The Power of Dwelling: Leadership Lessons from the Redwoods

The weekend before last, I packed a Bible, a onesie, and a little bit of burnout into my overnight bag and headed to the redwoods of Mission Springs for our Midtown Women’s Retreat.

The theme was simple but it carried weight: “Seek His Face.”

I didn’t drive myself there. The truth is, I’m not a fan of heights and those mountain roads to Mission Springs twist and climb in ways that make my palms sweat just thinking about them.

One of my sisters from church offered me a seat in her car; without that offering, I wouldn't have registered and would have missed out on the lesson. I accepted the invitation. Before long, I was riding in the backseat surrounded by women whose presence felt like a prayer—laughing, sharing, and falling into quiet reflection when the road turned. They were open with their stories, gentle with their wisdom, and kind enough to let me drift between conversation and silence.

Somewhere between the turns and the testimonies, I realized how rare that kind of space really is, in leadership and in life. To be held. To be safe. To be poured into without having to pour out.

That became the first lesson of the weekend: sometimes leadership means letting yourself be carried. Sometimes collaboration begins with trust, allowing others to take the wheel for a while.

When we arrived, the air smelled of pine and renewal. The sound of women’s voices—singing, praying, laughing—rose from the lodge like a living psalm.

But it wasn’t until day two that the noise in my mind began to quiet. I live with social anxiety and what I now recognize as ADHD-fueled rejection sensitivity, both of which have felt heightened in this post-pandemic world of constant comparison and overstimulation. Even surrounded by warmth, it took time for my body to catch up to the safety my spirit sensed.

Slowly, the rhythm of the weekend began to work on me. The laughter, the worship, the stillness between sessions—it all began to loosen the grip of performance and perfectionism. For the first time in a long time, I wasn’t managing my presence. I was simply present.

As an anchor teaching, Pastor Susie Gamez of Midtown Church opened Psalm 27, reminding us that seeking His face isn’t about fixing ourselves or finding quick answers. It’s about drawing near.

David wrote that psalm not from safety but from struggle. He wasn’t asking God for strategy; he was asking for sustenance. And that distinction spoke to me—not just as a woman of faith, but as a leader.

“One thing I ask from the Lord, this only do I seek: that I may dwell in the house of the Lord all the days of my life, to gaze on the beauty of the Lord and to seek Him in His temple.” — Psalm 27:4

That word, dwell, stayed with me. To dwell means to stay, to abide, to remain—not rush through or visit occasionally. To dwell in God’s presence is to stop striving long enough to remember who you are. It’s the same in leadership. True influence doesn’t come from speed or constant motion. It comes from being grounded enough to dwell with your people, with your purpose, and with yourself.

Stillness not as self-help, but as surrender. Stillness not for strategy, but for intimacy. Stillness not to manage the noise, but to meet the Maker.

And in that quiet, I began to see leadership differently—not as something to perform, but something to practice in partnership with God and others.

1. Stillness is a leadership skill.

The world says, “Use quiet time to clear your mind.” But true leadership knows when to pause, not just to plan, but to listen.

In that silence, I didn’t gain strategy. I gained peace. I didn’t hear plans. I felt Presence.

Stillness taught me that leadership isn’t always about decisive movement or having all the answers. Sometimes the most powerful thing a leader can do is dwell in the pause—to listen deeply, not just to respond, but to understand.

Listening is an act of service. It builds trust, creates safety, and allows people to be seen. In that space, collaboration begins to flourish. Teams don’t need leaders who talk the loudest; they need leaders who dwell long enough to truly hear what’s being said—and sometimes what isn’t.

When you listen that way, strategy becomes shared. Innovation becomes collective. Leadership becomes less about authority and more about alignment.

Clarity doesn’t always come from control. Sometimes it comes from communion.

2. Faith dismantles fear in leadership.

Pastor Suzy reminded us that courage doesn’t come from control; it comes from trust. David’s confidence wasn’t in his situation improving; it was in God’s steady presence.

That same truth applies to leadership. Leading through uncertainty, whether in business, family, or community, requires faith in both the process and the people around you.

Faith isn’t about what you can see ahead. It’s about remembering what He’s already done. If He did it before, He’ll do it again.

That reminder steadies my leadership. Resilience isn’t built by knowing outcomes; it’s built by trusting that growth happens in the unknown. Delegation, trust, and teamwork all begin with that same faith—to dwell in uncertainty without fear, knowing God is still at work.

3. Leadership is strengthened through relationships.

There’s something sacred about being surrounded by women who show up unmasked—laughing, praying, resting, and worshipping together. That weekend, I didn’t just feel community. I was carried by it.

And that’s what leadership is meant to look like. Isolation wears even the strongest leaders down. Relationship-building—real, heart-level connection—is what sustains us. Teams thrive when we dwell in understanding, empathy, and shared purpose, not just performance.

On Saturday night, we gathered in white for the dessert party—women glowing under string lights, holding both joy and heaviness in the same hands. It wasn’t performance. It was presence. Joy and surrender intertwined, filling the night air with something holy.

That’s when I understood: presence isn’t just vertical. It’s horizontal. God shows up in the space between us when we show up for one another. That’s where collaboration and compassion begin.

4. Leadership requires releasing what you can’t carry.

Before we left, we gathered for worship one last time. There was space to lay down what we’d been holding—the fear, the perfectionism, the self-imposed expectations.

Surrounded by women doing the same, I felt the release that comes when you finally leave it at the altar.

That act of surrender felt like leadership, too. Good leaders know when to release what’s no longer theirs to hold, whether it’s a project, a plan, or the pressure to do it all. Delegation isn’t about efficiency; it’s about humility.

Leaving it at the altar didn’t mean forgetting. It meant freeing. It meant walking back down the mountain lighter, not because life was easier, but because my spirit—and my leadership—were uncluttered.

As we packed up to leave on Sunday, I found myself quiet again. This time, it wasn’t the quiet of exhaustion. It was the quiet of enoughness.

Now, as I have returned to daily life—emails, projects, parenting, planning—I carry a new kind of momentum. Not powered by pressure, but anchored in peace.

I hold deep gratitude for the courage it takes to embark on a journey of realignment. Faith doesn’t mean the absence of fear. It means moving forward in spite of it.

Because leadership, at its core, is a spiritual practice. It’s the daily discipline of dwelling in purpose, listening with empathy, trusting the process, and building from a place of presence rather than panic.

I’ve learned that the most impactful leaders aren’t defined by how much they do, but by how deeply they dwell—in alignment, in integrity, and in the people they serve. They don’t just manage teams; they nurture trust. They create spaces where others can exhale, contribute, and grow.

That’s the kind of leadership I practice—rooted, relational, and real. It’s not just about titles and timelines, and more about building together—through faith, listening, and presence.

These days, I measure success not by speed or output, but by peace. The moments of stillness remind me I’m already leading from the right place.

I move forward not because I know what’s next, but because I trust the One who’s led me this far.

That’s the direction I’m moving in. And I pray for leaders who are committed to moving forward together.

“One thing I ask from the Lord, this only do I seek: that I may dwell in the house of the Lord all the days of my life.” — Psalm 27:4

What does “dwelling” look like in your own leadership or life right now?

Where are you learning to listen before you lead?