I am what you would call an intermittent walker.

To be clear, I don’t mean that I walk for 15 feet, rest for 12 minutes, and then walk another 20. No, I’m more the guy who will decide one evening “I’m gonna walk tonight.” then crank out three miles. Then do it again every night for eleven weeks. Then the dead heat of summer encroaches and stepping outside in North Carolina feels a lot like taking up residence in a used gym sock and who really needs this active lifestyle anyway and besides that my Cheetos have never betrayed me with crippling humidity.

Anyway.

Whenever I do walk, I use a walking app that will track my route, distance, speed, and estimated calories burned (farewell, low humidity Cheetos!). And every fifteen minutes or so, a polite lady will interrupt my audiobook to whisper a few crucial facts into my ear: how far I’ve walked, how long it’s taken, and what my pace is. It’s a low-friction way to stay informed of my progress, but a high-friction way to raise my hackles by interrupting Andy Serkis just when he was getting to the good part of The Fellowship of the Ring.

But here’s what my polite in-ear walking companion doesn’t do: she doesn’t tell me where to go. She simply tells me how far I’ve gone and and how long it’s taken me to get there. And if my mile takes 16 minutes one night when it normally takes 15, that serves as a gentle reminder to pick up the pace.

Editor’s note: speaking of gentle reminders to pick up the pace, your point is…?

Here’s the difference between my walks and your church’s guests: your church knows the ideal pathway. Your guests don’t. I know my neighborhood. I know that taking a right out of my driveway takes me to The Hill of Wheezing™. I know that a left and another left takes me down a quiet, winding road with the occasional friendly deer. (I almost exclusively choose to turn left.)

In the church world, I think we’re too often guilty of offering our guests a walking app when what they really need is something like Google Maps.

Your guests may know what they’re looking for, but they don’t know how to get there. That’s your job. Define the route. Remove unnecessary turns. Make the next step obvious.

But here’s a caution: while you should define the pathway, they should set the pace. It’s okay to have a sixteen step process between a first visit and full membership. It’s even okay to cheerlead them along and nudge them towards completion. But you let them go at their own speed, in their own time, at their own comfort level.

You own the pathway. Let them own the pace.

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If you’re a person who loves details…who loves crossing every t and dotting every i…who needs a standard operating procedures manual just to get out the door in the morning…

Well, welcome to the circle. My name is Danny. And I’m a details nerd.

There’s only one problem with people like us (actually there are so many problems with people like us, but let’s focus on one):

More detail does not always mean more simplicity.

Think about it: sometimes – not for lack of trying – we have too few details. Or we overthink it and gather way too many details. The details we have don’t answer enough questions, and the details we need are the ones we don’t have.

Patrick Lencioni offers a helpful corrective in The Five Temptations of a CEO:

…make clarity more important than accuracy.

Those of us who like details like to have all of the details. We don’t like to be caught off guard. But those of us in leadership know that a clear decision is often better than a delayed decision. Lencioni goes on to say:

Remember that your people will learn more if you take decisive action than if you always wait for more information.

In one of my very first annual reviews in this role, my then-supervisor gave me a critique that I’ve pretty much always agreed with and pretty much never forgotten:

Your desire for perfection always leads to procrastination.

Ouch.

He was right. I do often wait to pull the trigger because I want to make sure I have all the facts.

But what if we act, and then new details emerge and new decisions are needed? One last word from Lencioni:

…if the decisions you make in the spirit of creating clarity turn out to be wrong when more information becomes available, change plans and explain why. The only real cost to you of being wrong is loss of pride. The cost to your company [or church, or organization, or family] of not taking the risk of being wrong is paralysis.

What decision are you delaying because you’re chasing one more detail?

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In leadership, in parenting, in marriage, in friendship, we have an annoying tendency to jump to conclusions.

(Well, I have an annoying tendency to do that. I’m sure you’re just fine. Enjoy sitting back and judging me over the next few paragraphs.)

Here’s how the jump usually works: we observe, and then we interpret.

They were late for the meeting. They’re not committed to this team.

They didn’t see the first-time guest walk past. They don’t get the vision.

They left in the middle of the service. They’re really inconsiderate of others around them.

His text ended with a period rather than an exclamation point, and there was no emoji. He’s mad. Why is he mad? Didn’t he like the meme I just sent? That meme he sent last week didn’t even make sense. Who is he to grade my humor? This friendship is doomed.

