Parents: Keeping the Light On

Somewhere tonight, a parent is lying awake with a phone on the nightstand that never rings. Not because they’ve stopped loving their son or daughter. Because the conversation that needs to happen can’t happen yet. The other side isn’t ready to have it in real time.

I’ve sat with enough of these parents to know the question that keeps them up. Not “will they ever call.” The harder one: “if they do, what do I say?”

You don’t get to script that moment. But you can prepare your heart for it, the way you’d leave a porch light on for someone still finding their way home in the dark. You don’t know which night it’ll be. You just know you want the light on when it happens.

So let me offer three phrases I learned. This is not a technique, it’s a posture.

I know..

Not “I know I was wrong,” not “I know you were wrong either.” Just, “I know things are not the way we both wish they were.” No defence, no ledger of who owes whom an apology. Just an honest acknowledgement that the distance is real and it has cost you both something.

I’m not..

This is the phrase most parents skip, and it’s the one that opens the door. Say the thing they’re already braced for, then tell them you’re not saying it. “I’m not asking you to apologise. I’m not asking you to tell me I was right.” Your child has rehearsed this conversation a hundred times in their head, and in most of those rehearsals, you’re the one demanding something. Take that off the table before they ask.

I’m ready..

Not ready to talk. Ready to listen. There’s a world of difference. Talking is what got you here.

A friend of mine, I’ll call him Doug, went eleven years without a real conversation with his daughter. Christmas cards, the odd text about a grandchild’s birthday, nothing more. When she finally phoned, he told me his first instinct was to explain himself. Decades of a father’s instinct to be understood. He didn’t. He said the three things and then he stopped talking. Forty minutes of near silence followed, most of it hers. He told me afterwards it was the hardest conversation of his life, precisely because he had so little to say in it.

I think of the father in Luke’s Gospel, watching the road long before there’s anything on it to see. Scripture doesn’t tell us what he rehearsed in those years, only that he ran while his son was still a long way off. That’s the part I can’t get past. He didn’t wait for the apology to reach the doorstep. He was already moving.

Some of you will do all of this right and the call still won’t come this year, or next. I won’t pretend that away. But the conversation still has to be lived out, even when it can’t be spoken. You live it out by staying steady. By not posting the passive-aggressive thing. By letting your child know, in small and consistent ways, that the door was never locked. They just couldn’t see the light under it yet.

What does that look like? Smaller than you’d think. Send the birthday text with no question mark at the end, nothing that demands a reply. Keep your address and your number the same for as long as you possibly can, so finding you is never the hard part. If there’s a family gathering, extend the invitation and then let it go, rather than turning silence into a reason to stop inviting. Resist the pull to use a sibling or a grandchild as a go-between carrying messages back and forth; that puts weight on a relationship that isn’t built to hold it. And if you’re a person of faith, pray for them by name rather than by category. “My daughter” is a prayer. “My estranged child” is a diagnosis. Do this for years if you have to, without keeping score of how long it’s been.

My prayer for you isn’t that the phone rings tomorrow. It’s that you keep being the parent worth calling, whether or not this is the year it happens. There will be a day when that conversation needs to happen on their end. I don’t want you sitting in the regret of having been unwilling on the day they were finally ready.

So what would it look like this week to leave the light on, with no promise it will ever be seen?

Steady Presence Beats Strong Opinion Every Time

An older man and a young boy sitting on a dock, gazing at a sunset over a calm lake.

We live in an age drunk on opinion. Everyone has one. Most have ten. And thanks to the miracle of Wi-Fi, we can broadcast them before we’ve even had our second cup of tea. Strong opinions are applauded. Quick takes are rewarded. Volume often masquerades as wisdom. But in leadership—and in parenting—steady presence beats strong opinion every time. Let me explain.

In leadership circles, the loudest voice in the room is often mistaken for the strongest. It’s not. It’s simply the loudest. A strong opinion may win an argument. It rarely wins a heart. Children do not flourish under the weight of your certainty; they flourish under the shelter of your steadiness. The same is true of teams. When a leader reacts quickly, declares boldly, and pivots sharply with every new headline, people feel the tremor beneath their feet. But when a leader is steady—calm, measured, not easily rattled—others exhale. And when people exhale, they think better. They risk more. They grow. Think of Winston Churchill during the Blitz. He had opinions—strong ones. But what the British people drew strength from wasn’t merely his rhetoric. It was that he stood in the rubble with them. He did not disappear. Presence anchored his words. In crisis, people do not need your sharpest insight first. They need to know you’re not going anywhere.

