by Eddie Pipkin

My wife and I were driving through mountainous terrain during Christmas vacation, and as we were rounding a windy corner, we saw a sign common to those parts: “Watch for Falling Rocks.”  We’ve seen that sign plenty of times, but my wife was bemused on this occasion.  “How exactly are we supposed to respond to that?” she asked.  How indeed?  Panic?  Paralysis?  Exhilaration?  In ministry as in driving, the proper level of alertness can determine the outcome of the journey.

We’ve all seen such warning signs on our travels.

They encourage us to pay special attention to our situation, highlighting dangers that are statistically more probable in our current context.  If a plummeting boulder seems too random to plan for, consider all the other things that such signs routinely warn us about: cattle, curves, ice on bridges, children at play, construction zones, slick roads, cyclists, bus stops, and deer.

That last one is an excellent example based on our recent travels.  My mother lives out in the woods in Georgia, and the road to her house is a favorite transit point for white-tailed deer. When traveling the road to her home, we twice had to break for deer during our most recent visit.  We know to pay attention, slow down, and be careful (my wife once totaled a car hitting a deer in this area), but the warning road sign with the deer silhouette is a great reminder when you are distracted by other things like singing Christmas carols at the top of your voice.  “Oh, yes!” one thinks, and adjusts one’s speed, and the extra time to react to the inevitable deer is a potential life saver.

Falling rocks seem less inevitable and more random as a danger.  I had to search all the way back to 2009 to find an instance in which a U.S. driver was killed by such an arbitrary rockfall (although it happens a few times a year around the planet).  But the principle is the same.  The context predicts the possibility of danger: here is a place where rocks may fall!  Be Alert!

In ministry leadership, looking ahead to the many adventures of the year at hand, there are moments when one might predict dangerous obstacles to progress and peace.  There are big projects on the schedule.  There are seasonal pressure points that push us to the max emotionally.  It’s best to acknowledge them honestly and be prepared.  Even if they seem obvious, say in the weeks before the Easter chaos, it’s powerful for our teams if we say, “The next few weeks are going to be intense.  How can we support each other?”  Such acknowledgements give people permission to admit that they aren’t superheroes.  It gives them license to ask for help.

When facing any warning sign (be it rocks, deer, or icy bridges), there is a whole spectrum of potential responses:

  • We can panic and overreact.  (In the case of driving, this would be pulling over to the side of the road and refusing to drive further into danger – no matter that the possibility of danger is remote or manageable).
  • We could exercise caution.  (In the case of driving, this involves slowing down to a reasonable speed that allows us to focus our attention and have time to respond defensively if danger arises).
  • We could scoff at the ridiculous, unlikely probability that the sign’s warning might come to fruition.  (In the case of driving, this would mean proceeding with a shrug of the shoulders, maybe even speeding up to express our contempt!)

Clearly, the middle ground is the way to proceed, as evidenced by our own recent deer interactions.  Either an overreaction or an underreaction could be dangerous in driving or in leadership moments.  On the road, the danger of an underreaction is self-apparent, but an overreaction can also increase danger. Driving far too slowly for normal conditions, though it may seem safer, can heighten our risk as traffic approaches and our dramatically slowed car becomes a hazard in and of itself.  In leadership moments, overreaction or underreaction can have serious side effects:

  • It can bring things to a halt.  Excessive worry can slow a process down as we try to implement planning that attempts to forestall every imaginable negative possibility.  We should be prudent, but not gum up the works because of our fear of negative outcomes.
  • It can shift our focus inappropriately.  Excessive worry sends us to a place of obsessing about things that are not our primary objective.  It is easy to get sidetracked about obscure, unlikely developments – largely because the mere possibility of a catastrophic outcome doesn’t seem worth the smallest of risk.  But when we allow obscure risks to dominate our thinking, we miss out on the far, far more likely positive results.  Risk management calls for cool heads and realistic assessment and accommodation.

How do you do at heeding contextual warnings?  Do you assess the dangers and calmly adjust your plans to anticipate potential problems without gumming up the works?  Or do you tend to panic?  Or let the doomsdayers dominate the conversation?  The right strategy is key to a successful journey.

Share your own favored strategies for measuring risk and moving forward with confidence in the comments section below.