Undistracted

In a world where our phones buzz every few minutes and our minds jump from one worry to the next, we've become experts at being distracted. We check our devices mindlessly, scroll through endless feeds, and find ourselves pulled in countless directions by the urgent demands of daily life. Yet beneath all this noise, something precious is slipping away—our ability to live with clear purpose and genuine joy.

The modern epidemic of distraction isn't just about technology or busy schedules. It runs deeper, affecting how we see ourselves, how we connect with others, and whether we're truly living the lives we were meant to live. Many of us have become so accustomed to scattered attention that we've forgotten what it feels like to be fully present, deeply engaged, and authentically alive. We've settled for proximity instead of presence, busyness instead of purpose, and fleeting entertainment instead of lasting fulfillment.

Picture this: you're standing on what you believe is safe ground, casually throwing rocks into what appears to be a dangerous minefield ahead. Then you notice the warning sign has been uprooted, and you realize with dawning horror that you're not on the perimeter of danger—you're standing right in the middle of it. This happened to me while visiting a mountain border between Iraq and Iran, and it perfectly captures how distraction operates in our lives.

We think we're safely observing life's dangers from a distance, making smart choices and staying in control. But distraction is sneaky. It doesn't announce itself with flashing lights. Instead, it quietly leads us into minefields we didn't even know existed. One moment we're confidently navigating our days, and the next we're lost in a maze of comparison, insecurity, people-pleasing, or endless busyness that keeps us from the very things that matter most.

The distractions in our lives aren't always obvious threats. They often come disguised as good things—work opportunities, social obligations, even acts of service. But when these seemingly positive activities pull us away from our core purposes and deepest relationships, they become obstacles to the joy and meaning we're seeking. We need to recognize these patterns before we can begin the courageous work of moving forward.

Like a pilot maintaining a quiet cockpit to avoid dangerous mistakes, we need to reduce the noise in our lives. We make roughly thirty-five thousand decisions every day, yet most of us never decide to be happy or to pursue joy as a deliberate choice. Instead, we get caught up in the whirlwind of urgent but unimportant tasks, losing sight of what truly deserves our attention and energy.

There's something magical about discovering you have more access than you initially believed. I learned this lesson at a Carrie Underwood concert when my friend Ed, the lead guitarist, gave me what I assumed was a standard ticket. As I climbed toward what I thought would be nosebleed seats, usher after usher kept redirecting me closer to the stage. First to the main floor, then to the mosh pit, until finally a security guard examined my ticket closely and laughed, "Buddy, this is an all-access pass. You can go anywhere with this thing."

For most of my life, I'd been living like I needed permission to fully engage with the opportunities around me. I was content to watch from the cheap seats, assuming that real access was reserved for other people—the more qualified, the more deserving, the more prepared. But God had already given me an all-access pass to live boldly and purposefully. I just hadn't realized I was holding it in my hand.

Consider Vesta Stoudt, a factory worker during World War II who noticed a fatal flaw in ammunition boxes. The paper seals would get soaked and fail, ruining the ammo inside. When wax was used to waterproof the boxes, soldiers couldn't access their ammunition quickly during firefights. Vesta had two sons in the military, and this wasn't just a workplace observation—it was a life-and-death concern for her family.

When her boss dismissed her innovative solution for waterproof tape, Vesta didn't wait for approval from someone who couldn't see her vision. She wrote directly to President Roosevelt, including her idea and a sample. Her bold move led to the invention of duct tape, which the military still uses today and NASA includes on every space mission. One woman refused to believe she needed permission to follow her instincts and potentially save lives.

We've been given permission to pursue our beautiful ideas and ambitions. We don't need different credentials or a special invitation to live fully into who God created us to be. The only spot already taken is center stage, where Jesus has it covered. Everywhere else, we have access to live with boldness, creativity, and purpose.

On a beautiful day in Hawaii, a middle-aged man walked into the Hawaii Emergency Management Agency and made a mistake that terrified the world. During a routine training exercise, he got distracted and pushed the wrong button, sending an alert to every phone on the islands: "Incoming ballistic missile threat. This is not a drill." For thirty-eight agonizing minutes, people said goodbye to their families, hid in shelters, and prepared for the unthinkable.

When I learned about this catastrophic error, I did something that surprised even me—I sent the man a job offer. Not because I thought his mistake was acceptable, but because I didn't want him to believe he was a failure just because he had failed. There's a crucial difference between experiencing a failed event and adopting failure as an identity, and understanding this distinction can change everything about how we move forward from our mistakes.

We all carry stories about our failures, and often these narratives become more powerful than they deserve to be. I spent years believing I had too many fingers because my father, who lost half a finger in a grenade accident during army training, never explained what had happened. As a child, I created my own explanation for the gap I couldn't understand, and this made-up story shaped how I saw myself for years.