To Parents and Grandparents

Parenting is a long game. As parents, and grandparents, we are tempted to correct everything in real time. Every mistake. Every attitude. Every misstep. You can spend your life chasing behaviour with opinions. Or you can build a climate with presence. Presence says, “I’m here. I’m not panicked. You’re not too much for me.” Strong opinion says, “Here’s what’s wrong. Here’s how you fix it. Here’s why you’re mistaken.” There is a place for guidance, absolutely. Scripture is not shy about correction. But notice how often Christ simply stayed with people. Consider Jesus with Peter after failure. He did not unload a lecture on loyalty metrics. He made breakfast. Then he restored him. Presence first. Instruction second. That order matters more than we think.

If you are constantly asserting your opinion, it is often because you are afraid of losing authority. Ironically, the more you insist, the more you diminish. Authority grows quietly when people experience you as consistent. You do not overreact. You do not shift with every emotional gust. You do not disappear when things get awkward. In boardrooms and living rooms alike, steadiness is magnetic. A steady leader does not rush to fill every silence. A steady parent does not escalate every conflict. A steady grandfather does not need to win every debate at the table. He just needs to be there: anchored, attentive, unflustered. That kind of presence becomes a reference point in other people’s storms.

Five years from now, most of your opinions about cultural flare-ups will be irrelevant. But your children will remember whether you were emotionally safe. Your team will remember whether you were consistent. Your spouse will remember whether you were available. Strong opinions often serve our ego. Steady presence serves others. And if we are honest, ego is loud. Love is steady.

What does steady look like?

Steadiness is not passivity. It is disciplined restraint. It is strength under control. It is choosing timing over impulse. It is asking a question before issuing a verdict. It is listening long enough that your eventual words carry weight. The leaders I trust most are not those who always know what to say. They are those who know when not to speak. There is a difference.

So..

Before you offer your next strong opinion, pause. Ask yourself if this is the right moment. Ask whether your motive is clarity or control. Ask whether your presence alone might accomplish more. You may find that simply staying calm, staying curious, and staying near does more good than your carefully constructed argument. And if you must choose between being right and being relational, choose relational. Right answers without relationship harden hearts. Steady presence softens them. In leadership and in parenting, you are not building a case. You are building people. And people grow best in the company of someone who isn’t going anywhere.

Stress: The Move That Taught Me Something About Myself

I’ve spent thirty five years telling people that moving ranks near the top of life’s most stressful events, right up there with losing a spouse. I’ve said it in coaching sessions, in workshops, probably over coffee with half of you reading this.

Then I moved.

Somewhere between the packing boxes and “where did we even put that” and the nights I couldn’t quite settle into sleep, it hit me. I was living the exact thing I’d been lecturing on for decades. Not managing it from the outside. Living it.

What I noticed

Nothing dramatic. No breakdown, no crisis. Just a low hum underneath everything. A little more tired than the schedule accounted for. A shorter fuse than usual. A stomach that wasn’t quite right. Sleep that came late and left early.

Fatigue, anxiety, poor sleep, muscle tension, digestive upset. That’s the list researchers give for how stress shows up in the body. I’ve quoted it to other people more times than I can count. I hadn’t expected to be describing myself.

Here’s the uncomfortable part. I’ve never thought of myself as a stressed person. Steady, maybe. Resilient, I’d have said. It’s part of how I see myself, the guy who helps other leaders through their storms. So when I recognised these symptoms in my own body, my first reaction wasn’t relief at catching them. It was mild disbelief. Surely not me.

Barry warned me

Years ago, Barry Hawes, one of my early mentors, sat me down and told me plainly that stress takes a toll on leaders that most of us never see coming. He’d watched it happen to good men and women, capable people who thought they were the exception.

I was young. I nodded, said something appreciative, and privately filed it away as advice for other people. Not me. I had energy to burn and a career to build. Ha.

Barry was right, and it took decades and a house move for me to actually hear him. That’s often how it works with the wisest things our mentors tell us. We understand the words long before we understand what they cost.

I still don’t know if what I felt during the move is aging catching up with me, or if I was simply never as immune to stress as I told myself I was. Maybe both. I’m not settled on the answer, and I’m not sure I need to be.

A question worth more than an answer

I could wrap this up with five tips for managing a move. I’m not going to. Partly because you don’t need another checklist. Mostly because I think the more useful thing right now is the question underneath the story.

Where is stress currently travelling with you, and would you recognise it if it were?

