What it means to lead when you don’t feel steady

The sand was already cold by the time the sun vanished behind the Judean hills, but the sweat on my back was freezing.

I have hands that know things. They know the grain of sycamore wood. They know how to seat a joint so tight that you can’t slide a blade of grass between the timbers. They know the weight of a hammer and the bite of a saw. My hands are rough, scarred, and capable.

But as I gripped the lead rope of the donkey that night, my hands were shaking so badly I had to wrap the leather around my wrist just to keep a grip.

I was a craftsman. I fixed chairs. I made tables for families to eat on. I was not a soldier, and I was certainly not a navigator.

And yet, here I was, walking into the pitch black of the desert, fleeing a King who had an entire army at his disposal.

The dream had been terrifyingly clear. “Get up,” the angel had said, “Take the child and his mother and escape to Egypt.”

Herod. The name alone made the air feel thin. Herod was iron. He was stone. He was the architect of fortresses and the executioner of his own sons. He was a man who held power the way a miser holds gold: with a clenched fist that crushes anything trying to pry it open.

I looked back over my shoulder at the sleeping shape of Bethlehem. Somewhere back there, the soldiers were waking up. Somewhere back there, steel was being sharpened.

The inadequacy hit me like a physical blow to the stomach. It wasn't just fear; it was the shame of inadequacy. Who am I to do this?

I looked up at the night sky and asked out loud,

“God, if you wanted to save a King, why did you choose a carpenter?”

“You should have chosen a soldier or a diplomat who speaks Egyptian. You could have at least chosen a man with a map!”

I had no map. I had a few coins, a skin of water, and the weight of responsibility that crowded out all the rest.

Every shadow looked like a Roman Sentinel. Every shifting rock sounded like a soldier’s boot. My heart hammered against my ribs like a bird trapped in a box. I wanted to stop. I wanted to wake Mary up and tell her I couldn't do it, that I was the wrong man, that I was going to get us all killed.

But then, the wind shifted. The baby stirred. A small, muffled cry rose from the bundle in Mary's arms.

I stepped close to the animal and peeled back the corner of the blanket. He was there. Tiny. Fragile. Dependent.

In that moment, the terror didn't leave, but something else arrived to sit beside it. I realized that Herod’s power was based on what he could take. But this child... this child was about what could be given.

I looked at my shaking hands. They weren't weapons. But they were made to carry.

I didn't need to be a General to fight Herod. I didn't need to be a King to outmaneuver him. I just needed to be a Husband and Father. I just needed to trust.

I just needed the strength to take the next “right-hard” step forward.

So, I wrapped the rope tighter around my wrist. I swallowed the lump of panic in my throat. I turned my back on the safety of home and stepped toward the nothingness of the desert.

I might have been trembling. But I could still take one more step through the wilderness.

The Strength Found in Inadequacy

There is a myth in leadership that courage is the absence of fear. We like to imagine that the people bold enough to change the world are the ones who stride confidently into the future, clutching a detailed roadmap of how to shape the future, and a jaunty disregard for the threats tendered by those who would oppose them.

Joseph’s story tells us something different. It reminds us that some of the most unseen and yet pivotal people in the broader story of humanity practiced courage as a gritty, self-sacrificial discipline, not an effortless default state.

If you are leading a family, a team, or a business today, and you feel like an imposter, I have good news for you: your trembling is not disqualification. In fact, it might be your greatest credential.

The Muscle of Courage

We often assume that if our hands are shaking, it means we are weak. But physically, a muscle trembles when it is under maximum tension. It trembles when it is lifting a weight that requires every ounce of its capacity. If you aren't trembling, you are not carrying as much as you are able.

Modern neuroscience actually proves this exact concept. Neurobiologists studying human resilience have identified a specific region in the brain called the anterior midcingulate cortex. It acts as the biological seat of courage and willpower. The remarkable thing about this specific part of the brain is how it develops. It does not activate when we are comfortable, and it does not engage when we are performing tasks we enjoy. It only engages, and physically grows, when we experience intense fear, resistance, or the overwhelming desire to quit, but choose to push forward anyway.

If you wait until you feel steady to take action, that biological muscle shrinks. Courage literally requires the presence of fear to grow.

Herod didn't tremble. He slept soundly in his palace because he lived for himself. He had nothing to lose but his own comfort. Joseph trembled because he was carrying the future of the world through the wilderness on a donkey. He trembled because he understood the stakes. He trembled because he loved the ones he led through the desert more than he loved his own safety. His heart’s desire to protect the ones he loved warred against his body’s instinct for self-preservation. And in the heat of that battle, even though his body was shaking, his resolve to live true to what mattered most did not yield any ground to the tidal forces of fear attacking him.

Courage is not having steady hands. Courage is the ability to move forward even when you are shaking.

Forging Through the Wilderness

In your life right now, you too might be forging your way through the wilderness. If you are facing a broken relationship, a diagnosis, an addiction, or a decision that feels too big for your shoulders, that is a wilderness. When the phone is quieter than you want it to be, when the schedule has more gaps than you’re used to, or when your crew is looking to you for confidence and you are unsure of how you are going to make payroll, that is a wilderness.

If you tremble under the awesome weight of responsibility one has when people trust their families’ financial security into a leader’s capability to deliver a weekly paycheck, do not sell yourself short or see that as evidence that you are an imposter. That trembling is evidence of your willingness to stand firm under the load. It is a sign of the strength of your heart’s conviction to fight for the people you love despite your body’s desire to seek comfort and safety.

In the end, the only real difference between a coward and a Strong Leader is that the coward flees for safety and then waits for the trembling to stop before they take the next step.

The Strong Leader wraps the rope around their wrist and takes the next step anyway.

Hope + Challenge

·         The Hope: You do not need to feel completely steady to be qualified to lead. Feelings of inadequacy and fear are not signs of weakness; they are biological proof that you are stretching your capacity for the sake of the people relying on you.

·         The Challenge: The next time you face a wilderness season and feel your hands start to shake, do not retreat to safety. Acknowledge the weight you are carrying, wrap the rope a little tighter around your wrist, and take the very next right-hand step. Allow the trembling to build your courage.Phillip Stoller