By Micah Johnson | Perfectly Flawed Leadership
Every long-distance runner knows about “the wall.” It usually appears somewhere around mile twenty of a marathon — the point where your legs feel like concrete, your lungs burn, and the finish line seems impossibly far. In that moment, everything in your body screams at you to stop.
Leadership has its own version of the wall. It might show up as prolonged uncertainty — a ministry pivot you didn’t plan for, a team in chaos, a vision that isn’t gaining traction, or a future that simply refuses to come into focus. The clouds roll in. The path forward disappears. And the voice in your head whispers, Maybe you’re not supposed to keep going.
If you’ve led anything of consequence long enough, you know exactly what that feels like.
Cloudy Futures Are Nothing New
Here is what we often miss in our anxiety about the unknown: God has always led His people through the clouds. The children of Israel didn’t get a Google Maps route from Egypt to Canaan. They got a pillar of cloud by day and a pillar of fire by night — just enough light for the next step, never the full picture.
Moses didn’t see the full scope of what God was doing when he stood at the Red Sea. Abraham didn’t know where he was going when he left Ur. David didn’t understand why he spent years hiding in caves before the crown came. Joseph couldn’t see how the pit, the prison, and the palace were all part of the same plan.
What looks like a dark cloud to us is often clarity that hasn’t arrived yet. God is not confused. He is not behind. He is simply working on a timeline that requires trust, not a blueprint.
“For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord, plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.” — Jeremiah 29:11
Look Back to Move Forward
Here is the mental shift that changes everything for an exhausted runner: instead of staring at the miles still left to run, they recall every mile already conquered. Mile one, where they found their rhythm. Mile ten, where they settled in. Mile eighteen, where they pushed through the cramp. Every hard mile already finished becomes a deposit of evidence — I have done hard things before. I can do this too.
This is exactly what the Psalmists modeled. Psalm 77 is a masterclass in this very technique. The writer begins in complete despair — “Will the Lord reject forever? Has his unfailing love vanished forever?” He is staring at the clouds. But then something shifts. He writes: “I will remember the deeds of the Lord; yes, I will remember your miracles of long ago.”
He doesn’t pretend the clouds have cleared. He simply chooses to rehearse the faithfulness he already knows. And that rehearsal becomes the foundation for a peace that the circumstances haven’t yet justified.
Remembrance is not nostalgia — it is evidence. Every time God came through before is a stone in your foundation for today.
Build Your Altar
Great leaders — biblical and practical — have always maintained a record of remembrance. The Israelites built physical altars everywhere God showed up. Joshua set up twelve stones from the Jordan River specifically so the next generation would ask, “What are these?” and the stories would be retold. They were not monuments to the past. They were fuel for the future.
What are the stones in your story?
Think about the moment you felt completely unqualified for a leadership role — and God moved anyway. Think about the budget crisis that somehow resolved. The relationship that seemed irreparable but was restored. The door that opened when every other one slammed shut. Think about how many times you stood under clouds similar to these, and God was faithful.
Those moments are not accidents. They are a portfolio. They are God’s track record — and it is perfect. Not your record. His. That is the peace that “surpasses all understanding” — a peace that doesn’t require you to see the finish line, only to trust the One who does.
“I lift up my eyes to the mountains — where does my help come from? My help comes from the Lord, the Maker of heaven and earth.” — Psalm 121:1–2
Three Practical Moves for the Leader Under the Clouds
1. Build your altar. Take thirty minutes and write down five to ten moments in your leadership journey where God unmistakably showed up. Be specific — name the year, the circumstance, the outcome. You are documenting evidence of a God who finishes what He starts.
2. Reframe the clouds. When you catch yourself catastrophizing about the unknown, interrupt the thought with a question: What would I think about the future if I let the past speak? Not naïve optimism — faith-rooted realism. The future may be overcast. But the character of the One guiding you is not.
3. Run the next mile, not the whole race. The runner who survives the wall doesn’t think about twenty-six miles. They think about the next telephone pole. The next water station. As a leader, your job right now isn’t to clear every cloud — it is to take the next faithful step. Obedience today. Trust for tomorrow. That is the rhythm of faith-driven leadership.
You Are Not Lost. You Are Being Led.
The clouds over your future are not a sign of God’s absence. They may be the very evidence of His presence — a cloud by day, a fire by night, guiding a leader He trusts with a journey He has already mapped.
You have covered miles that once seemed impossible. You have crossed rivers you didn’t know how to cross. You have been held in seasons when you had nothing left to hold on to. That is the same God who goes before you into the clouds you’re facing today.
So put your head down. Take the next step. And let the miles already run remind you — you were made for this last mile.
Lord, I cannot see what’s ahead. But I can see what You’ve already done. Let that be enough for today. Give me courage for the next step, faith for the miles I can’t yet see, and gratitude for every mile You’ve already carried me through. Amen.
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