn’t flashy. He didn’t try to impress. He didn’t try to fix me. He just showed up with presence, consistency, and a calm that felt like shelter. Our friendship began around a shared faith, but it quickly moved into deeper, more rugged terrain.
Most days, we just talked; usually over lunch. Or rather, I talked. He listened.
And then one day, after a particularly raw rant about something my ex had done, Tyler paused and asked a single question that would change everything:
“Is this a new behavior, or one that already existed in your relationship?”
That question hit me like thin air at high altitude. It took the wind right out of me.
I stood there, stunned; eyes wide, heart racing, ego shrinking. It was like he had handed me a compass I didn’t know I needed. Suddenly, I wasn’t just reacting anymore; I was reflecting. Not spiraling, but waking up.
And what settled in wasn’t shame. It was curiosity. Quiet, piercing, necessary curiosity.
That one question launched what I now call the Post-Mortem Analysis of my marriage. Not to cast blame. Not to wallow in regret. But to understand. To see the terrain clearly for the first time.
John Maxwell once said,
“Reflection turns experience into insight.”
That’s exactly what began to happen. As I slowed down and looked honestly at my story, I didn’t just rehash the pain, I began to make sense of it.
I studied the landscape of that relationship. I saw my own patterns. The red flags I had brushed aside. The places I camped too long when I should’ve kept moving. And perhaps most importantly, I saw the parts of me I didn’t want to reckon with.
Tyler never gave me a map. He gave me something far more valuable: a mirror. And that’s what real mentorship is. It’s not about control. It’s not about advice wrapped in ego. It’s about presence. It’s about truth. It’s about walking with someone, not ahead of them. It’s about helping them see what they’ve been afraid, or unable to see on their own.
As Brené Brown puts it:
“A leader is anyone who takes responsibility for finding the potential in people and processes, and who has the courage to develop that potential.”
Tyler didn’t try to lead with authority—he led with humility. He didn’t point out my flaws; he pointed toward my potential. And that made all the difference.
His way of guiding reminded me of something ancient—something rooted in the way wisdom has always been passed down. Not through lectures, but through lives. Not through dominance, but through companionship. The kind of leadership that doesn’t push or pull—but walks beside.
Over the years, I’ve carried Tyler’s wisdom with me. As a father, a coach, a former pastor I’ve had the deep honor of walking with others through their own rugged seasons. And if I’ve learned anything, it’s this:
Good leadership isn’t about fixing people.
It’s about seeing their potential, naming it, and helping them grow into it.
It’s about holding space, not holding power.
It’s about asking the kind of questions that create turning points.
Tyler never told me what to do. He invited me to see myself and my world differently. To stop surviving and start transforming. That’s what guides do. That’s what discipleship at its best looks like: life rubbing up against life, truth shared over time, and grace given without condition.
So if you’re in a season where the trail feels lost, where the air feels thin, don’t just look for answers. Look for a guide. And when you’ve found your footing again…be one.
Because someone out there needs your story.
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