There’s something uniquely dangerous about being at the top as an executive in high demand.

I was in an executive meeting, surrounded by sharp minds, driving big decisions, when my phone buzzed. My wife. I ignored it—voicemail could wait. But, then it buzzed again. You know that feeling of urgency. When your spouse calls twice, you pick up, even if you’re with the president. I excused myself and stepped out. Her voice was tense: “Our daughter ran away from home.” Shock hit me, but I steeled myself, walked back in, and told the team I had a family emergency. They nodded—family-work balance is a company value—but there’s always that undertone. Who works late? Who sends emails at midnight? That’s the real measure of “commitment.”

My thoughts were on home.  My daughter had everything: a car, vacations, a smartphone, a bright future in Southern California. What could she want? Looking back, I see it clearly. She didn’t need things. She needed me. I was a shadow—gone before she woke, home after she slept, dragging everyone to church on Sundays like that checked the box. I’d built an empire, but I’d lost the plot.

Success doesn’t always equal clarity. The higher you climb, the easier it is to confuse fruit with foliage. You’ve got growth, metrics, applause—but is it life? Or just noise? 

Bushes of busyness, not fruit. Sometimes, not even obedience.

I know you’re thinking, “Enough! I’ve got enough shame in my life; I don’t need more.” Stay with me. You only get one shot at this life, and eternity’s on the line. It’s worth it.

The problem is, early in your career, you’re life building: roles for experience, income, momentum. Smart moves. You build a name, a team, shareholder value. Then, somewhere along the way, your career becomes a freight train. You’re not driving it — you’re hanging on.

Try this test: Can you step away from work for two weeks — smartphone and laptop off — without everything crumbling? If not, you’re a disciple of the Internet, as John Eldredge puts it. The addiction’s real. 

Or this: Can you say “yes” to a Kingdom invitation—a mission trip, take on a mentor, lead a LifeLaunch group, lead a new ministry—without thinking, “I can’t take on one more thing”? If the answer’s no, your business might be consuming your calling.

What’s the fruit of your leadership? Leadership’s good; ambition’s not the enemy. But executive roles have gravity. Without alignment, they pull you into functional idolatry. 

Paul nails it in Galatians 5:1: “It is for freedom that Christ has set us free. Stand firm, then, and do not let yourselves be burdened again by a yoke of slavery.” 

The executive yoke? Obligation disguised as significance. Urgency dressed as importance. Control posing as stewardship.

So, what do we do? Back to first principles. At Priority Living, through The Master’s Program, we define calling in four dimensions: conversion, transformation, faithfulness, fruitfulness. Faithfulness — showing up, leading the company — isn’t enough if it’s not producing eternal fruit. Your job isn’t to build something impressive. It’s to build something eternal.

In TMP, we teach time leadership: you’ve got 21 half-days a week. How many focus on eternal outcomes? We talk stewardship — not just money, but people, platforms, influence. Margin isn’t a luxury; it’s a Kingdom strategy, creating space to respond when God calls.

Here’s your challenge: What have you built that’s borrowing your best but not paying eternal returns? What can you redesign — your calendar, your role — to amplify your gifts for God’s mission? You don’t need to quit. But you might need to delegate more, build self-running systems, say “yes” to less, and prioritize for fruit.

You’re probably thinking I’m asking you to ditch everything and sleep under a mosquito net in a far-off land. No. After my daughter’s crisis settled, I started Tuesday night ice cream with her and her sister. The deal? They got ice cream, but they had to “pay” by spending time talking with Dad. Those conversations—over mint chip and sprinkles—deepened our bond. I stopped rushing to my home office after dinner. I showed up, engaged, and left deposits of love. TMP taught me this: intentional time with family can create fruit.

This week, audit your time. Audit your fruit. Ask God, “What part of my role have I made mine that belongs to You?” Don’t let executive success leave you with insignificance. You’re not called to survive the machine. You’re called to lead it—or leave it—but never to be owned by it. Trade control for calling. Because freedom — real freedom — is what you were made for.

In your corner,
Jeff

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