Not “are you stressed,” which most of us answer with a reflexive no, the same way I would have a few months ago. The sharper question is whether you’d know your own signs if they showed up. Mine came in through my sleep and my stomach before they ever reached my conscious mind. Yours may knock on a different door entirely.

Scripture doesn’t promise us a stress-free life. It promises something better, a presence in the middle of it. “Cast all your anxiety on him because he cares for you” (1 Peter 5:7) isn’t a productivity tip. It’s an invitation to stop pretending we’re managing fine when we’re not, and hand the weight to Someone who can actually carry it.

Sit with this before you move on

I’m not going to tell you how I’m handling it, because honestly, I’m still figuring that out. What I’d rather leave you with is this: the people who think they’re too experienced, too steady, or too far along to be caught by stress are often the last ones to notice when it’s already caught them.

I was one of them. Barry told me so, thirty years too early for me to believe him.

So before you close this and move on to the next thing, what would your body tell you right now, if you actually asked it?

I’d love to hear what you notice.

Family Stories: Keeping Memories Alive After Loss

We set up lawn chairs at the cemetery this morning, coffee in hand, my sons and I, with Ro and Brookie running between the headstones the way kids do at places that are supposed to feel solemn. Cloud cover for once, none of the early heat that usually has us wilting before nine. We weren’t in a hurry. We never are anymore. Neither of the grandkids ever met Brenda. Both of them know her anyway.

Eleven years. Long enough that grief has changed shape without disappearing.

My sons started talking, the way we do every year at that spot. We recalled that Mom would be crushing it with grandkids. We recalled that she’d have been the loudest voice in the stands at Liam’s gold medal game, no contest. We recalled how she used to meet a stranger in a grocery line and leave with their whole life story. She had that gift of meeting people in the moment. Most people collect small talk. Brenda collected people.

We sat there naming the traits the youngest grandkids share with a woman they’ve only met through photographs and stories. Ro has her intelligence, her curiosity, the way she can’t leave a question alone until she’s turned it over from every side. Brookie lights up a room the same way Grammy did, walks in and the whole place shifts toward her. It’s strange and it’s good, watching someone’s character keep showing up in people who never got to know her, although they say that they do know her from photos and stories.

I have this photo of Brenda walking hand in hand with Liam at Pender Harbour, just weeks before she died. He was small enough then that her hand swallowed his. I’ve looked at that photo a thousand times. This morning I found myself picturing a different one: Grammy’s hand in Liam’s now, except he’s 6’2″ and she’s the one having to reach up, gold medal still around his neck, and I know exactly what she’d be saying to him. Something like, “I never doubted it for a second. I’ve been praying over you since before you could skate and God definitely has His hand on you”.

That’s the thing about loss that nobody warns you of early on. It doesn’t stay still. Some years it’s sharp. This year it was more like company, sitting there with sons who are still, eleven years on, telling stories about their mother because the stories are still true.

I don’t have a tidy way to close this. Brenda isn’t here for the part of the story where Landon is moving to Powell River, Mac is kicking it in Tae Kwan Do, Georgia is caring like her in so many ways, Ellie has her grace and smile,or where a gold medal gets won and we reimagined Liam’s 6’2″ hand in hers instead of a small one. But she’s in all of it anyway.

910ee2bddd1cd6e124235c63ea540f6ba8a25f61141d8456e5ce5f694e3b47a7 — **Photo illustration created with OpenAI/ChatGPT from photographs provided by Carson Pue.**

Next year we’ll bring the chairs again. Some things you don’t need a reason to keep doing.

From Barnabas to Vancouver: The Leader’s Journey

There’s something almost unfair about Barnabas Landing on Keats Island. The light off Howe Sound. The mountains doing their thing in the background. The kind of quiet that makes you wonder why you live anywhere else.

I was there this week with a cohort of Arrow Executive leaders — the kind of gathering where the conversations matter as much as the setting. We worked hard, thought well together, and somewhere between the ocean air and the long dinners, something clarified for each of us. That’s what good cohorts do. The place held us; God did the rest.

Creation has a way of doing that. Strip away the noise and you hear something truer — about your work, your people, your calling. The mountains and the water don’t preach, but they do bear witness.

I came back to Vancouver. And honestly? I exhaled.

Within hours I was at Revolver on Hastings — espresso in hand, settled in at one of the long communal tables, shoulder to shoulder with maybe a dozen strangers who were all doing their own thing with complete focus and zero small talk. Laptops open, earbuds in, background music and the ambient hum of the city doing its thing outside.

It was, in its own way, just as alive as Barnabas.

