I don’t usually lead with stories like this, but every now and then, a little vulnerability is worth the awkwardness. So here goes.

A few years back, I lost my temper. Not the “raised my voice in a meeting” kind of temper. I mean, I literally punched a wall in our office during a call with a client.

And yes, the client was a ministry.

We’d been working with this church for about six months. They had asked Keenly to help with communication challenges, evaluate where things were stuck, create a better strategy, and move them toward a healthier way of operating.

That kind of work is never surface level. It involved everything from web redesigns and video content to communication systems and brand strategy alignment across departments.

Pretty quickly, we realized something deeper was going on. There were internal turf wars. Each department was competing to make their ministry the star. That’s not unheard of, ministry teams are full of passionate people. But this was different. The competition was getting in the way of anyone being effective.

And the biggest problem? The communications director. The person we were working with most closely was constantly trying to appease everyone.

Every meeting started to feel like a negotiation. Not the good kind, the kind where you’re making small, painful compromises that dilute the vision. Instead of streamlining communications and helping the church clarify their message, we were slowly being pulled into this endless loop of “How can we water this down so nobody gets mad?”

After a while, I started asking the question… why are we even doing this?

I voiced it gently at first, “This isn’t a sustainable way to lead communication.” But I could feel myself getting more and more frustrated. It wasn’t just the project, it was the missed opportunity. I could see how powerful this could be for the church if they’d just stop trying to make everyone happy.

Most people know me as the calm guy. The helpful guy.

If you’ve worked with me, you know I try to be a positive presence. I care deeply about the ministries we serve, and I genuinely want to help people succeed. I’m not the yeller. I don’t throw chairs. I try to be measured, thoughtful, and kind.

But one day, something snapped.

I was on a call with that same client. We were talking through some important communication decisions, and they were, once again, choosing a route that didn’t make sense. A path that, from our vantage point, would create confusion, hurt engagement, and ultimately stall their momentum.

So I tried to speak into it. Calmly. Repeatedly. Professionally. I kept offering perspective, giving examples, trying to help them see the long-term picture. But they just weren’t hearing it. And I could feel the frustration welling up. Not because they disagreed with me, but because I knew they were about to step into a mess. A mess we could help them avoid.

In that moment, I said as politely and calmly as I could, “Would you mind holding for a second?”

I hit mute.

Walked to the back of our office.

And punched the wall.

Hard enough to leave knuckle prints in the wood slats.

Then I took a breath, unmuted the call, and carried on the conversation like nothing happened.

The client never knew.

They knew I was frustrated, sure. But not that frustrated.

What I didn’t realize at the time was that two of our team members had been in the office. They heard everything, the phone call, the pacing, the punch.

These were teammates who had worked alongside me with this client. They knew how invested we were. And while they’d seen me annoyed before, they had never seen me lose it like that.

Later that day, after things cooled off, we actually laughed about it. (Once I assured them my hand was okay and promised not to start taking out drywall.) But the moment stuck with me.

So I did what I usually do when something doesn’t sit right. I called a mentor.

I told him the story. I told him how frustrated I’d been, how much I wanted this ministry to make a better decision, how powerless I felt in that moment.

And he said something I’ll never forget.

“Jason, one of the things that makes you and others in ministry good at what you do is also the thing that makes this kind of thing so hard. It’s the side of you that wants to help people. That’s a gift, but it’s also what leads to moments like this.”

It hit me like a gut punch, but in a good way.

What makes us great at serving ministries is often the same thing that makes it hurt.

That wall didn’t get punched because I was angry at the client. Not really. It was frustration for them. Frustration that we’d invested so much time and effort, and they were still going to make a decision we knew would cause damage.

It felt like betrayal, in a weird way.

And maybe you’ve felt something like that too.

Maybe you’re a pastor who’s spent months pouring into a couple, helping them work through struggles, gain trust, find healing, and then one of them makes a decision that unravels everything.

Maybe you’re a nonprofit director who’s mentored a staff member, coached them, believed in them, and then they quit unexpectedly or made a poor choice that impacts your whole team.

Maybe you’re a school leader who’s invested in a teacher or student for years, and you watch them walk away from something they worked so hard for.

That kind of stuff cuts deep. Because it’s not just about strategy or success. It’s about people. And when you care deeply about people, disappointment gets personal.

So what do we do with that kind of frustration?

I’ve had to learn, and re-learn, some important things over the years. Maybe they’ll help you too.

1. These ministries don’t belong to us.

As much as we care, as hard as we work, as invested as we get, these aren’t our organizations. They belong to God. If someone makes a poor choice that affects the ministry, it’s not ours to fix entirely. We do our best, and we surrender the rest. That’s harder than it sounds. But it’s freeing.

2. I can’t see the whole picture.

I like to think of myself as a strategist. I love evaluating situations from all angles, forecasting outcomes, helping people plan with wisdom. But at the end of the day, that’s just a really good educated guess. God sees what we don’t. Sometimes what feels like a detour ends up being a better story than I could’ve written.

3. Growth doesn’t only happen in the “success” moments.

The Bible is full of leaders who made bad choices, faced setbacks, blew it in big ways, and yet God still used them. Sometimes the most important growth happens after the failure, after the wandering, after the poor decision. That doesn’t excuse bad choices, but it helps me hold my expectations loosely and trust that God’s still working.

I hope I don’t punch another wall. But I might.

These days, I think I have a little more clarity. I’m not as quick to get heated. I’ve got more reps, more perspective, more peace.

But I also know I’m human. You are too.

Sometimes you’re going to care so much it hurts. Sometimes you’re going to pour yourself out and watch someone ignore the advice. Sometimes you’re going to give your best and still end up disappointed.

That’s okay.

It doesn’t mean you stop caring.

It means you learn how to hold your calling in one hand and grace in the other.

You show up. You serve well. You speak truth. You offer counsel.

And then you remember, the same grace that met you in your worst decisions is enough for theirs too.

Because at the end of the day, we’ve all punched a wall or two. Maybe not literally. But you know what I mean.

And thank God for grace.