I stand at a table in the Cape Girardeau airport, staring at a form I can’t seem to fill out correctly. The departure date line mocks me. I write something down. Wrong. They slide me a new form. I start again.

Alissa glides through security ahead of me. Shoes still on. Bag zipped. Boarding pass in hand. She moves like someone who packed last night, double-checked her documents, knows exactly which gate she needs. I’m anchored here, pen hovering over paper, trying to make my hand cooperate.

A calendar sits directly in front of me. Right there. July 27, 2026. Seven rows down, fourth column over. But my fingers feel thick, disconnected from my brain. Like trying to write underwater while everyone else breathes air and walks toward their gates.

A man shoulders past me. Doesn’t ask. Just cuts the line. I step back. Wait.

Behind me, an elderly woman leans closer. Her voice comes gentle but urgent. “What date are you putting down?”

I tell her. The wrong one. Not once. Twice! Even with the calendar between us showing the answer in printed numbers I could trace with my finger.

I’m panicking. Feeling the fear, but not of flying. A fear of leading someone else down the wrong road.

When you lead, when you realize others are watching, waiting to see what you will do, it can be paralyzing. Many assume you know the answer because you appear confident, you’re in front, and they need someone to trust.

And you’re it.

Now the question shifts to am I careful enough to be trusted with someone else’s form?

The date pulses in my memory: 7-27-2026. Seven: the number of completion, of Sabbath rest, of stepping back before the next thing roars forward. Twenty-seven: voice multiplied by impact. The whole thing reduces back to seven again.

My heart’s pounding in my ears, insecurity settling deep in my bones. What if that feeling of being unprepared isn’t insecurity but integrity? It’s you recognizing the person asking what to write shows they trust you. And you know what it costs to ask. Because you’ve done it yourself.

Leadership and integrity means waiting, watching, and making sure those you’re leading get it right first. Even if you have to wait a minute longer.