Here’s what I’ve come to accept about myself: I’m a city guy. Always have been. I love the energy of a downtown core — the density, the diversity, the sense that a thousand interesting conversations are happening within a block of wherever you’re standing. Big cities pulse. That pulse does something for me.

I think of Jesus, who was as comfortable at a crowded table as he was alone on a hillside. He moved between both without apology. The wilderness sharpened him; the city is where he did his work.
Barnabas reminded me that I can be still. Revolver reminded me of where I come alive.

Both are gifts. But perhaps that’s the point — the time at Barnabas does something inward so you can be more fully alive outward. The island equips you for the city. Solitude before service.

The best leaders I know have learned this. Not as a productivity hack but as a way of life. They protect time away not because they’re escaping responsibility but because they understand that depth requires replenishment. What you bring to the room, the boardroom, the hard conversations — that reservoir has to be filled somewhere. For me, it gets filled on Keats Island. Then I bring it back to the city.

I’ll be back at Barnabas. But right now, the city is calling.

Remembering Martin: Two Years Later

Yesterday marked two years since my dear friend Martin Sanders went to be with the Lord. I’ll be honest—sitting down to write about him on the actual anniversary was too much. Instead, I spent the day thinking of him, carried by memories and that familiar ache of missing him. In some ways, it feels like a lifetime ago; in others, I still expect to see his name pop up on my phone, ready with a question, a laugh or a sharp insight.

Grief is a strange companion, isn’t it? It changes shape, but the love that fuels it remains constant.

Martin and I shared a lot of life together. We weren’t just colleagues or casual acquaintances; we were soul friends. We were part of the Point Group, Leighton Ford’s mentoring cohort, which was a crucible for deep connection and spiritual growth. In those rooms, we learned that leadership isn’t just about strategy—it’s about the state of your soul.

One of the profound threads that bound us together was the mutual loss of a spouse. When you walk through that specific valley, you speak a language that others, thankfully, haven’t had to learn yet. We understood the silence of an empty house. We understood the ache.

I will never forget when my wife, Brenda, died. Martin didn’t send a card. He didn’t just call. He changed his plans, got on a plane, and flew to be with me. He didn’t come to fix anything—he knew he couldn’t. He didn’t come with platitudes or theological explanations. He just came to be there.

That is the mark of a true friend and a great leader. He understood the ministry of presence. Do you have people in your life who will just sit in the ashes with you? If you do, treasure them.

Later, when God brought a new chapter of joy into my life and I remarried, Martin didn’t miss a beat. He welcomed Glenda into our friendship from the very beginning with open arms and that characteristic warmth of his. He made her feel like she had always been part of the circle. Because of that, she misses him deeply, too.

Our friendship wasn’t all solemn nods and shared grief. Far from it. We laughed—loudly and often. We shared a certain irreverence that might have surprised people who only knew us from a distance. We travelled together, finding humour in the chaos of airports and the nuances of different cultures. We believed the disciples of Jesus laughed a lot and that if you can’t laugh at the absurdity of life, you probably aren’t paying close enough attention.

Out of our shared passion for developing leaders, we started the Mentored Podcast. We wanted to pass along wisdom, encourage other mentors, and frankly, just have the conversations we wished we’d heard when we were younger. Recording those episodes didn’t feel like work; it felt like an extension of our friendship. I re-listen to them sometimes, just to hear his voice and his wisdom.

Martin was a man who invested deeply in others. He challenged me, he encouraged me, and he loved me well. He also loved my sons and spent time with them even when they lived overseas. When they married, he embraced my daughters and loved them too.

As I reflect on these two years without him, I am reminded that the best way to honour those we’ve lost is to embody what they taught us. Martin taught me about showing up. He taught me about the power of laughter. He emphasized the importance of taking care of your own soul. He taught me that mentoring is, at its heart, about loving people into their potential.

So today, I’m thanking God for the gift of Martin Sanders. I miss him, but I am so grateful that our paths didn’t just cross—they merged for a season.

Here’s a question for you as you go about your week: Who needs you to just show up for them today? Not to fix, not to preach, but just to be?

Rest well, my friend. We are carrying the torch.

Celebrating Landon’s Graduation: A Journey of Love and Grief

Today was one of those days with a lot of emotion that I didn’t see coming.

Landon graduated from high school and his ceremony was a highlight for me. Watching him walk across that stage, diploma in hand, confidence radiating from his steady steps, was heart-stirring. He has worked so hard to get here and carried a heavier course load than he needed. His determination, faith, and kind heart shone brightly. With awards in his hand and being selected Student of the Year and Valedictorian, pride doesn’t even begin to cover how I felt watching him take this big step forward. It was one of those moments where time seemed to freeze.

