Forged in the Fire

How God shapes leaders through brokenness

By Shyami Jayasinghe

We live in a world that celebrates victories and growth, idolizing leaders who appear untouchable. But I’ve come to see this is a mirage. The most critical development of a leader does not happen in the boardroom or the sanctuary; it happens in the adversity, in the private, painful and often hidden seasons of breaking.

For over two decades, I built a life that looked successful—leading a growing congregation and investing in people’s spiritual growth. I was confident in my calling, secure in my identity as a child of God and deeply respectful of the responsibility that comes with spiritual influence. My life was, by all external metrics, a testament to the principles I preached.

Then, the foundation gave way. In a season I never saw coming, the structures I had built, namely my marriage, the primary earthly symbol of covenant and commitment, came crashing down. I remember the surreal silence in my home afterward. The absence of a presence is a presence in itself, a stillness where life and laughter used to be.

The books in my library, the very ones I had used to prepare sermons on covenant and faithfulness, now seemed to judge me. I was on the other side of the story I had told for years. I was no longer the one offering a hand to the broken; I was the one lying in the pieces, unable to get up.

I wasn’t giving counsel from a place of hard-won wholeness; I was desperately in need of it. In the deafening quiet of that pain, I involuntarily began a graduate-level schooling in what leadership truly is. It is the decision, in the aftermath of collapse, to still believe what you have preached, practiced and proclaimed, even when every feeling screams otherwise.

WHEN THE LEADER IS THE WOUNDED

My first coherent thought after the divorce was not a theological truth, but a wave of crushing, debilitating failure: I had let down God, my family, my children and the people I had led whose disappointed or pitying faces I could imagine all too clearly.

A leader lives with the constant awareness of an audience. Your life is a public curriculum on faith, discipline and integrity. You make choices not just for yourself, but for those who are learning from your example. You are a living epistle, and suddenly, my pages were torn and smudged.

There’s a special kind of shame when your life unravels in public view. It’s like the weight of everyone’s expectations is magnified, and that pressure can be suffocating. The weight was not just the grief of a lost relationship; it was the burden of perceived hypocrisy. I wrestled with the haunting, unanswerable question: How could this happen to me? How did I, of all people, end up here?

But I have come to understand, through the long and patient work of grace, that a crisis does not come to destroy our faith, but to test its foundation. Storms do not reveal the architect’s flaw; they reveal the quality of the ground upon which the house was built. And it is in that brutal, honest testing that we often find God’s hand, not preventing the break, but holding us together in the midst of it.

We forget that leaders are human. There is a pervasive, unspoken belief that those in spiritual or executive roles inhabit a higher plane, insulated from the gut-wrenching realities of pain, betrayal and failure. We are placed on pedestals, and then everyone is shocked when we fall off.

Leadership does not grant immunity; it amplifies the stakes and multiplies the impact of our humanity. The truth is stark and simple: leaders bleed too. And the character of our leadership is not determined by our ability to avoid the wound, but by how we respond when we are bleeding. Do we hide the wound, letting it fester in secrecy? Or do we allow the Great Physician to clean and dress it, even if the process is agonizing?

THE WEIGHT OF AUTHENTICITY

In the beginning, guilt, coupled with shame, was my shadow. It was the first thing I felt upon waking and the last thought before a fitful sleep. I felt disqualified, not only from ministry, but from God’s love because I had missed the mark by a mile. Yet as I faced my pain honestly and sought God, the Holy Spirit re-educated me in this truth: God does not deal in guilt. He deals in grace.

Owning your humanity is not an excuse for lowering your standards. On the contrary. It is the prerequisite for true and sustainable strength. For years, I had preached from a platform of strength. Now, I am learning to lead from the altar of brokenness. And there is a power in that altar that no platform can ever provide.

The Apostle Paul gave language to this paradox: “We have this treasure in jars of clay, to show that the surpassing power belongs to God and not to us” (2 Corinthians 4:7). I had read that verse a thousand times, but now I was living it. I was a cracked pot. The “treasure” of the gospel, of my calling, God’s light, was still inside, but it was now spilling out through the very fractures I was so ashamed of.

As leaders, we often mistake our value for our perfection. God’s power is made perfect in weakness. The cracks in our earthen vessels do not diminish the treasure within—they allow the light to spill out. My brokenness became a new kind of broadcasting system for grace.

THE CRUCIBLE OF BELIEF

Crisis is a ruthless revealer. It acts like a spiritual fire that strips away the non-essentials such as titles, accolades and public approval, and it exposes the core of what we truly believe. It reveals not our theological statements, not the doctrines we can articulate with clarity, but the silent, steadfast convictions our soul clings to when all else is lost. It is the difference between a map of a territory and the terrain itself. I had the map; now I was crawling through the terrain.

