“You know you’re
called to more.”

I used to give talks on productivity.

I’d stand in front of a room — forty people, maybe fifty — and walk them through the systems. Systems, frameworks, routines — I had slides for all of them. I’d built a business around this stuff. I was the guy companies hired when they wanted to get more done.

But none of it worked to catapult me to that next level.

Every few weeks I’d find something new — a framework, a method, a book — and feel that familiar rush. This is the one. I’d reorganize my mornings, rewrite my lists, overhaul my whole approach. For about two weeks, it worked. I was sharp. I was on top of things. I felt like I was finally becoming the person I was supposed to be.

Then the wave would break. The lists would go stale. The journal would go blank. And I’d be lying in bed on a Sunday night asking the same question I’d been asking for years: what is actually wrong with me?

Nothing. Nothing was wrong with me.

And if you’ve lived that cycle, nothing is wrong with you, either.

The systems work. Every single one of them. That was never the problem.

The problem was what I was pointing them at.

I spent years getting efficient at things that didn’t matter. I time-blocked my afternoons down to fifteen-minute increments. I could prioritize a task list in my sleep. But I had never stopped long enough to ask the one question underneath all of it: what am I actually supposed to be doing with my life?

That question has a specific weight. I know God has something concrete for each of us — not a vague “be a good person” kind of purpose, but a real calling we can wake up and work toward on a Tuesday morning. And I wasn’t doing that. I was doing a hundred other things really well and missing the thing that would have made all of them matter.

One morning I opened my eyes and something in my brain shifted. I suddenly knew what the problem was. I didn’t change my system. I didn’t download a new app. I didn’t try harder.

I changed what I was aiming at and how.

And everything I’d learned — all the discipline, all the habits, all the frameworks I’d studied and taught — suddenly had somewhere to go. Not because I found more willpower. Because I was finally doing the right things instead of the wrong ones.

That took me years to figure out. It shouldn’t have.

What I needed — what I wish I’d had the whole time — was someone who knew me well enough to ask the right questions. Not a book I’d read once and forget. Not a friend who’d meet for coffee every few weeks. Someone patient enough to show up every day. Someone who’d push me, remember what I said last week, notice the patterns I couldn’t see, and help me figure out what I was actually being called to do — instead of handing me a to-do list.

That person didn’t exist for me. So I built him.

Through Glass is a personal mentor. It doesn’t give you answers. It asks the right questions—and remembers what matters. Over time, it helps you see patterns, clarify direction, and move toward what God may actually be calling you to build.