Sitting there watching Landon, I thought about how proud Brenda, Landon’s Grammy, would be. Landon’s not just graduating from high school; he’s stepping into all the potential she always saw in him. As I prayed for him Sunday morning, I almost heard her voice, “Keep cheering him on! This is just the beginning.”

Like all significant moments in life, today wasn’t simple. I felt a pang of nostalgia mixed with my joy today. It’s funny how, as parents or grandparents, we tend to see not just who they are in front of us but all they’ve been up until now. I remembered a toddler who used to tweak a door stopper spring and then laugh hysterically, now stepping into a new chapter of his own life. And as proud as I felt, my thoughts circled back to Brenda. Brenda would have been beaming – no question about it. She had this knack for showing pride so big it made others feel like they were in the spotlight too. She wasn’t just a cheerleader; she was the sort of person who made you feel capable of greatness.

His Grammy for sure would’ve been the loudest one at his grad ceremony. I know she would’ve risen out of her seat, hollering “Yay LANDY!” with complete abandon, the way only she could. I could almost hear her laugh and see that proud smile she reserved for moments like this.

Brenda would’ve adored who he’s becoming. She always had a way of spotting potential in others before it even had the chance to bloom, and there’s no doubt she saw that in Landon. I imagine her pulling him aside after the ceremony and saying something wise but laced with humour, just to remind him to stay grounded. And then she’d hug him, hug him tight, but he never minded that.

It’s no stretch to say Brenda played a big role in shaping our family’s legacy of love, persistence, and belief in one another. Her presence, even years after she passed, is still such a grounding force. She had a way of making the ordinary feel extraordinary, something I often see reflected in Landon. Watching him cross that stage, I thought about how proud she would’ve been—not just for the tassel turn or his speech but for what it represented. Graduations aren’t just academic milestones; they’re about persistence, growth, and stepping into the unknown with courage.

Going into church today, I tried to share my feelings with Jason and Kristin (Landon’s mom and dad). I thought I could describe the thankfulness and gratitude I’d been pouring out to God for their son, but as I started to speak, the words caught in my throat. The tears came suddenly. It was as though everything hit me at once. The pride, the missing piece, the tender reminder that grief and joy often exist together. You think you’re okay, that you’ve processed everything, and then a moment comes, a memory, and it’s like the Grief Committee decided to hold an unannounced meeting right as I walked into a church full of people.

My wife, Glenda, gently reminded me that this wasn’t just a graduation; it was another “first” on my grief journey. Landon is the first grandchild to graduate since Brenda, passed. Her absence, though not mentioned explicitly, was very much present.

Brenda would have loved all this. Oh, how she would have loved it. She was a woman who celebrated every milestone with gusto, whether it was as small as a child learning to tie their skates or as significant as a graduation moment like this. She had a way of making people feel deeply seen and wildly capable.

I see her in Landon today—not just in his accomplishments but in the way he carried himself. His focus, his kindness, his groundedness. These were all qualities she nurtured in him whenever they were together. She had this ability to look right into people’s hearts and remind them of God’s goodness already living there.

Glenda’s gentle words this morning stayed with me all day. This was a “first” without Grammy, yes, but it was also a moment to carry her legacy forward. And we did—we laughed and celebrated the way she would have, and, yes, cried just like she might’ve if she’d been with us.

The truth is, grief wears so many faces. Some days, it feels like a weight you can’t lift. Other days, it’s a quiet shadow, lingering at the edges of even your happiest moments. And some days, like today, it melts into the moments you hold dear, reminding you that the best way to honour the love you’ve lost is to allow it to continue shaping your life. At the graduation party, I was overwhelmed by a mixture of emotions I hadn’t entirely prepared for. There was the evident pride in Landon. There was gratitude for Glenda, who saw connections and truths I missed. And there were bittersweet and unrelenting tears that spoke to how deeply Brenda’s life continues to resonate with our family.

If there was a single takeaway from today, it’s the reminder that life’s significant “firsts” will always nudge us to reflect. They show us how far we’ve come, who we’ve loved, and how much we carry them forward. And sometimes, like on the way into church, those reflections come with raw emotion we can’t hold back.

For Landon, this event was monumental. For us, his family, it was, too, because it gave us a chance to remember, celebrate, and love in the ways Brenda would have championed. Landon’s future is bright—Glenda and I can see it just as clearly as Brenda would have. And as we cheer him on to the next step in his life, I can’t help but hope that we all find moments to celebrate the people we love. Whether you’re marking a milestone, supporting someone through their “first,” or just choosing to reach out, remember that these efforts shape the legacies we leave.

