The Sacred Art of Not Losing it in Costco
Formation with free samples | Issue 12
I remember the Costco chaos years. Kids flopping in carts, begging for 97 things we didn’t need, melting down in the frozen aisle while I tried to do mental math on whether buying peanut butter in bucket form was actually economical.
Now, the chaos has cooled. My kids are older. If I can talk them into joining me for the ride, we wander the aisles together waiting for our pizzas to heat, making jokes about whether 40 rolls of toilet paper is enough (and still asking for 97 things we don’t need). Then, and now, formation lives at Costco. Opportunities abound in the cart, in the parking lot, and in the eye contact over a shared sample of mystery cheese. Are you embracing them (the opportunities, not the mystery cheese)?
The chaos has changed, but the opportunity hasn’t. We’re still being formed. And so are they.
Back then, a rough Costco trip felt like failure or parenting malpractice. Full disclosure, I messed this up on the regular. My wife and I tell other parents all the time, “Do the best you can and save money for counseling” and we laugh, because it’s mostly funny. Grace helps with the rest. Humility heals. Growth makes things messy.
Formation occurs in our lives because of faithful direction, not flawless execution. I tell coaching clients all the time that leadership develops through challenge. The same principle holds at home (and Costco). For us, it became an unexpected classroom. Another place to practice peace, patience, and posture as we grew and as our kids watched.
Jesus reportedly said, “Be perfect, as your heavenly Father is perfect.” I read that as an invitation, a trajectory. His invitation to us, to walk toward something beautiful, even if our steps are awkward and uneven. So we practice. We pause. We breathe. We do the best we can. And when we blow it (because we do), we own it, and apologize.
The invitation grows us. It also models for our kids (and everyone else in those God-forsaken Saturday lines) the thing behind the thing: humility, forgiveness, and the grace to keep becoming who we are invited to be.
Reality Check: It’s Not a Crisis, Just a Cart Jam
NGL, most Costco meltdowns don’t require divine intervention. They require snacks, a nap, and a grown-up who remembers they’re the grown-up.
Spiritual formation doesn't help you escape the noise. It guides how you show up in noisy spaces.
Don’t fake Zen in the freezer aisle while your toddler goes full banshee. Instead, recognize that this moment, primal as it feels, might still be holy ground. Claim it. Not because it offers peace, but because it shapes you.
This chaos isn’t punishment. It invites you to grow.
The screaming toddler who just discovered the word “no”? Invitation.
The tween arguing about Takis while you calculate unit prices? Invitation.
The couple blocking the entire cereal aisle while having a public midlife crisis via speakerphone? Honestly impressive. Still an invitation.
These moments stretch us. Not because they matter so much, but because they matter just enough.
They invite us to step into leadership. Not the stage, where our efforts are affirmed by the tyrants in the shopping cart (though that would feel nice), but the sacrificial leading where we die to self and serve the other. Leadership that swallows embarrassment and names it pride, that responds rather than reacts. The kind that reframes interruption as the real work rather than an inefficient obstacle.
Formation doesn’t just happen in monasteries. It happens in the parking lot, when someone cuts you off with a cart full of LaCroix. It happens in the line, when the kid behind you is wailing and yours are pretending to be sloths in the cart. It happens in the pause before you speak, in the peace you protect, and in the posture you hold.
And sure, the stakes feel high. But they’re usually not. No one’s eternal destiny hinges on whether you make it to checkout with your dignity intact. Still, these moments shape who you’re becoming.
You don’t win by holding it all together (although that would feel fantastic). You win by showing up, by choose presence over panic. Reach for curiosity instead of control. Throw kindness into the chaos like it’s your superpower. Or, as I tell my kids, “Smell like Jesus.”
It’s leadership, Costco-style. And it counts.
Pause. Peace. Posture.
How does a parent at the end of their rope lean into this formation thing?
You don’t need a perfect plan. You need a pause.
Most of us have some sense that a micro-moment exists between our rising frustration and our actual response (sometimes it festers, sometimes it strikes like lightening). Imagine entering that space (and moment) as a martial arts student enters their dojo. This is your parenting training ground. A spiritual weight room where formation starts to take shape.
