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January 15, 2025 | Jon Michaels
I’m sitting by a campfire in the Smokies, the kids asleep in the camper, Melissa humming an old hymn while she knits a scarf for our youngest. The cicadas are loud tonight, and the stars are brighter than any screen I’ve seen this week. It’s moments like these—unplugged, unhurried—that remind me what family leadership really means. I’m Jon Michaels, a financial planner from Franklin, Tennessee, husband to Melissa, dad to three—ages 10, 8, and 4—and a man who’s trying to lead his family with grace, grit, and a quiet calling in 2025. I don’t have all the answers, but I’ve learned a few things along the way, and I’d like to share them with you.
Leadership in a family isn’t about being the loudest voice or the strictest hand. It’s not about chasing some picture-perfect ideal you saw on Instagram or keeping up with the neighbors’ new SUV. It’s about showing up—day after day, in the mundane and the messy—and pointing your family toward something bigger than yourselves. For me, that’s faith in Christ, a life of purpose, and a legacy that outlives me. In 2025, with the world moving faster than ever—AI this, inflation that, screens everywhere—I believe family leadership comes down to three things: presence, principles, and pruning.
First, presence. I’ll be honest—there are days I’d rather hide in my office, crunching numbers for clients, than deal with a 4-year-old’s meltdown over a broken crayon. But I’ve learned that leadership starts with being there. Not just physically, but emotionally, spiritually. My kids don’t need a dad who’s always “on”—they need a dad who’s in the room, listening. Last week, my 8-year-old, Caleb, asked me why the sky turns orange at sunset. I could’ve brushed him off—I was tired, and I had emails to answer—but I sat with him on the porch, explained how the sun scatters light, and we watched the colors fade together. It wasn’t a big moment, but it was a real one. In 2025, with distractions at an all-time high, presence is a radical act. Put the phone down. Turn off the news. Be where your feet are. Your kids will remember the way you looked them in the eye more than the toys you bought them.
Presence also means showing up for your spouse. Melissa and I have been married 18 years, and we’ve had our share of hard seasons—miscarriages, financial stress, my health scares. But we’ve learned to lead together by carving out time for each other, even when life feels like a whirlwind. Every Sunday after church, we take a walk around our neighborhood while the kids play in the yard. We talk about the week, pray for our family, and sometimes just hold hands in silence. It’s not glamorous, but it’s glue. In 2025, with calendars packed and notifications buzzing, lead by being present—for your kids, your spouse, yourself. God speaks in the quiet—don’t miss it.
Second, principles. I’m a financial planner, so I spend my days helping folks build budgets, plan for retirement, save for college. But the best plan I’ve ever made isn’t on a spreadsheet—it’s the values I’m planting in my family. For us, it’s stewardship, integrity, and simplicity. Stewardship means we take care of what God’s given us—our money, our time, our relationships. I teach my kids to tithe from their allowance, not because it’s a rule, but because it’s a posture of gratitude. Integrity means we do what’s right, even when it’s hard. Last month, my 10-year-old, Sarah, admitted she’d lied about finishing her homework. We didn’t yell—we talked about trust, prayed together, and she made it right with her teacher. Simplicity means we don’t chase the world’s definition of success. We don’t need the latest gadgets or a bigger house—we need each other.
In 2025, the pressure to “keep up” is fiercer than ever. Social media shows you everyone’s highlight reel—new cars, exotic vacations, perfect kids. But leadership means setting your own compass. For me, that’s rooted in Scripture—Proverbs 22:6, “Train up a child in the way he should go, and when he is old he will not depart from it.” I’m not raising kids to be rich or famous—I’m raising them to be faithful, kind, and wise. That means saying no to things that don’t align with our values, even when it’s unpopular. We don’t let our kids have smartphones yet—not because we’re old-fashioned, but because we want them to know how to talk to people, not screens. Lead by principles, not trends. Your family will thank you for it.
Finally, pruning. I learned this one the hard way. A few years back, I was overcommitted—working late, volunteering at church, coaching Caleb’s soccer team. I thought I was being a good dad, a good Christian. But I was exhausted, and my family felt it. Melissa sat me down one night and said, “Jon, we don’t need you to do everything—we need you to be you.” It hit me like a ton of bricks. I was trying to grow a garden but hadn’t pruned the weeds. In 2025, leadership means cutting back to make room for what matters. I stepped down from the soccer team, scaled back my client load, and started saying no to things that didn’t serve my family’s purpose. It wasn’t easy—I hate letting people down—but it was right.
Pruning also means addressing the hard stuff. If there’s tension in your marriage, don’t ignore it—talk it out, pray it through. If your kids are struggling, don’t just throw money at the problem—sit with them, listen, guide. Last summer, I noticed Sarah was getting anxious about school. Instead of brushing it off, we started a nightly routine—reading a chapter of C.S. Lewis together before bed. It gave her a safe space to open up, and it reminded me that leadership isn’t about fixing everything—it’s about walking alongside. In 2025, prune the excess, the distractions, the noise. What’s left will grow stronger.
I don’t have this all figured out. Some days, I’m just trying to keep the 4-year-old from coloring on the walls while I answer a client email. But I believe family leadership in 2025 is about the small, steady choices—being present, living by principles, pruning what doesn’t belong. It’s about pointing your family to Christ, not the culture. It’s about building a legacy that’s not loud, but deep. I’m writing my story—not to go viral, but to go deep. Maybe it’ll help you lead yours too. Let’s keep walking this path together, with grace and grit, one quiet morning at a time.