And for those of you who, like me, still find yourself caught off guard by the layers of grief, I’ll offer this piece of what I learned today. Give yourself grace when joy and sadness mingle. Feel it all, knowing that love doesn’t just disappear when someone is gone; it transforms and continues, carried forward in moments like these. Today was one of those moments—for Landon, for Brenda, and for all of us.

Aging Reflections: A Road Less Travelled

Photo Credit: Jeremy Pue, Whitewater Productions. “A Road on Keats Island”

The photo above is one of the few roads on Keats Island and where our Better with Age retreat will be held. I love how the image draws you forward, but you do not know where it goes once you’re deeper into the forest. I do know that this road does come to a point where you have to make a decision to go right or go left.

It has been my lifelong commitment to inspire souls to lead, to find strength in their convictions, and to empower their steps with unwavering confidence. Now, as I reflect on the inevitability of my own aging, I recognize the need for those skills to adapt and endure. That is why I joined my dear friends, Dr. Paul Pearce and Dr. Paul Stevens, who taught a course at Regent College called “Aging Matters,” based on Stevens’s book. This is also why my wife Glenda, Paul and I are facilitating a retreat for Baby Boomers in partnership with Barnabas Landing called “Better with Age.”

Better with Age allows Baby Boomers to delve into matters of calling, spirituality, and legacy in retirement. In this environment, we want to be encouraged to continue to discern our purpose as we grow older and remain meaningfully engaged for the rest of our lives. We want you to better understand this season of life and reframe retirement as a time of continued calling and productivity. Better with Age points to biblical wisdom that can help us redefine aging as an extraordinarily fruitful season of life.

The Fork in the Road – Acceptance or Denial?

I found myself, much like you might have, standing at a metaphorical fork in the road. One path, worn by the countless footsteps of the courageous, is the thoroughfare of acceptance—a road where we acknowledge the reality of our age with clear eyes and a full heart. The other path is denial, coated with the veneer of youth—a tempting detour that leads one into a mirage, away from the weight of years and the truth they carry.

Choosing the road of aging is far from waving a white flag; it is an act of courage. It’s an uprising against the fear of irrelevance, a bold declaration that our sunset years can be as enriching as the dawn of our youth. Here, real love flourishes, the kind that endures beyond transitory feelings—a resilient garden blooming from the seed of commitment nourished by actions and deeds.

Guidance Through the Uncertainties of Aging

Allow me to impart some guidance drawn from years of whispering courage into the hearts of leaders, many of whom struggle in the twilight of their careers:

Acknowledge Change: Recognize the transformation in your body and mind as a natural progression of life, not as an enemy to be contested but as a companion on your journey. This acceptance paves the way for peace and prepares the arena for untapped growth.
Invest in Healthy Living: We must learn and practice skills to maintain vitality. Prioritize wellness, engage in activities that nourish your body, and cultivate habits that anchor your mental health. Remember, well-being is a discipline, not a mere stroke of luck.
Cultivate Lasting Bonds: True affection stems from the roots of shared experiences and weathered storms. Commit to your relationships, be they professional or personal, and watch as affection deepens into a resilient bond that time can only strengthen, not wither.
Legacy of Leadership: Aging as a leader bestows upon you the rare opportunity to reflect not only on successes but also on the wisdom harvested from trials. Pass down this legacy. Mentor the young, ignite purpose in their endeavours, and gift them with a compass that points toward integrity and authentic living.
The Virtue of Adaptability: In a world that glorifies perpetual youth, be the voice that champions adaptability. Model how one can simultaneously honour the past and gracefully evolve to adopt new perspectives, skills, and roles.

Forks and Roads – A Personal Anecdote

Like you, I, too, encountered this fork. I was living the “Life of Carson,” as my doctor once told me, and on the road of denial, thinking I could do everything I have always been able to do. Well, that is not true anymore. Now I chose the road of aging—the less-travelled road, and I am learning about new things and seeing how God still has purpose for us as we age. I accepted the graying of my hair as a crown of wisdom, and although my family DNA does not seem to flood my top with grey, I do see more than I did last year. The new lines on my face are etchings of both joy and sorrow, borne with equal grace.

