Some years ago, author and New York Times columnist David Brooks spoke of the difference between résumé virtues and eulogy virtues. He posited that although most of us would agree that eulogy virtues—things like compassion, faithfulness, and courage—matter most, it’s résumé virtues—marketable skills—that we most often invest in building.

This temptation may be especially great among current and aspiring leaders. We want to serve our organizations well, find our place among gifted and well-educated peers, and make our mark on an industry or issue. Metrics hold us accountable to our job performance; meanwhile, no one is measuring the kind of person we’re becoming.

With this awareness, I joined a group in 2015 with the name “The Eulogists.” The seven men in the group share a commitment to living in light of what ultimately matters. We connect throughout the year and meet in person each January to reflect honestly on whether the way we’re living is consistent with what matters most.

Scripture affirms that we are not promised tomorrow. Proverbs 27:1 says, “Do not boast about tomorrow, for you do not know what a day may bring.” James 4:14 says, “What is your life? You are a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes.” Jesus clarifies our priorities through a parable in Luke 12 of a man who stores up abundant treasure for himself but won’t live to enjoy it. And the entire book of Ecclesiastes addresses the meaninglessness that characterizes so much of human striving. We need to live asking, What ultimately matters? And nothing clarifies that question more powerfully than a friend’s funeral.

A few weeks ago, a dear friend who served as senior pastor of Highland Presbyterian Church in Dallas, Texas, invited me to deliver a sermon that, in essence, explored making Christ’s priorities our own. Bryan and I had met in a young leaders group in 2006, and although I joked that I wasn’t sure we could still be described as “young” leaders, by all accounts, Bryan was at the prime of his life and ministry. He was faithfully serving God and his congregation; actively inviting his community in Dallas to fully follow Christ; and loving his wife, Ali, and their three children well. I returned home from our time together feeling full; that was Bryan’s effect on people.

Just days later, a mutual friend called to share the news that Bryan had died in his sleep. I prepared to fly back to Texas for funeral services in a persistent state of disbelief. But as I sat and listened to what was shared during the memorial service, I was struck by the consistency between what Bryan said mattered and how he lived his life. He loved his wife and kids, he challenged his congregation to make their priorities match God’s priorities, and he invested deeply in others. His wife of 15 years reflected that Bryan was the first to apologize; he was quick to listen and slow to speak; and he was eager to know how to become a better husband and father, even as he shepherded a growing congregation. A friend described Bryan as a man of unmatched humility and unreasonable kindness. In his presence, people felt accepted, relaxed, and safe.

Bryan was a great man, and many titles describe him: husband, father, pastor, leader. But perhaps the best description would be follower, because Bryan went after the heart of Jesus with everything he had. I pray the same will be said of me, as I, like Bryan, learn to live with eternity at the forefront of my mind.

We are not promised tomorrow, so let’s live today in light of what matters most.