You begins with pause.
We quickly forget the power of breathing; the way it reminds us that we are embodied, that stress lives in our limbs, and the we can regulate if we pay attention. Breathing is no productivity hack - it’s a callback from whatever chaos is seducing our minds. One single breath slows the spiral. No need to pretend you're okay. Simply remind yourself you still get to choose.
Next comes peace.
Not calm music and essential oils (though I’m not anti-candles), but the gritty kind. The peace that shows up when everything around you spirals but you don’t. Where pause embodies the moment, peace offers perspective. It whispers, “all these feelings are bigger than needed for this moment.” A simply zoom out places the Costco circus in a larger context, where messes are evidence of provision and stability. Peace doesn’t always feel like stillness. Sometimes it offers the strength to deescalate. Sometimes it whispers “what curious kids I’ve raised” while your oldest licks a freezer door (hypothetically).
And finally, posture.
Not the physical kind (though, sure, stand up straight) but the internal one. The stance of your soul. Embodied, and armed with perspective, ask what you might learn in this moment. Are you leaning in with curiosity or bracing for impact with judgment? Are you showing up as someone worth imitating, or just trying to survive until checkout?
Here’s the gold: These three practices (pause, peace, posture) invite us into deeper spaces. Commit them to muscle memory and they’ll prepare you to navigate the high stakes moments too. Formation practices like these shape who you become.
So the next time the line wraps around the store and someone’s screaming (maybe even you), don’t just grit your teeth and power through. Practice:
Breath into pause.
Zoom our for peace.
Adjust your posture.
If all else fails, find a sample station and take a moment of holy reflection with a lukewarm chicken nugget on a toothpick.
These Costco moments of practice? They stack. And someday, without fanfare or fireworks, you’ll realize they’ve become something more: a quiet family legacy, formed in the frozen aisle.
Bring It Back: From Chaos to Legacy
When my kids were small, Costco felt like a war zone. Loud. Bright. Overstimulating. We were dodging meltdowns while Googling the sugar content of industrial-sized applesauce pouches. Most of our parenting felt like improv comedy—unhinged, unscripted, and a little too loud.
But even in that chaos, something sacred was happening.
We practiced a pause. We tried to choose peace. We prayed for the posture that carried kindness like a giant pack of paper towels trying to clean up emotional spills.
Formation. Not in theory. In the wild.
And now, walking those same aisles with teenagers, I see some fruit. I see them respond to younger kids with patience. I hear them joke about the old days, when the cart rides were bumpy and the tantrums louder. I watch as they, too, navigate overstimulation, frustration, and crowded parking lots with a bit more steadiness.
They saw us try. They saw us fail (and sometimes succeed). Our kids also saw us breathe, reset, apologize, and begin again. And your kids see you too. You know they see your breaking point, but remember that they also see your love, your protection, and your generosity (does anyone pass up the $1.50 hot dog?).
That’s the work. Not getting it right. But staying in the story.
Formation is not about arriving. It’s about returning. Returning to center, to kindness, to generosity and gratitude. Returning to the practices that shape us from the inside out, as we become people who can walk through Costco (and life) without totally losing it.
Reflection & Practice
Before your next Costco run (or regular Tuesday), try asking:
Where in my life do I need to pause instead of power through?
What low-stakes chaos invites me into high-value formation?
What posture do I hold under stress, and how am I being formed by it?
Where might I model something worth imitating (not perfection, but presence)?
And maybe, just for fun:
What’s one moment from this week that looked like disaster but might’ve actually been sacred?
✢ Everyday Formation
Thanks for wandering the aisles of this reflection with me. If you made it this far, either you're practicing patience… or you're hiding from your own Costco chaos. Both are valid.
This space exists for folks like you—souls juggling life, leadership, and lunchables—who want to grow on purpose without faking Zen in the frozen aisle.
If you’re tired of living in reactive mode and craving a deeper, more grounded rhythm, check out Resist Drift—my free guide to help you notice what’s forming you and take small steps back to center.
No perfection required. Just presence, pause, and maybe a sample-sized miracle.
That’s the work. Not getting it right. But staying in the story.