What changed my perspective? In 2022, I spent three weeks in a hospital ICU. I was having a multitude of tests done on my heart due to an incident. That experience caused me to face, with some evidence, that I was getting older. To be honest, I fought it, but in quiet moments, while resting in my hospital bed, I realized I was entering what I now call the third period of the hockey game and with no promise of overtime. I came out of the hospital with an ICD, and a different lifestyle. This choice to accept my getting older has not been without its struggle, but it has been illuminated with an authenticity that actually makes life even better.

What road are you on? Pause. Reflect. Then, stride forward, knowing that you do not walk it alone. We all are learning lessons. My insights and yours are like lanterns left to light the way for others. May they guide you to lead with conviction as you inherit the mantle of your twilight sage.

In closing, remember readers, the roads we select will wind and weave differently for each of us, but the horizon is shared—the dusk of our days. As the Scriptures share, we do not number our days, but we can choose how we will live them. Aging is neither the end of the road nor the cessation of influence; it is a continuance, a testament to the lives we’ve moulded, the leadership we’ve inspired, and the legacy we leave behind.

Lead on, not despite your years, but because of them.

Baby Boomers and Faith: Finding Sanctuary in Aging

A significant number of people belonging to the Baby Boomer generation are individuals of Christian faith seeking a safe space to understand and navigate the challenges and joys of aging. As we age, we experience various transitions – from changes in our health, family dynamics to shifts in our life’s purpose. It’s an inevitable part of life that can feel overwhelming at times. However, there’s solace to be found in shared experiences and mutual understanding. One such sanctuary is the Better with Age retreat offered by Barnabas Landing.

Understanding The Shifts

As we grow older, numerous transitions come into play. We find ourselves transitioning into the ’empty nest’ phase as our children grow up and start families of their own. This shift can bring about both a sense of pride in our children’s independence and a feeling of loss as the home becomes quieter.

Health changes are another common aspect of aging. Our bodies, after years of service, begin to demand more care and attention. Adjusting to these changes can be daunting, but it’s not a journey one has to undertake alone.

Re-evaluating life’s purpose and values also becomes crucial as career and family-raising move into the rearview mirror. The question of ‘what now?’ often arises, leading to introspection and, sometimes, reinvention.

A Safe Haven at Barnabas Landing

The Better with Age retreat at Barnabas Landing is a haven for Baby Boomers navigating these transitions. The retreat will take place from April 8 – 11, 2024, and is led by Carson and Glenda Pue. Carson is an executive mentor, podcaster and author, and Glenda, with her vast experience working with children with special needs and their families, together offer a unique perspective on the challenges and joys of aging. Both lost their spouses and are remarried and navigating growing older together. They will be joined by Dr. Paul Pearce, a longtime friend and former director of the Centre for Healthy Aging and Transitions.

The retreat is all-inclusive and priced at $440 per person based on two sharing or $560 for single occupancy, and revolves around the theme of transition. You will come away feeling like you have had a mini-vacation with the exquisite meals at Barnabas, the comfortable rooms and the serenity of the view itself. It also offers workshops on topics such as losing a spouse, health changes, ageless connections, and aging with purpose.

Participants can join others in similar life stages to think, learn, and reflect together about how to live well and leave a lasting legacy through their words, actions, and faith. It’s an opportunity to share experiences, gain new insights, and find solace in the shared journey of aging.

The Final Word

Growing older does not have to be a solitary journey. Places like Barnabas Landing provide a safe space for Baby Boomers of faith to discuss, learn, and support each other through the transitions that come with aging, turning what might seem daunting into an enriching experience filled with growth and understanding.

For more information about the Better with Age retreat, visit Barnabas Landing or reach out to Evelyn at info@barnabaslanding.com.

A New Season

After all I have been through…

At the end of April 2019 I will complete my role assisting the president and my closest friend Bob Kuhn at Trinity Western University. I have been spending time praying and asking God what He would have me do in this next season of my life – wondering my future role after all I have been through.

During the summer I experienced a remarkable renewal in my life. I’m whistling again and want to do something! Hope welled up within me once again and I began to dream – but what would it be? There were plenty of opportunities – but I wanted to experience a fresh call.

Bob Kuhn, when I was talking to him about this, said that it was highly unlikely God was going to call me to do anything drastically different than how He has used me all my life – mentoring people. His statement sat with me and was a major influence in my decision about the future. In a remarkable series of events I know what I am going to do now. I am going to focus on mentoring and will be working with my friends at Barnabas Landing on Keats Island. I’m joining the team as Special Assistant to the President (a title I have come to love from my time at Trinity Western University).