Visually, it looks a lot like this:

But there’s a crucial step we miss when we make the Olympic-size long jump from observation to interpretation. Somewhere in midair, we begin making decisions on someone else’s behalf. We attribute meaning that may or may not be true. We assign a label or blame where none is deserved.

So rather than observation -> interpretation, what if we tried something like this:

The observation -> conversation -> interpretation track is a better space to live in, because the conversation reveals things that our assumptions do not: maybe they were late because their kid’s carpool line was backed up. Maybe they already talked to the first-time guest, or knew that the previous six volunteers had done so. Maybe he thought the meme was hilarious, but he was driving and Siri decided a period was more appropriate.

(A very important side note here: not all of our observations deserve a conversation. Maybe we’re running scripts in our head that – given four extra seconds of thinking about them – we realize have no real merit and aren’t worth pursuing. We can make the situation worse by bringing up something that was not a deal, but by bringing it up we make it a deal. Rather, we can choose to make the charitable assumption, give grace for instances, and save the conversations for patterns.)

In leadership, in parenting, in marriage, in friendship, we should be quick to observe. Observation helps us to see those right in front of us. It helps us to notice the things that are worthy of celebrating, worthy of slowing down for, worthy of a occasional and gentle course correction.

But in leadership, in parenting, in marriage, in friendship, we should be slow to interpret. We dare not engage the fundamental attribution error in haste, lest we erode the trust of those we lead, those we parent, those we love.

Today, where do you need to have a conversation before you make an interpretation? Maybe more importantly, where do you need to forsake a conversation with others, and have one with yourself? Where do you need to talk yourself off of an unnecessary ledge?

Thanks to my friend Kyle Wilkinson for the leadership lesson that inspired this post!

header photo credit; article images created with the assistance of ChatGPT.

If you live in multi-site world, the chances are good that you’re either part of the central resourcing team (aka central staff), or you work with such a creature.

As a central staff member / central ministry head for well over a decade now, I’ve come to realize that every day when I head out to the office, I have the choice of four hats I can put on.

Editor’s note: are we going to talk about the fact that you were always in the 99th percentile of skull circumference, and in your entire life you’ve never found more than one hat that actually fits that ginormous noggin?

Let’s ignore the cap size debacle for a moment. As I was saying…

There are four caps that a central team member will choose from:

1. Creator

As a central staffer, you are primarily a resource hub. You likely are responsible for the DNA of your ministry. You might have been the original practitioner before your church went multi-site. And so there is a ton of creation that comes along with the job: you create policies. Curriculum. Training options. Documentation. Your goal is lots of options – lots of resources – that your campus counterparts can unbox and use without having to reinvent the wheel.

2. Broker

I’ve found that a lot of central resourcing staffers are what the business world would call middle managers. We usually get to call the shots on the culture and practice of the teams we lead, but we answer to other teams higher up the totem pole: steering teams, lead pastors, directional elders, etc. And when you’re a middle manager, from time to time you’ll find yourself in the following scenario:

Big vision handed down by the executive team … actual execution of the vision by front-line staff members.

And that “…” is you: right in the middle. So your hat of the day may be that of broker: taking vision and strategy and trying to get the two to play nice together.

3. Messenger

Similar to broker is that of messenger. But where brokers tend to take a fairly doable vision and create action steps out of it, messengers sometimes have to take a task that’s not going to be popular, and pass it along to their campus counterparts. I’ve never ever ever had to do this, mind you. But on the off chance that I have (and I absolutely have), being the messenger is rarely fun. Sometimes you have to take a big vision that may take you in a different direction, might change the wildly important goal of the season, might ruffle a few feathers, and you have to lead your team to do something that even you are not necessarily excited about. (Again: has never happened to me except when it has.)

4. Collaborator

But there’s a fourth hat that you dare not forget. And this should be the hat that you attempt to put on every time you go into a meeting with your steering team, your supervisor, or your campus comrades-in-arms. You might not always be able to be a collaborator, but if you can continually champion the spirit of collaboration, it helps the occasional donning of the other three hats go over a little better.

The goal of collaboration is early and often: don’t say you’re collaborating if you’ve already made the decision. Don’t decide to collaborate if you’ve already fully created something you expect to be rolled out. Get your campus directors in a room. Involve some high-capacity volunteers. Let them ideate and iterate right alongside you. Figure out what works and what doesn’t on the front lines.

