The Quiet Danger Every Leader Faces
Drift starts small, grows silently, and often shows up only when we finally look up.
I was twelve years old, sitting in a small jon boat in Dugualla Bay on Whidbey Island, thinking more about the lures in my tackle box than the water under me. High tide had rolled in, fishing had slowed down, and I started daydreaming like only a twelve-year-old boy can.
Nothing seemed urgent. Nothing seemed dangerous. It was one of those calm mornings where the world feels settled and you feel settled with it.
Then I looked up. And I realized I wasn’t where I thought I was.
The outgoing tide had grabbed hold of that little boat and started taking me out toward open water. If you know anything about the Pacific Northwest, you know that those tides move fast. That bay narrows into a channel that pulls water out like someone yanking the plug in a giant bathtub.
In a motorboat, it wouldn’t have been a big deal. But I was in a flat-bottom jon boat with nothing but two oars and twelve-year-old arms.
Panic hit fast.
My dad had taught me one thing that ended up saving me. If you ever get caught in the tide, don’t fight it straight on. Row sideways. Get out of the pull first.
So that’s what I did. I rowed with everything I had. My heart was pounding through my chest. My hands hurt. My shoulders were screaming. And every second, the mouth of the bay was getting closer.
If I didn’t get free soon, I wasn’t going to be just “out fishing.” I was going to be a terrified kid drifting into the Pacific Ocean.
By the grace of God, I broke free of the current and drifted toward shore a few miles down the beach. I pulled the boat along the sand, probably looking like a wet, tired mess. When I finally got home, my mom made it clear that this was not the fishing adventure she had in mind for my Saturday.
That day burned something into my memory.
I didn’t get into danger because I made a stupid decision. I didn’t choose the wrong path. I didn’t decide to go exploring in dangerous water.
I simply drifted.
And that’s exactly what happens to leaders.
People think leaders fall because of some massive failure or catastrophic choice. Sure, that happens. But it is far more common for leaders to lose their footing long before there’s any visible collapse.
Most of the time, the drift starts quietly.
A little distraction here. A small compromise there. A habit you let slide. A warning sign you ignore. A fatigue you don’t pay attention to. A prayer life that turns into a drive-thru instead of a slow meal with the Lord.
- Nothing dramatic.
- Nothing scandalous.
- Nothing anyone would notice.
You’re just not where you once were.
Hebrews 2:1 gives a simple warning. “Pay careful attention so that you do not drift.”
That tells me two things.
First, drift is normal. Second, drift is dangerous if you don’t notice it.
And most leaders don’t notice it until something feels off.
I’ve drifted in almost every area of life at some point. Ministry, marriage, parenting, leadership, spiritual health, mental focus. You name it. None of the drift happened overnight. It never started with rebellion. It wasn’t because I didn’t care. It wasn’t even because I was running from God.
I just got distracted. I got busy. I got tired. And I let the tide decide my direction.
Drift usually takes you farther than you planned to go. And it happens faster than you realize.
That’s the part nobody tells you.
- You can drift spiritually while still preaching or teaching.
- You can drift in leadership while still hitting goals.
- You can drift relationally while still showing up physically.
- You can drift emotionally while still performing at a high level.
Everything looks fine on the outside. The boat looks steady. The water looks calm. The systems are running. The meetings are happening. The ministry is moving. People assume you’re good because the metrics are good.
Meanwhile, your soul is quietly being pulled out to sea.
If I’m honest, some of my worst seasons of drift came in seasons of visible success. That’s when you’re most vulnerable, because you stop paying attention. You start believing you can coast. You think momentum will carry you.
It won’t. Momentum hides drift. It never fixes it.
Jesus warned His followers more about subtle drift than open rebellion. Think about the parable of the soils, the warnings about being lukewarm, the moments He called His disciples back to center.
Drift is slow erosion.
Erosion of intimacy.
Erosion of conviction.
Erosion of clarity.
Erosion of first love.
You don’t wake up one morning far from God or far from who you were. You slowly floated there.
Let me go back to that boat for a second.