The trouble with the stories we tell ourselves—or the stories others have told us—is that they can become prisons. We construct elaborate explanations for painful experiences, then build rules and behaviors around these narratives long after they've stopped serving us. Some of these stories are half-truths we've inherited; others are complete fabrications we've created to make sense of confusing circumstances.

Thomas Edison found ten thousand ways not to make a light bulb before he succeeded. Michael Jordan missed more than nine thousand shots and lost almost three hundred games. Their failures weren't evidence of their inadequacy—they were stepping stones to extraordinary achievement. The same is true for us. Our mistakes don't disqualify us from God's love; they remind us of our desperate need for His grace and guidance in our lives.

Sometimes the most important work we do happens when our original plans fall apart completely. The Oaks Retreat Center was supposed to open just as the COVID-19 pandemic shut down the world. Instead of welcoming guests to our beautifully renovated facility, we found ourselves with sixty thousand square feet of empty buildings and astronomical monthly expenses. It would have been easy to see this as a devastating failure.

But rather than fixating on what wasn't working, we looked at what was adjacent to us. Next door sat a beautiful valley with an abandoned barn, an overgrown horse racetrack, and one hundred acres of pastures from a famous training center that had produced two Kentucky Derby winners. Instead of lamenting our closed retreat center, we pivoted to creating an equestrian program that began generating revenue while we waited for the world to reopen.

This experience taught me that when we hit roadblocks, the solution often lies not in forcing our way through, but in paying attention to the opportunities already within reach. God rarely gives us a detailed blueprint for our lives, but He consistently provides what we need adjacent to where we are. The key is staying alert to possibilities rather than becoming paralyzed by problems.

I learned this lesson again when I bought a massive racehorse for a single dollar. The previous owner was eager to part with the injured animal, assuming its racing days were over. When I took Red for a walk and he bolted across our hundred-acre field, I instinctively started running after him. Completely winded and realizing the absurdity of chasing a racehorse on foot, I stopped, returned to the barn, and got some carrots. Fifteen minutes later, Red trotted back to me.

Sometimes we exhaust ourselves chasing things we're never going to catch when we should return to the basics—the barn of our lives where our core values, relationships, and purposes reside. What are you chasing that's keeping you from being present to what already surrounds you? The things we desperately pursue often come to us naturally when we stop running so hard and create space for them to find us.

In college, I wrote a letter to musician Keith Green and received a brief reply—just three handwritten sentences. Those words from someone I admired told me I mattered, that I was worth his time, and that I was seen. That small act of availability changed the trajectory of my life and established a pattern I've tried to maintain ever since. We don't always need to offer advice or solutions; sometimes the most powerful gift we can give is simply our presence and attention.

This is why I put my phone number in the back of every book I write and answer calls from strangers throughout each day. People think this makes me incredibly distracted, but it's actually how I stay focused on what matters most—being unreasonably available to others. When I answer the phone and say hello to someone I've never met, I'm telling them they matter, they're valued, and they're worth my time. This availability isn't a distraction from my purpose; it is my purpose.

The work you were made to do isn't necessarily about your job title or career path, though it might include those things. It's about understanding how God uniquely wired you to contribute to the world around you. Some people are made for grand stages; others for quiet conversations. Some are called to lead organizations; others to love individual hearts. The key is discovering what sets your soul on fire and then pursuing it with undistracted focus.

I think about Nehemiah, who was given permission to rebuild the walls of Jerusalem. When critics and opponents tried to distract him from his work, he had a simple response: "I'm doing important work, and I can't come down!" He knew his purpose, understood his mission, and refused to be pulled away from what mattered most. He had half his people working on the wall while the other half protected them—a strategy we all need when pursuing meaningful work.

What important work are you doing that requires this kind of focus? Who has your back when distractions try to pull you away? The key to living an undistracted life isn't avoiding all interruptions—it's knowing which ones align with your deepest purposes and which ones lead you away from them. When we're clear about our calling, we can respond to the noise around us with confidence: "I'm doing important work, and I can't come down."

Living an undistracted life isn't about eliminating all chaos or achieving perfect focus—it's about knowing what deserves our attention and having the courage to say no to everything else. Like a horse wearing blinders, we need to block our view of things that hardly matter and focus intensely on what will last forever: our faith, our families, and our purposes. When we direct our attention to these things, we discover the joy that's been waiting for us all along.

The stories throughout this exploration reveal a consistent truth: the cure for distraction isn't more information or better time management—it's falling in love with something bigger than our scattered impulses. Whether it's finishing a forty-two-year-old guitar, answering calls from strangers, or refusing to come down from the important work God has given us, purpose becomes the gravitational force that pulls our fragmented attention into meaningful focus. We already hold an all-access pass to the life we were meant to live. The only question remaining is whether we'll have the twenty seconds of insane courage needed to claim it and step boldly into the undistracted, joy-filled existence that's been waiting for us to notice it was there all along.