There is a phrase that shows up in almost every leadership book I have ever read: “Honor your commitments”
Every time I see it, a part of me thinks, Duh. Of course we should. Who is arguing for the opposite? It sounds so obvious, so fundamental, that it can feel almost unnecessary to say out loud. The kind of principle you assume everyone already understands.
And yet the longer I lead, the more I realize that the most “obvious” principles are the ones most often tested. Not in theory but in inconvenience.
Thirty-three years ago, I made a small promise to my four-year-old daughter.
The snowman we built was melting. She was heartbroken. I told her it was okay. We would take a piece of his heart and put it in the freezer. Next winter, we would use it to bring him back to life.
That snowman is now 33 years old.
Each winter, when the snow is right, we rebuild him. Not with light, fluffy snow. That will not hold. We wait for the heavy kind. The kind that packs. The kind that lasts.
Now it is the younger children in our family who help. They love the ritual. They love the magic. They love knowing that part of him has survived every year since.
What sounds like a simple promise has required real commitment.
When the snowball was 24 years old, we replaced our refrigerator. I kept it in the freezer until the last possible minute, knowing the new one would take time to cool. In the chaos of the swap, I forgot.
The truck had already left when I realized what had happened.
I took a centering breath and went into action. I called the appliance company and told them there was a 24-year-old snowball in the back of their truck. To her credit, the woman on the phone did not laugh. She tracked down the driver. We met him on the side of the road. He opened the truck, and I retrieved that snowball and carried it home in a cooler like it was a pint of blood.
Crisis averted.
In October 2011, we lost power for nine days. We knew we would lose the food in the freezer. But we could not lose the snowball. So we packed it in a cooler and drove it to Cape Cod, where our summer home still had power.
Again, it survived.
So yes. “Honor your commitments” may sound like a duh.
Until you have to rescue them from the back of a moving truck.
Until you have to protect them in the middle of a crisis.
Until keeping your word becomes inconvenient.
In leadership, we talk about culture, trust, and stewardship. Those words mean nothing if they are not protected in moments like that.
Organizations melt when no one protects the heart. Trust melts when leaders treat commitments as optional. Culture melts when convenience overrides conviction.
The snowball in my freezer is a small thing. But for 33 years it has been a reminder that promises are not seasonal. They are structural. When they are kept, the results can be remarkable.
