I've Got a Leak

From the Mountain to the Kitchen Table

I have a leak in my bathroom. A significant one. Somewhere, I’m guessing, behind a wall. I don’t know exactly where it’s coming from. I just know it’s there. Moisture where moisture shouldn’t be. It’s beyond my abilities. I’ve got someone coming to take a look at it tomorrow…

I came home Sunday afternoon, greeted by damp drywall and sick kids. My two youngest sons and daughter all have the stomach flu. The whole house smells like Clorox wipes. I’m doing the mental gymnastics of surface contamination and handwashing strategy, trying to figure out how to keep the rest of us upright.

Meanwhile, my car is leaking transmission fluid.

My dyslexic son is fighting through his English project. Hunched over the kitchen table, we hack our way through A Long Walk to Water. We weren’t reading; it was a street fight with words. Sentence by sentence. Paragraph by paragraph. Dyslexia doesn’t let you coast; you earn every line. While in the trenches, an email pinged from his school: tuition is due. For him. For everyone. What’s the saying... "When it rains, it’s a damn monsoon."

I haven’t had a date night with my wife in three weeks.

My other son wanted to play charades—simple, innocent. But after a late-night ginger ale run and hunting for a two-liter bottle so his brother could make a fake tornado for science, there was no time left. He went to bed disappointed.

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And here’s the irony... Just a few days ago, I was on top of the mountain.

Speaking to thousands of men. Standing ovations. Stories of transformation. The BetterMan mission was featured in Tennessee, Mississippi, and Oregon over two days. Momentum building. Energy high. The kind of days where you think, "This is it. This is what we were built for."

Then you come home to soggy drywall and puke buckets in the hallway. Funny how fast the applause dies when you’re scrubbing toilets and sanitizing floors.

But here’s what I’m learning—again. The mountain is intoxicating. The kitchen table is sanctifying.

It’s one thing to call men up in an arena. It’s another thing to sit patiently beside a son who feels dumb because words won’t cooperate.

It’s one thing to talk about covenant and faithfulness. It’s another thing to look your wife in the eye after three chaotic weeks and say, "I miss you."

It’s one thing to preach about formation. It’s another thing to be formed.

Scripture is honest about this rhythm. In 1 Kings 18, Elijah calls down fire from heaven. In chapter 19, he’s exhausted and defeated under a broom-tree. Victory and vulnerability are often back-to-back chapters.

I love the fire-from-heaven moments. I resist the broom-tree ones. Yet, here’s the strange, steady truth: The mountain is not the measure of faithfulness. The kitchen table is. God seems to do His deepest work in unglamorous spaces.

There’s something about leaks that’s instructive. Water behind a wall, unseen, will rot the frame over time. Left unaddressed, it weakens the structure. Exposed early, it can be repaired. The external leak forced me to consider the internal ones: Where am I tired? Where am I stretched thin? Where have I mistaken doing for depth?

Spotlights and applause are cheap. It’s the unnoticed moments that prove what you’re made of. When your son wants charades. When tuition is due. When the house smells like disinfectant and defeat.

No one claps in those moments. No one posts about them. No one stands to their feet. But those moments are not interruptions to the mission. They are the mission. It’s easy to feel like a king when the stage is lit and the stories are flowing. It’s harder, and holier, to stay steady when the bathroom is damp, and the kids are sick.

This is where faithfulness is forged… In the sick room. In the slow reading of a book that your son is fighting to understand. At the counter, over reheated leftovers, with the woman you vowed to love. The mountain reminds you what God can do through you. The valley reminds you what God must do in you. And here’s the beautiful thing: mercy is found, not on the mountain, but in the valley.

This week, I’m not trying to be impressive. I’m trying to be present. The leak will get fixed. The transmission will get repaired. The flu will pass. Tuition will get paid. Charades will be played. But this—this ordinary, chaotic, unfiltered stretch of life—this is the good fight.

It turns out, bathrooms and kitchen tables are just as sacred as the stage.

In it with you. For the King,

— Harp

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Later this week, I will be at one of my FAVORITE gatherings of the year: COMO Men’s Conference. As a bonus, on Friday, we will be leading a rally on Mizzou's campus, charging up young men and fielding questions from the college folk! The Lord is letting me redeem some of my college years!!!! I would love to see you in Colombia this weekend!