The things we build

Steel, stone, glass, and wood—these are the mediums we use to express ourselves.

I took this photo while walking the campus at the University of Houston. It’s a piece of structural steel from the Twin Towers. The size alone is striking. 

It’s incredible what we’re able to do with raw materials, how we can shape them into structures that touch the sky.

As a builder, I’ve come to understand these materials. I’ve learned their strengths and their limits. 

And in the process, I’ve started to understand my own.

This past weekend, I was awarded a mid-sized project here in Houston. 

We got the official word Thursday, walked the site Friday, and full submittals are due Tuesday. 

So yes, I worked through the weekend.

But here’s the difference: I worked at a pace that didn’t rob me of my life. 

I cooked crepes for my girls Saturday morning, then we went to the movies. 

We made it to church, I did yard work and hosted Sunday dinner at our place, with my in-laws around the table.

Four years ago, that wouldn’t have happened. 

I would’ve cleared the calendar. 

Locked myself in the office. 

Pushed everything aside to “focus” on the project. 

And I would’ve justified every second of it. That was the old me.

This photo means something different to me now. 

The steel member is twisted and torn, but from it, a tree has taken root. 

That tree says everything about where I am today.

I’ve come out of the chaos that once felt like progress. 

I’ve learned that growth doesn’t come from control, it comes from surrendering to change. 

The clean, rigid lines of a building contrast sharply with the wild form of the tree. 

That’s real growth: imperfect, organic, and never quite according to plan.

Success isn’t a straight line. It’s not about racing to build higher towers. 

It’s about learning to weave together many threads in the same 24 hours—faith, family, work, and rest.

If I come back to this same spot in 20 years, that steel will still be there, unchanged. 

The tree will be what’s changed. Maybe that’s the lesson.

Don’t become so rigid that you lose the ability to grow.

I used to be fixated on becoming a Fortune 500 CEO. 

That version of me, the old steel, is bent, broken, and behind me. 

Now, I’m choosing the path of the tree: flexible, rooted, and always reaching and growing to the sky.