An Indirect Apology To My Husband

It had been a week of hide-and-seek with one of our kids’ phones. But not the fun kind. The kind that grates on your nerves, where the tension slowly builds and every passing day feels heavier than the last. We had torn through nearly every corner of the house—closets, drawers, cushions—cleaning out spaces that didn’t even need cleaning. Still, no phone. And with each unsuccessful search, we got a little closer to accepting that we might be shelling out a few hundred dollars for a replacement.

At this point, you might be wondering, “Why would you buy your kid a new phone if they lost it?”
We wouldn’t—because they didn’t lose it.

My husband had taken the phone during a disagreement over attitude and hid it… or so he thought. The problem was, he couldn’t remember where he hid it—or if he even hid it at all. And just like that, we found ourselves in a weeklong manhunt for a phone that may or may not have been hidden in the first place.

Early on, we focused on all the usual hiding places, to no avail. Eventually, we concluded the phone wasn’t hidden at all—it had to be lost. But my husband kept coming back to one theory: the couch. It was the last place he remembered sitting when he took the phone.

So on Day 1 or 2, I took the couch apart. Completely. I flipped cushions, checked crevices, and turned most of it upside down—especially the side my husband always sits on. No phone. A few days later, I did it again. Same result. No phone.

By Day 8, hope was fading. But that turned out to be the day everything changed.

On December 21st, after coming home from church, my husband said to me, “I’m going to check the couch one more time. St. Anthony keeps pointing me there.”
(St. Anthony, for the record, is the patron saint of lost things.)

I rolled my eyes. I half-heartedly helped, mostly standing nearby with crossed arms and several I already looked there glances.

He got to the last piece of the couch—the largest one—and asked if I would look while he lifted it. I sighed and reminded him, again, that there was no way the phone could be under that section. He never even sits on that side.

He lifted the couch.

I looked down.

And my eyes went wide.

There it was. The phone. Just sitting there on the floor.

A Christmas miracle.

And now, wait for it…here comes the Leadership Lesson…

…which you might all be thinking that it’s about perseverance and never giving up…but it’s not.

No, this wasn’t a lesson about perseverance or refusing to give up.
It was a lesson about something harder: letting go of the need to be right.  

Insert kryptonite.

I had already decided the couch wasn’t the answer—because I had checked. More than once. I stopped listening because I trusted my certainty more than another perspective. And in doing so, I almost missed the solution altogether.

Sometimes the breakthrough isn’t about trying harder.
It’s about listening better.

It’s about being open enough to say, “Maybe I don’t see the full picture.”
It’s choosing curiosity over pride. Understanding over ego.

Because sometimes the thing you’re looking for isn’t missing at all—you just need to be willing to listen to someone else who sees it differently.

This wasn’t really a story about a lost phone.
It was a reminder about leadership.

Too often, as leaders, we confuse confidence with correctness. We believe that because we’ve checked already—because we’ve tried before, because we’ve been in the seat longer—we must have the full picture. And once we decide we’re right, we stop listening.

But leadership isn’t about having all the answers.
It’s about creating space for other perspectives.

Great leaders don’t lead by insisting they’re right; they lead by staying open. They listen when someone keeps pointing to the couch—even when they’re certain they’ve already looked there. They recognize that insight can come from anywhere, not just the person in charge.

When leaders stop listening, teams stop contributing.
When leaders cling to being right, they miss what’s right in front of them.

The best leaders ask:

• What might I be overlooking?
  

• Who else sees this differently?
  

• Am I listening to understand, or just waiting to respond?

Because sometimes the solution isn’t about pushing harder or doubling down—it’s about lifting the couch one more time and being willing to admit, “I might not see everything.”

Ugh—being wrong is hard. But sometimes, being wrong and choosing to truly listen is exactly what makes things right.