If I had tried to row straight against the tide, I would have exhausted myself and still lost ground. The current was stronger than my effort. Stronger than my determination.
That’s one of the biggest mistakes I see leaders make. When they feel the drift, they try to fix it by pushing harder at the same things that caused the drift. They take on more work. They add more pressure. They grit their teeth a little more. They pretend burnout is weakness. They call exhaustion faithfulness.
But rowing harder in the wrong direction just wears you out.
To get out of the current, you must row differently. You must row sideways. You must create a different angle. You must name what is pulling you and make a deliberate move away from it.
That’s what leaders often miss.
- So what does “rowing sideways” look like for a leader?
- Sometimes it means stopping instead of pushing.
- Sometimes it means going back to a rhythm of prayer that you abandoned.
- Sometimes it means getting honest about spiritual dryness instead of pretending.
- Sometimes it means asking for help instead of white-knuckling everything.
- Sometimes it means subtracting something from your life instead of adding something new.
- Sometimes it means stepping out of the busyness until you can hear God clearly again.
Let me share something I’ve learned through a few scars. God is not as impressed with our hustle as we think He is. He is far more interested in the health of our heart than the speed of our output.
Psalm 46:10 says, “Be still and know that I am God.”
That’s not a suggestion. That’s a rescue rope for leaders who drift downstream because they never slowed down long enough to notice where the current was taking them.
- Stillness is rowing sideways.
- Listening is rowing sideways.
- Resting is rowing sideways.
- Confessing is rowing sideways.
- Shifting your priorities back under God’s authority is rowing sideways.
Key Lesson: Move out of the pull before you try to move forward.
Another part of this hit me years later.
When I drifted that day, I was alone. Nobody in the boat to scoop water. Nobody to spot the danger. Nobody to ask me why I wasn’t paying attention. Nobody to tap me on the shoulder.
I believe most leaders drift for the same reason.
Isolation feels normal when you’re carrying a lot. You start to believe no one else understands. You start to believe you need to appear strong. You start to believe you can’t let people see the gaps. You start to believe that vulnerability will cost you influence.
That is one of the enemy’s oldest lies.
Isolation makes drift faster and more painful.
Community steadies you. Discipleship anchors you. Accountability wakes you up.
Ministry was never designed to be a solo boat in fast-moving water. The disciples were sent out two by two for a reason. Paul constantly traveled, taught, and ministered with companions. Jesus formed a small group. Even Moses had Aaron and Hur to hold up his arms.
Leaders who refuse community always drift sooner.
So let me ask you the questions I’ve had to ask myself more times than I care to admit.
- Where have you drifted?
- Where did you stop paying attention?
- Where is the tide pulling you?
- Where do you need to shift direction before you get swept farther out?
- Where do you need to row sideways and catch your breath with the Lord?
- Where do you need community?
- Where do you need accountability?
- Where do you need honesty?
These are not questions of shame. They are invitations.
- Invitations back to clarity.
- Back to intimacy.
- Back to calling.
- Back to purpose.
- Back to the Leader who never drifts even when you do.
I think back to that twelve-year-old kid on the bay. Exhausted. Scared. Slowly pulling a boat down the beach toward home. I didn’t know it then, but that moment was training for leadership.
Because every leader eventually finds themselves miles down the shore wondering how in the world they got there. And every leader will be tempted to believe they need to row harder, do more, and push faster.
But God’s rescue often starts with a pause. A look around. A moment of honesty. A simple prayer. And a decision to row differently.
If you feel like you’ve drifted, you’re not alone. You’re not broken. You’re not disqualified. You’re not done.
You just need to lift your eyes, adjust your direction, and row sideways until the pull lets go.
There is solid ground waiting for you.
There is clarity waiting for you.
There is renewal waiting for you.
And there is a God who never stops calling leaders back home.
You can lead again with strength and alignment.
You can love again with a full heart.
You can serve again with joy.
You can walk again with purpose.
Just look up.
Check the water. And start rowing with intention.
Your next stretch of leadership can be your best yet.
Not because you never drift, but because you know how to return.
Go and Grow,
Scot
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