Tomorrow, as you’re walking out the door or into a meeting, ask yourself one question: which hat does this moment require?

Header image created by AI.

The Q:

How do you handle guests who leave the auditorium during the service and then return? If they’re seated in the middle of a row or near the front, re-entering can be distracting. Do you let them return to their original seats, or ask them to sit elsewhere?

[Jarvis Brennan, Connections and Young Adult Director, LifeHouse Church, Townsend, Delaware]

The A:

Ah, the revolving-door bathroom-goers: the bane of pastors, middle school teachers, and keynote speakers everywhere. Where two or more teeny bladders are gathered, we’re gonna have service disruptions.

But how do we handle those disruptions? In a word: carefully. The principles for this article are similar to the one about crying babies in the service, because the potential consequences are similar.

If you choose to tackle it (and that’s a really big if), I recommend looking at it through these five grids:

1. Start with the image-bearer

Every person creating a distraction is a person the service is designed for. They’re not the bug, they’re the feature.

People gather each weekend in order to make much of Jesus. Our entire goal as leaders, servants, and shepherds is to take their faces and point them to him. We are imago deis serving imago deis. Because of that, we don’t want to view them as someone disrupting the service as much as one of those we’re serving. That alone can change our perspective, and our rush to stem the potty stampede.

2. Use real numbers and common sense

Who among us has not had the Sunday where it seems that people are popping up and slipping out every 7.2 seconds? People leaving the service are like a lot of bright and flashy things in our lives: once we see it, we can’t unsee it.

But I’d encourage you to take a wider view: literally. Instead of anecdotally tracking numbers in your head while trying to take in a sermon, pull some actual data points. Stand in the rear of the auditorium for a few Sundays and count how many people actually leave. Are there repeat offenders? Are they pregnant moms for whom a bathroom trip is a necessity, or a six year old for whom it’s a getaway? You might be surprised that (a) the percentage of people leaving isn’t as bad as you think, and (b) it’s not a problem to be solved as much as a tension to be managed.

3. Don’t punish the many to avoid a conversation with one

As you investigate #2 to solve people’s #1 (#didyouseewhatididthere), you again might find this isn’t a widespread problem at all. It’s that one deacon’s kid who apparently chugs a gallon of iced coffee every week just before the service kicks off, and therefore has more bathroom runs than a Chris Tomlin song has choruses. Or the one fast food owner who is fielding calls from his teenage employees rather than letting them go to voicemail (another argument for why Chick-fil-A is the truer and better ownership choice).

The point is, maybe your solution isn’t a new policy. Maybe it’s a one-and-done, kind-and-charitable shepherding conversation. Don’t drag the rest of the congregation into your timidity.

4. Go on the offensive (without being offensive)

I started to say that the best defense is a good offense, but we all know my proclivity for getting sports references wrong, and I didn’t feel like Googling it to make sure I got it right. (Editor’s note: he absolutely Googled it to make sure he got it right.)

But let’s say point #2 does reveal a widespread issue. What then? If you choose to tackle this, don’t make it a sneak attack. Lay out the situation from the stage in a kind and pastoral way. Talk about the sanctity of the service, the desire to remove barriers to and distractions from the gospel message, and point out the chairs in the rear. You can say something like “We recognize that sitting through an entire service isn’t always feasible for everyone. If you do need to leave, we respectfully ask that you take a seat towards the back when you return, so as not to disrupt your fellow worshipers.” Backing that up with rotating slides, bulletin blurbs, and the like will get the message across.

(Also, now feels like a good time to remind us of the importance of a good seating and stanchion system, so that there are always open chairs in the back.)

5. Acknowledge that you’re choosing whom to offend

I’ve said it before, but the world of Guest Services is a weekly choice of who we’ll offend. In this scenario, the choice is those who leave the service vs. those who are distracted by those leaving the service. If you choose to do something, you’ll upset people. If you choose not to do something, you might upset people. (Welcome to leadership.)

That’s why we must being and end with the imago dei in mind. It’s why we have to realize that every recipient of every decision we made is a person we’re called to serve and love and shepherd. That doesn’t mean that every person gets a blank check to do what they want, but neither does it mean we make haphazard decisions without those people at the forefront.

