The Sacred Pause
It’s Half Time of the year. Not just another tick on a planner or a clever metaphor for a game. This is real life’s pause, the line between what has already happened and what could still be redeemed.
This year, that pause came wrapped in the tiny hands of a baby girl. Born on the very last day of June, the final breath of the first half. As if the clock wanted to remind me: life won’t wait for your to-do lists. New beginnings don’t obey your deadlines.
So here I am, sitting at my own half time. A bit more tired, a bit more humbled, but not willing to run back onto the field without asking three honest questions.
- What have I done right?
- What have I done wrong or left undone?
- What must I focus on now for the next half?
If you need your own half time, maybe this helps you ask your own three.
What Have I Done Right?
When I roll back the mental footage of these past six months, the scoreboard that matters is full of moments that didn’t need applause to be real.
In early January, before people could break their resolutions, I gathered a small group for a Purposebility workshop. There were no fancy lights, just 20 or 30 people writing down what they really wanted for 2025, the next seven years, and for life. Some wrote dreams they’d buried for decades. A friend reminded me recently that it still shapes their decisions now. I had forgotten. But seeds grow even when you forget you planted them.
I think of our little church plant too. What started as a simple conversation about making disciples. This year we began to gather again, to build community instead of trying to walk the journey alone. You can’t lead alone. You can’t grow alone. Research says people with deep spiritual and relational support bounce back better through life’s storms. But I don’t need research to believe what I feel in my bones. You can’t do life alone and expect to stay standing.
Then there were the small, ordinary things. I went hiking with my parents, twice. I drove my dad for a hospital checkup when he wasn’t well, and sat in a plastic chair, just waiting beside him. We took a family field trip with the kids. Helped them practice piano. Small, simple. The Harvard Study of Adult Development, the longest research on happiness ever done, shows that close relationships are the strongest predictor of life satisfaction and good health. Not wealth. Not awards. Not the size of your building or the zeros in your revenue sheet. Just being together, while you still can.
Then there’s the pint of blood I gave. It took maybe an hour. Research says every pint can save three lives. Three families get one more half time with someone they love. It reminds me that it doesn’t take grand gestures to do something right. Sometimes one small, quiet hour is worth more than any headline.
And I’m grateful that this year, presence mattered more than performance.
I’m painfully aware of this: 83 percent of parents think they’re present, but only 46 percent of children agree.
I want my children’s truth to beat that statistic. If I did one thing right, it was staying close, even when momentum said, “Just one more meeting. Just one more call.”
What Have I Done Wrong or Left Undone?
Of course the scoreboard doesn’t just show wins. Sometimes the real damage isn’t what you did, but what you forgot to do.
We poured our hearts into our Chinese New Year celebration at school. Teachers and students gave their best. But I never thought to link it to a larger SDG goal or partner with JCI. That one connection could have multiplied the reach. Research shows community projects tied to SDGs attract five times more partnerships and support. We missed it.
I see it too in my personal habits. I’ve read so many things this year. Scanned articles. Watched quick talks. But I didn’t root myself in deep reading the way I used to. Neuroscientists say shallow reading feeds dopamine but never settles into long-term memory. Deep reading, the slow kind, is “slow glucose for the brain.” It strengthens the parts of you that make wise, unhurried decisions. Without it, you can drift and not even know it.
And there’s the reality that 92 percent of people forget their goals by March. I remind others to plan, but sometimes forget my own. The head knows. The daily practice though, that’s where it either lives or dies.
Momentum is my friend, until it isn’t. It’s the same in leadership, family, health. I’ve done much. But I didn’t cut enough noise. I didn’t protect the right silences. I didn’t pause to ask, is this push still aligned, or has it drifted?
That’s my half time honesty.
What Will Be My Focus for the Next Six Months?
Half time means nothing if you sprint back out playing the same sloppy game. The scoreboard won’t change if the strategy doesn’t.
So here’s what I’m carrying back onto the field.
I’ll make sure my daughter’s name is settled, her papers done, her identity secure. In almost every culture, naming rituals anchor belonging. They don’t just mark a child’s start. They root them to where they come from and who stands behind them.
We’ll gather the family again before the year ends. Just a simple circle, no PowerPoint, no show. It’s how we keep our LOH Legacy alive, reminding each other who we are, what we stand for, and what we want to pass on. Families who talk about their goals and stories are 70 percent more likely to hand down both wealth and values to the next generation. That’s worth more than any bank slip.
I’ll guard the new campus project with a sharper eye. Buildings that reflect your true story and culture strengthen stakeholder trust by up to 30 percent, MIT research shows. This is more than steel and paint. It’s what we’re passing on when we’re gone.
I’ll protect our family’s language shift. English is easy. But roots matter. It’s not about rejecting one tongue for another. It’s about choosing to carry forward the sound of home.
And I’ll hold the line on the power of the cut. Simon Sinek says, “Clarity, discipline, consistency.” Maxwell calls it the Law of Priorities. Activity is not necessarily accomplishment. It’s tempting to believe momentum alone will get you there. But momentum without pruning becomes chaos.
In this second half, the real win is not doing more. It’s cutting what distracts so that what really matters can breathe.
The Reverse That Redefines It All
So here’s my paradox.
Momentum is your best friend, until it becomes your master.
Your legacy isn’t just built by what you add, but by what you dare to stop.
As you sit at your own half time, whatever that looks like, whenever it comes, ask yourself:
What have I done right? What have I left undone? What must I cut or keep so that what truly matters survives the noise?
If you feel like the score is messy, that’s life. If you feel behind, you’re human.
But don’t rush back onto the field just yet.
Sit with the scoreboard.
Name your wins. Name your gaps.
And play the second half with eyes wide open, because it does matter.
Not just for you.
But for the people who’ll remember what you protected long after you’re gone.
Pause. Prune. Play again.