Keats Island – photo credit Robert Dunning

Those of you who know me well are aware of my family’s relationship with Barnabas. It holds a very dear place in our hearts and we have been engaged there for decades. Brenda always described it as her favourite place on earth – and she had seen a lot of the earth in her lifetime. So, in the new Station building being built our family have sponsored a room in her memory.

Then, there is the more recent loss in my life, that of Ruth Blake. I was engaged to Ruth and she too was taken from us by cancer just less than a month before our wedding. Ruth is Rob’s sister and was a key element of the ministry to young adults at Barnabas.

What will I be doing?

I will spend 50% of my time working alongside Rob Bentall. We will be investing in an initiative where up to a dozen young adults will live on the island for a guided mentorship experience. The participants will be called Barnabas Landing Stewards and together we will learn what it means to live as Christians in a post Christian world. From September until April we will live, work and grow together in community.

In addition the Barnabas Landing mentoring initiative will hold retreats for the baby boomer generation teaching how to recover the role of elder and how to mentor. The Stewards will assist in the training. From May until September I will be working with others creating a mentoring flow that I am very excited about.

The other 50% of my time I will be able to do more writing, executive mentoring/coaching with leaders and organizations, pastoral counselling, and conference and retreat speaking on God’s pursuing love and grace. I also love working with Truefaced and other boards I serve with.

The thought of being able to welcome friends and family to visit on the island thrills me – and of course my grandkids can come anytime!

Ellie, Liam, Georgia, Grandpa, Roland, Mac, Landon at Applegate, Barnabas Landing

New Rhythms

I am also excited about the creation of new rhythms this next season will usher in. It will settle out over time but presently looks something like this:

September to April living on Keats Monday through Thursday and back into the city with family and friends Friday to Sunday.
Between May and September I will be going to Ireland for a month for creative time, and restoration. I also plan to spend some weeks out on the ocean and of course preparing for the next intake of Stewards.
Daily rhythms will involve more quiet time, focus on health and the encouraging of others.
And of course…being on and near the water as much as possible.

Following is the release that Barnabas have sent out. I’ll be writing much more about this in the future. – Carson

For Immediate Release

January 17, 2019

Barnabas Family Ministries Appoints Carson Pue to Lead Mentoring Initiative

Keats Island, BC – The management and staff of Barnabas Landing are pleased to announce that Rev. Dr. Carson Pue has accepted the appointment to the role Special Assistant to the President and Executive Director Rob Bentall.

The appointment fills an important role after the premature death of Ruth Blake, Rob Bentall’s sister and Carson’s fiancé. Ruth’s passion was ministry to young adults and it seemed clear to all that this vision was not to stop but rather be enhanced. A mentorship program called “Barnabas Landing Stewards” has been developed and Carson will act as the director.

The Barnabas board is very encouraged to have Carson Pue join the staff team. He knows Barnabas well, and his values and expertise around mentoring and community align well with our vision and will enhance young adults and our staff. The Stewards will also be helping teach Baby Boomers how to be effective mentors in this new initiative. Carson will be a great encouragement as special assistant to Rob Bentall, coming alongside with skills in organizational leadership, fundraising, and pastoral help in maintaining the spiritual core of our ministry to families of all ages.

“I am not sure I could have thought up such a timely, meaningful way to serve those I love at Barnabas,” says Carson Pue. “My love, passion, and vision for young adults has grown while at Trinity Western University and I feel called to do all we can to encourage them moving into adulthood and learning how to be and live as Christians in a post Christian world. What better way to learn and grow than by living together on an island in the Pacific.”

Carson will assume the role of Special Assistant to the President in May 2019. While Barnabas serves as his center, Carson will continue his executive mentoring and leadership work with boards and Christian leaders. Barnabas Landing Stewards will start the first cohort of guided mentorship in September 2019 through April 2020.

Rob Bentall says, “I can’t believe how God has directed and brought all this about. I am thrilled to have Carson as a new addition to our team and I believe that this will forward our ministry to strengthen, educate and encourage families for decades to come.”

ABOUT BARNABAS LANDING

Established in 1986 as a non-profit Christian ministry, Barnabas Family Ministries is dedicated to strengthening, educating and encouraging families through Christian retreats. Barnabas Landing strives to create a place where young adults, couples, families and Christian leaders can retreat from the demands of life. In this atmosphere of rest and authenticity, we believe relationships and faith can flourish. It is place to refocus on what matters the most—your relationships and faith.

For more information, please visit www.barnabasfm.org

For information on the young adult mentoring initiative called “Barnabas Landing Stewards”, please visit www.barnabaslanding.org.