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I recently stumbled across Tiago Forte’s Building a Second Brain: A Proven Method to Organize Your Digital Life and Unlock Your Creative Potential. He affirms what a lot of us feel: the overwhelming need to capture all of the reading, listening, and studying we do, the desire to recall what we’ve seen or heard, but the paralysis that comes from where to capture it or how to find it when we need it.

Let me be clear: what Forte gives us is another in a line of tools in the spirit of David Allen (Getting Things Done), Atul Gawande (The Checklist Manifesto), Matt Perman (How to Get Unstuck), and many others. If you’re not familiar with those tools, then Forte’s method will serve you well. If you’re already using one of those tools, there’s no need to introduce another tool into your toolbox.

But what Forte does is give us a way to think about the tools in our toolbox: what might we need right now? What might be able to live in a drawer in our garage? What’s just fine if we only need to borrow it from a neighbor every couple of years?

Here are my top ten favorite quotes:

• Personal knowledge management helps us harness the full potential of what we know.

• Research from Microsoft shows that the average US employee spends 76 hours per year looking for misplaced notes, items, or files.

• Instead of consuming ever-greater amounts of content, we could take on a more patient, thoughtful approach that favors rereading, reformulating, and working through the implications of ideas over time. Not only could this lead to more civil discussions about the important topics of the day; it could also preserve our mental health and heal our splintered attention.

• By keeping diverse kinds of material in one place, we facilitate this connectivity and increase the likelihood that we’ll notice an unusual association.

• When something resonates, it moves you on an intuitive level. Often, the ideas that resonate are the ones that are most unusual, counterintuitive, interesting, or potentially useful. Don’t make it an analytical decision, and don’t worry about why exactly it resonates—just look inside for a feeling of pleasure, curiosity, wonder, or excitement, and let that be your signal for when it’s time to capture a passage, an image, a quote, or a fact.

• Every time you take a note, ask yourself, “How can I make this as useful as possible for my future self?”

• Capturing notes without an effective way to organize and retrieve them only leads to more overwhelm.

• The moment you first capture an idea is the worst time to try to decide what it relates to. First, because you’ve just encountered it and haven’t had any time to ponder its ultimate purpose, but more importantly, because forcing yourself to make decisions every time you capture something adds a lot of friction to the process. This makes the experience mentally taxing and thus less likely to happen in the first place.

• Speed is everything when it comes to recall.

• We tend to notice our systems need maintenance only when they break down, which we then blame on our lack of self-discipline or our failure to be sufficiently productive.

Order Building a Second Brain:

See all posts in the Top Ten Quotes series.

Disclaimer: FTC watchdogs will probably want you to know that the authors represented did not ask for this endorsement, nor did they provide me with free swag in order to do so (unless specifically mentioned otherwise). I’m just a really satisfied customer who wants to let you know where you can get some great products. So there. Further, if you order a resource from a link on any “Top Ten Quotes” page, I may receive a small affiliate commission from Amazon. If that bugs you, feel free to bypass my link and buy from a vendor of your choice. But still: buy it. I only promote books that have benefitted me and that I believe will benefit you.

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Every so often we dip our toes into a series called Danny Recommends:, posts that tip you off to the stuff that I…you know. The recommendations might be products for use in your ministry, resources that will help you develop leaders around you, or just fun stuff that you need. Want. Whatever.

We’re about a month in to the new site redesign (don’t forget to subscribe, kids!), and I couldn’t be happier with the results.

You should know that as a web designer, I’m an excellent blogger. In other words: I can’t do web design. I Frankensteined my old site so many times over the years that it was made up of more WordPress plugins than actual WordPress assembly line parts. (And do I know what any of the words I just said actually mean? No. No I do not.)

That’s why I was intrigued / amazed / exclaiming What is this witchcraft when the team at Margin approached me a few months back with some ideas on how to rebuild my site. Margin is the side gig of my friend Jeremy McKnight and – full disclosure! – my son Austin Franks, who have combined powers to create a tool for leaders who like to create, but lack the tools to showcase what they’ve created.

I don’t think I’m betraying the behind-the-scenes magic when I tell you that Margin harnesses some pretty spiffy AI tools to create sites in a fraction of the time of the older ways. But it’s not just our robot overlords who were helpful. Jeremy spent countless early mornings and late nights and Sunday afternoons listening to my insane ravings, and – before I could finish my irrational logic – would say, “Okay, refresh your page. I may have just come up with a solution.”

