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of the programming meetings, I also did something else. Although I was pretty miffed, I tried to imagine what it would be like to be in Steve’s shoes. Here he was, in his midtwenties and absolutely passionate about designing a church experience that would reach his friends—friends who either hadn’t given church a second thought since third grade or had never given church a thought at all. Steve had a whole generation of friends who didn’t know what Jesus said, even though they thought He was a swell guy.
    And for a couple of years before my arrival, Axis had been doing a good job at carving out a place for those people. Then they got me as their new leader. I think I understood the problem.
    Slowly, over the next year, we built trust. It was rarely easy, and it took a lot of difficult conversations, the kind that don’t often occur in church settings. But I think Steve began to see that I was just as passionate about his generation as he was. He saw that I was more collaborative than hierarchical, and that I believed deeply in leadership development as a key and necessary component of leadership.
    He saw that I could support and get excited about someone else’s ideas and that I could make mistakes and wasn’t afraid to own them.
    It was difficult on my end as well as I tried to walk the awkward line of understanding a generation that I wasn’t a member of. I told my staff early on that if I ever came to work wearing leather pants they could fire me on the spot. They didn’t even have to check with the elders.
    During one of my first programming meetings, I found myself listening as the team got excited about doing a Barenaked Ladies song that weekend in the service. Keeping an absolutely straight face, with a slight approving nod so as not to appear completely uncool, I left the meeting and quickly called one of my daughters.
    “Yeah, Mom, totally okay. Sounds bad, but actually a really great choice.”
    Thanks, Mallory.
    So we did this funky dance for at least six months. Two different generations, who leads?
    There is a great scene in the movie Seabiscuit that applies to this idea. The main character, Red Pollard, is the jockey who has been riding Seabiscuit to victory. He knows the horse so well that his riding is intuitive. But Red is involved in a disastrous accident that leaves him incapacitated for months.
    From his hospital bed, he coaches the new jockey about how to ride his horse. And he lets him in on a little secret, a secret that comes from knowing the animal in a way no one else does.
    “Keep him back a little. Let him feel the race, the track, and the other horses. And then, at the right time, get him neck and neck with another horse, one that has fire, and let him look directly into his eyes. When he locks eyes with that horse, Seabiscuit will take off.”
    For months during his recovery, Red listens and watches as this other jockey rides his horse, until the day finally comes that he is deemed fit to ride again. Although he is in excruciating pain, Red pulls his broken and wounded body up onto his beloved horse.
    To his surprise, as he rides toward the starting gate, he sees the other jockey riding up on another horse. They greet each other and move into position. The excitement and chaos of those prerace moments fills the air. And then the bell sounds, the gate goes up, and the thunderous roar of the horses begins.
    Almost immediately, Red is feeling the groan and ache of his shattered body, bones knit back together but still rebelling as they bear the weight of the jockey and control the horse. It becomes clear that Red is not able to ride in a way that will propel Seabiscuit to victory.
    And then, there he is. The other jockey. He sees what is happening and he pulls his horse back. On purpose. He pulls his horse back and waits until Seabiscuit gets neck and neck, eye level with him. He waits for just a moment, for Seabiscuit to get what he needs. Then he says to Red, “Enjoy the race; see