I was forced to confront my own foundations, to ask questions I had only ever asked others in their pain: Do I believe God is still good when His goodness is simply conceptual? Do I believe He has a plan when the path has disappeared? Do I believe my calling is irrevocable when my credibility seems shattered beyond repair?

In the silence that followed these questions, I discovered that crisis is the construct where casual faith is transformed into unshakable conviction. It is one thing to teach about God’s sovereignty from a platform; it is another to trust it when you hit rock bottom. A faith that survives this fire becomes leadership gold. It becomes the backbone of your very existence. Because you have felt God carry you, you will never doubt His ability to do so again. This breeds a confidence that is quiet, deep and unshakable.

THE TEST OF FOLLOWER-SHIP

One of the most humbling and inescapable aspects of public leadership is that your life is never entirely your own. Your story is woven into the stories of those you lead. When a leader falls, it is not a private event; it is a communal earthquake. And the responses—be it compassion, judgment, silence, support, gossip or grace—reveal as much about the hearts of the followers as they do about the leader.

I slowly came to see that God uses these painful, public moments to refine both the one who stumbles and those who witness it. The leader learns the gut-wrenching but necessary lesson of humility. Simultaneously, the followers are presented with a critical choice: will they extend the grace they were once recipients of or they themselves may require, or will they retreat into the easier, more self-righteous path of criticism? Both parties are being sculpted into the image of Christ, one through the fire of failure, the other through the fire of forgiveness.

I have learned to hold the opinions of others lightly. This does not mean being callous or unteachable. It means understanding that our restoration is God’s sacred work; it is not hinged on public consensus or the courts of popular opinion. My journey had to be walked with God, one painful, obedient step at a time, often with only a few faithful friends as companions.

LEADERSHIP UNBOUND

As I started to rebuild, I realized my entire understanding of leadership needed to be deconstructed and reimagined. My paradigm had been too small, too confined to the four walls of the church. For decades, I had equated leadership with public ministry. The pulpit, the platform, the congregation, the titles. But that was gone, and I found myself navigating an unfamiliar world.

My foray into this new world began not with a title, but with a test of humility. That test started at rock bottom. I found myself a virtual non-entity, working shifts in a factory. My days were measured in boxes packed and carts pushed, a far cry from any platform I had known. It was a place of pure obscurity, a far cry from any platform I had ever known.

From that place of hiddenness, a door opened to another unexpected environment: the Embassy of Sri Lanka in The Netherlands. I moved from the factory floor to the front desk, taking a role as a receptionist. My days were filled with calls, schedules and greetings, work that felt a world away from the pulpit.

I was a believer among people who did not share my faith. An exile, a stranger in a foreign land. It was there that the stories of Joseph in Egypt and Daniel in Babylon became my lifelines. Not as ancient accounts, but as living blueprints for influence.

Like Joseph, who remained faithful in every stage, the factory floor and the embassy front desk were where I had to learn faithfulness in hidden places. And like Daniel, I was in an environment that did not know my God. I quickly learned that my influence would not come from quoting Scripture, but from how I handled conflict, navigated complex situations with integrity, listened when others only wanted to speak and held my peace when others would have retaliated. These small, daily choices became my silent testimony.

Then, the shift began. Though my official function remained that of a receptionist, the scope of my influence expanded in ways only God could orchestrate. I was being invited into rooms with ambassadors, government officials and CEOs. I found myself hosting high-level events, training diplomats in public speaking and drafting speeches for government officials. I embraced these roles not because I was qualified for them, but because I was confident God was with me in it.

And in that space, the presence of God I carried became evident. Colleagues, some of whom would never step into a church, began to quietly approach me. They couldn’t articulate what they saw, but they recognized something different: a peace, a wisdom, a steadiness that wasn’t common in that high-stakes environment. They asked for my thoughts, for advice and even, privately, for prayer. I was able to offer solutions wrapped in God’s wisdom and serve with an excellence that pointed to a higher source.

Leadership is not a title or a role. It is influence. God was not ending my assignment; He was expanding it beyond the borders I had constructed. My perceived detour was a divine redirection. He had positioned me as a vessel of His presence, first in the humility of a factory, then in the halls of diplomacy, proving that His plans for influence are fulfilled not by loud declarations, but through quiet and precise obedience, even when no one seems to be watching.

THE WILDERNESS AS A SEMINARY

This period of transition became my most profound seminary. The wilderness, which no one volunteers for, became the place I most intimately encountered God’s presence.