And boy, did he ever.

I told you on the debut post that the new site is intended to be less of a blog and more of a resource hub. The Margin team took nearly two decades worth of material (Jeremy: “Brother you have a lot of content!”) and put it into easily-accessible and easy-to-search lists. They were able to take my headaches that would’ve me taken days to figure out (usually resulting in me abandoning ship) and came up with a cleaner process in minutes. They took my bad idea that had the makings of a good idea and made it a great idea.

I had a vision for what the site could be, Margin catapulted it into what it should be.

So it’s no question that if you are looking for a little help with your company or church website, your personal site, or even your very niche annual retreat schedule, I recommend you check out Margin.

As an incentive from an extremely satisfied customer, the Margin team has allowed me to make this offer: send them your current site, and they’ll return a mockup of what it could be: completely free and no strings attached. This offer is limited to the first ten people to respond, and it only extends until the end of this month: August 31, 2026.

Get started:

• Contact Margin
• In “Project Details,” tell them Danny sent you

You have nothing to lose and so many things to gain, including a little – wait for it – margin in your too-busy life.

This is the next installment in our ongoing “Large Church” series, which looks at guest services through the lens of the larger congregation: those with an average attendance of 800 or more. While any church can deal with these issues, they seem to especially be true of larger churches.

See the entire series here.

Pick a church. Any church. And I’ll show you a church that is built on the backs of volunteers.

Volunteers are the life blood of our ministries. Without them, staff take on a crushing burden of trying to do it all. Without them, worship services and kids’ environments and local outreach programs screech to a halt. Without them, ministry stops.

And within every group of volunteers, there is a special cadre called the High-Capacity Volunteer (HCV). You may not have labeled them as such, but I promise that they’re there. And those HCVs are the ones uniquely wired to help you take your ministry further down the road.

But if they’re there, and if they’re so great, how do you identify them?

1. Open your eyes.

Seriously. I’m not trying to be pedantic here, but the best HCVs are usually right in front of us. Who is the person who shows up early and stays late? Who is the one who seems to sign up to help with everything? If you walk out of your house this Sunday morning and all four tires are flat, who is the person or two you call to take on your responsibilities? That’s your first round of HCVs.

2. Watch for the heart.

Outside of sheer “get it done” power outlined in #1, who are the people – either in your ministry or not yet in your ministry but in your church – who simply get it? I’ve told you before about my oldest son Jacob who has been in the Chick-fil-A world for nearly half his life. As an Executive Director of a store, he’s constantly on the lookout for the gas station employee, the neighborhood teenager, or even the frequent guest who has that CFA spirit, but not yet in use at CFA.

3. Install a fishbowl.

This has become our number-one secret weapon over the years. I’ve told you about our Guest Services Collective and High-Capacity Volunteer Cohort, two tools we use to invest in great leaders. I wish I could tell you that we create the great leaders, but I’m more convinced that we simply create an environment (i.e., the fishbowl) where we can observe the gifts, skill sets, and interest of those inside. The Collective and Cohort allows our volunteers to bubble to the top (this is where the goldfish analogy breaks down…you generally don’t want to see that), and allows us to say, “I’ll be dogged. They’ve been here the whole time.”

4. Ask for a show of hands.

Whether it’s opting in to the Collective or saying yes to additional opportunities – like serving at a special event or taking on leadership of a project – we often have not because we ask not. We want to be careful of getting one more yes out of people who will say yes to everything and therefore risk burnout, but making the opportunities known is a gift to you and to your vols.

5. Be careful of the “like me” syndrome.

One final point here, and this is not as much of a tip as a warning. We often gravitate to those volunteers who are like us or like us (or we like them). There’s value in chemistry, to be sure. But just because someone has strengths different than yours does not mean they’re a liability. In fact, I’ve found that the people that aren’t exactly the easiest to strike up a friendship with are often the ones who are blast to build a ministry with. The reason? Their strengths are often my weakness, and vice-versa. Our difference make the overall picture better.

You may already have high-capacity volunteers in your ministry. But I’ll bet you could use a few more. This weekend, open your eyes and see who’s around you.

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We live in a world that values speed.

