The Unseen Battle of Priorities
Today is February 23, 2025. It’s 9:24 PM, and I’ve just put my kids to sleep. I’ve been recording my thoughts almost daily, like a diary, writing as and when I feel like it. Tonight, I sit in the quiet aftermath of a day filled with frustration, laughter, and chaos from my children.
I enjoy all the frustration they bring, knowing that this will not last forever.
At the same time, I feel guilty for missing an important meeting. I am torn. That’s life. Life is all about priorities. Many things demand our attention, and the hard part isn’t choosing between right and wrong—those decisions are easy. The real challenge is when both choices seem right.
At the end of the day, what we guard matters most—our time, our commitments, our energy. But above all, our hearts. Because from it flows everything else.
Imagine holding two ropes—one tied to your family, the other to your work, commitments, or dreams. Both pull you in different directions. Letting go of either feels like failure. But holding onto both too tightly? That’s how people break.
For me, the answer is clear. An authentic life means my presence at home is irreplaceable.
Authenticity—Building Inside Before Going Outside
A friend messaged me today, asking about my past work with the Orang Asli community. She remembered my passion for them and was surprised I hadn’t mentioned it recently on my blog.
I told her, yes, it used to be my focus—especially during the pandemic, when travel was restricted. The Orang Asli village, two hours from our school, was one of the few places I could still visit, so I started an outreach program there. I visited several times, even stayed over. But in recent years, life has gotten busier—not because I care less, but because I prioritize what has been given to us, what is around us—that’s the first priority.
I see many who dedicate themselves to serving others—philanthropists, business leaders, even pastors—while their own families fall apart. They are respected outside, but at home, relationships are broken.
Maybe that’s their unique calling. A doctor saving lives daily might barely see his family because no one else can do what he does. A soldier, a prime minister, a politician—their roles demand sacrifice.
But for me, my work isn’t that kind of specialized. If I step away, someone else could replace me. But in my family? No one else can be a husband to my wife. No one else can be a father to my children.
Think of priorities like a bridge. A strong bridge needs support on both sides—work and relationships. If I build only one, it collapses. I refuse to build something great outside while neglecting those closest to me. Authenticity means ensuring the life I live privately is just as meaningful as the one I project publicly.
If I can’t take care of my own home, what right do I have to serve others?
Guard Your Heart, Then Guard Theirs
Today showed me how guarding hearts—mine and theirs—builds that bridge. Here’s what happened:
Aden and the Slippery Slope of Small Lies
This morning, my eldest son, Aden, told me he took our toy poodle, Loki, out for a walk and cleaned up his poop. I was surprised—for nine years, he’s been reluctant, lazy about it, hating to pick up poop.
I asked, “Aden, are you sure? Did you pick it up? Where’d you throw it?” He said the neighbor’s bin. I checked—no poop.
He cried, “You don’t trust me.”
I said, “It’s not that—it’s not the Aden I know.” Then, as he insisted, Loki pooped right in front of us.
I told him, “You ask how I hear God? Through moments like this—truth shows itself. All you need is one courage to speak the truth—no need for six lies to cover one fear.”
He lied to impress me, but I need to guard his heart, making truth safe, not punishing, so trust grows.
A study from the University of Toronto found that 90% of children lie by the age of six. But it also revealed that children raised in trust-based environments—where truth is valued over punishment—were significantly less likely to continue lying as they grew older. Trust, like pottery, is shaped early and hardened over time.
Eann and When Two “Right” Things Clash
Later, we watched a church service online. My second son, Eann, obsessed with origami, was making some at 11:45 AM when my wife, ready for lunch, urged us to go.
We hadn’t set a time—my fault. Eann’s work got disrupted; he threw a tantrum. She got angry, crushed his origami—he cried.
Both were right: Eann to finish, her to leave. It requires wisdom to know who to help first.
I told Eann, “I know you’re upset—it’s okay. We’ll bring paper, continue later.”
To her, “My fault—I should’ve asked the time.”
I have to guard their hearts—no sides, just peace. It resolved in five minutes; we had a great day.
Evan and Trust in the Small Things
Then, my youngest, Evan, threw Aden’s toothbrush in the toilet over a toy Aden wouldn’t share. He denied it—I knew it was him.
Punishment’s easy, but I need to guard his heart.
“I know it’s you—I’m not here to scold.”
He admitted it, crying.
“Great job being honest. Imagine Aden brushing with it—can you fix it?”
He used plastic to remove it, promising not to repeat.
It’s a process—like Eann learning to skate. Family is a safe space for them to express views, and guarding their hearts builds that.
This isn’t just at home. At Stellar Education Group, we have 180 people across cities—each with different characters and roles. My job isn’t to control them, but to ensure that the same culture holds us together—not through rules alone, but by guarding their hearts—building trust, not just compliance.
In leadership, parenting, and relationships, we often want to ‘fix’ things immediately, like grabbing the wheel and steering someone onto the right path. But real leadership isn’t about forcing direction—it’s about being the compass, offering guidance while allowing others to walk their own journey.
And that takes wisdom. A study on human behavior found that the average adult makes 35,000 decisions per day, and parents make significantly more due to the constant choices required for their children. This leads to decision fatigue, making us more likely to react impulsively rather than guide with wisdom.
Final Reflection: Love Lived Out at Home
The Bible defines love in 1 Corinthians 13:4-8:
“Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs.
Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails.”
At 38, I’m still learning to live this. It’s not just words—it’s how I shape our home.
Today, love was patient with Aden’s lie—I didn’t scold but waited, teaching truth over fear. Love was kind with Eann and my wife—I didn’t pick sides but offered gentleness, guarding both. Love kept no record of wrongs with Evan—I praised his honesty, not his mistake, guiding him forward. Love always protects—each time, I chose trust over breaking them.
Guarding hearts isn’t about avoiding fire—it’s about mastering it. Fire, when untamed, destroys everything in its path. But when harnessed with wisdom, it refines, strengthens, and forges resilience.
Every day, we have a choice—do we become the wildfire that consumes, or the hearth that warms and sustains?
A study on leadership performance found that 90% of top-performing leaders have high emotional intelligence (EQ)—the ability to regulate emotions, build trust, and respond with wisdom in conflicts. Leaders with low EQ, however, create more team burnout, erode trust, and drive higher turnover.
Fire can destroy, or it can refine.
Unguarded, it burns relationships—Aden’s lies stacking up, Eann’s tantrum flaring, Evan’s denial deepening.
But guarded with love, it purifies—strengthening Aden’s honesty, Eann’s peace, Evan’s openness.
Love is patience—long-suffering—enduring chaos for joy.
Guard your heart—it’s life’s wellspring.
Then guard theirs.
The world will try to harden them. But we don’t have to.
I choose to guard their hearts—so they can stand strong in it.
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