When God strips away the noise of public affirmation, the constant stream of “Amen”s and “Thank you, Pastor,” He invites us to rediscover the profound resonance of His voice alone. In the quiet, I learned the sacredness of excellence in small, unseen tasks. I learned the power of faithful obedience when no one is watching, when there is no one to applaud.

It is easy to lead with confidence in the spotlight; it is holy work to remain faithful in the shadows. Yet, it is in these hidden seasons that God forges the non-negotiable pillars of character and resilience. Character is who you are when no one is looking. Resilience is the capacity to endure pressure without breaking. These are not developed in success; they are fortified in struggle.

“Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord, not for human masters” (Colossians 3:23). This single verse became my manifesto, my north star. Whether I was drafting a document for a government official, serving coffee to a guest or mentoring a young professional, the work was sacred. The audience was no longer a congregation, but an audience of One. I discovered God’s anointing is not confined to the pulpit; it flows wherever His people are planted in faithful obedience.

LEADING FROM WHOLENESS

In the wake of a public crisis, the temptation is to stage a hurried comeback, to prove to the world (and, more importantly, to yourself) that you are still strong, still relevant, still anointed. But leadership that comes from unhealed pain lacks substance and power. It seeks validation, not vocation. It is a performance, not a conduit of life.

God was not in my hurry. He was in my healing. His timeline for restoration was patient and thorough. He gently, repeatedly reminded me that my value was not in my utility, but in my identity as His beloved child. I didn’t need to lead to be valuable; I needed to be whole to lead well. People can intuitively feel the difference between a leader who serves from a place of secure identity and one who leads to fill a void, to quiet the voices of shame or to rebuild a shattered ego.

There is a unique, unshakable brand of courage that is born only in the furnace of loss. It is the freedom that comes when you have lost what you most feared losing—your reputation, your ministry, your identity—and have discovered, to your stunned amazement, that God, and your core identity in Him, remains.

This is what makes post-crisis leadership so potent, so steadying for others. It is not loud or aggressive; it is grounded and rooted. It is the quiet, unassuming confidence that comes from knowing, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that God’s presence has not abandoned you, even when everything else has.

THE LEADER WHO REBUILDS

Looking back from a place of hard-won peace and renewed purpose, I can say with certainty: the crisis did not destroy my leadership; it re-defined it. It was the fire that burned away the superficial, purified my motives and baptized my heart in a deeper, more authentic well of compassion.

It taught me that true, God-given authority is not derived from a position, but from authenticity. When people have seen you broken, have watched you navigate the valley of the shadow of death without pretense and have witnessed you lean entirely on God through the long, slow process of rebuilding, your leadership acquires a new, undeniable gravity. They no longer follow you just for what you know; they follow you for who you have become: a person who has been with Jesus in the depths and has come back with a word of hope that is credible because it is costly.

Romans 8:28 is now the testimony etched on my soul: “And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.”

All things! Even the shattering, the shame, the silence, the divorce, the feelings of failure, can be woven into the magnificent tapestry of your calling when you surrender the thread to the Master Weaver. He does not waste a single experience, a single tear, a single moment of pain. He is the God of the resurrection, and His specialty is bringing life from death.

TO THE LEADER IN THE FIRE

Crisis will find every leader. It is not a matter of if, but when. Your fire may look different from mine. A betrayal by a trusted colleague, a financial collapse, a failed vision, a personal failure, a debilitating illness. But its purpose is universal: to forge you, to remove the dross and to reveal the pure, resilient steel of your faith.

I’ve come to the conclusion that the world has no need for leaders who have never fallen. They are fictional characters, and their perfection is a lie. The world is desperate, starving for leaders who have been broken and have risen again, their hands holding both the unwavering truth of God’s word and the tender grace of their own scars. This combination is irresistible.

If you are walking through the fire today, hold on. The flames are not your end. There is a future on the other side of this. And that future, shaped in the fire and defined by the faithfulness of God, will be stronger, wiser and more boldly anointed than anything you could have constructed with your own blueprints of success.

For bold leadership is not defined by a flawless record; it is forged in crisis, and its authority is born of authenticity.

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Shyami Jayasinghe is a speaker, mentor and faith leader dedicated to empowering men and women to lead with confidence, courage and spiritual authority. As the Founder and CEO of Prominence Coaching & Consulting, she draws on over 25 years of leadership and ministry experience to equip leaders to navigate change, steward influence and walk boldly with God. Shyami inspires others to rise in strength, lead with excellence and fulfill their divine purpose. She resides in Delft, Netherlands.