Our maps app tells us the fastest route to work. Our internet provider touts the fastest downloads. Our home delivery services guarantee the meal / groceries / gadgets will be on our porch in a jiffy.

And speed is fine, in some cases. But if there’s an area where speed is neither appreciated nor helpful, it’s in helping our first-time guests acclimate to our church.

Think about your church from the perspective of a first timer: no matter how small you might think it is, it’s big to them. No matter how outdated your ministries, they’re new to them. Your old friends are complete strangers to them; your muscle memory path to the bathroom is the awkward question they have to ask.

And certainly, there’s something to be said for not letting grass grow under your assimilation process: immediate follow up counts. Regular newcomers events matter. Easy next steps mean something to our guests.

But for the fragile first-timer who is navigating a new building, meeting new faces, and learning new names, speed is not a benefit. In fact, guests often interpret speed as being rushed. Or not being heard. Or being just another part of another process. Or an interruption.

For those of us who are leading the guest services process, slow can communicate value:

• Slow down enough to notice the unfamiliar face on the other side of the lobby.
• Slow down when meeting them and learning a few facts about them.
• Slow down as you’re walking them to their destination and point out landmarks along the way (like those bathrooms!).
• Slow down after the service, making sure their questions are answered and their next steps are clear.

I love an anecdote my friend Mark Waltz shares in book First Impressions: Creating Wow Experiences In Your Church. He tells of Dr. George Soper, a senior vice president at Memorial Hospital in South Bend, Indiana. Dr. Soper is known for ending every conversation with a guest with this question: “Is there anything else I can help you with today? Because I have time.”

Because I have time.

Those four words turn a throwaway question into a declaration of value: you’re important enough that I’ll set aside my schedule for your comfort.

Let’s not possess such a need for speed that we miss the power of slow: slow conversations, slow walks, slowly building a relationship.

Because when it’s all said and done, that type of slow is the fastest way to connect.

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Every single one of us has experienced it.

Let’s say you’re dropping by a coffee shop. Or a restaurant. Or an oil change joint or Target or the deli counter at your grocery store. The venue doesn’t necessarily matter, but the experience is coming for us all at one point or another.

Your encounter with the barista / waiter / mechanic / cashier / deli owner doesn’t leave you with the sense that anything is wrong. There is nothing really wrong. They greet you when you walk up. Your final order or service is accurate. Your wait is average, maybe even shorter than normal. The workspace is clean, the change is correct, and the experience is – all things considered – fine.

So if nothing’s wrong…what’s wrong?

And then it hits you: there has never been a single ounce of warmth in your interactions. The person on the other side of the counter is technically proficient in her job. She accomplishes all the goals that her employer has for her. She’s probably never run off a customer.

But there’s no warmth.

Warmth can be an overlooked intangible. It’s hard to measure, and you don’t always notice it when you have it, but you know something’s missing when you don’t.

The transaction could’ve been flawless. The encounter had no problems. Yet the experience didn’t make you want to come back.

In the church world, that intangible warmth factor matters so much more than in the retail world. If guests feel like your church is fine but they didn’t feel a connection, they won’t be back the next week.

So how do you create warmth when it comes to serving your guests? I think there are a few “baseline minimum” ways:

1. Make eye contact.

It seems simple. But it’s amazing how often people fail to do this. Guests can tell when they’re really being seen or are simply being processed.

2. Smile.

Just a little. Don’t be the weirdo who pastes on a plastic grin for your full Sunday morning, but curve the corners of your mouth up just a touch, just to let people know you’re glad to see ’em.

3. Be proactive.

In everything. Be the first to greet, the first to speak, the first to give instructions when something might be otherwise confusing (“Right through that door.”, “May I help you find the kids space?”, “How can I help?”)

4. Make small talk.

I get it. Our guests get it. They know we’re often doing it just to do it. They know that you could’ve commented on the weather to four dozen people before them. But still…say something to fill the blank spaces.

5. Make room in the circle.

This is a biggie in our world. We can be proactive, smile, make eye contact – in other words, have all the ingredients of warmth – and still never include others. Make sure they know they’re not just tolerated, but invited.

Maybe you noticed that there’s nothing heroic, earth-shattering, or insanely inventive on any of those five. They’re all common sense, and common skills that people use with people. The only problem: it’s not all that common. Where can you bring a little more warmth this week? How can you apply these five things to the people you’re engaging?

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