Say yes to the small thing: Ruben Torres on be still, legacy, and unlikely leadership
How a basketball in Tijuana became Love Thy Neighbor, why Ruben paused after touring, and the one small yes that opened doors to prisons, police, and men’s retreats.
“Sometimes you're robbing yourself of what's next by saying ‘send someone else.’” — Ruben Torres
Ruben told Gabe the story in the middle of a long conversation: a man in Tijuana asked for a basketball to bless the kids on his block. That tiny ask — a single basketball — became the seed for Love Thy Neighbor, a movement that led to toy drives, juvenile‑hall ministries, and tens of thousands served. The spine of this episode is simple and stubborn: say yes to the small thing, then be willing to sit still and let God move.
The basketball that became a movement
Ruben remembers filming a documentary in Tijuana when a dealer‑turned‑neighbor asked, “Can you bring a basketball next time?” It sounds small. Ruben thought the same. He said yes.
That yes turned into organized toy drives, community events at Qualcomm, and partnerships across South San Diego. Concrete detail: one of the earliest big events featured Rey Mysterio at a school in the South Bay and later they rented a Qualcomm parking lot for a “peace gathering” with music, vendors, and lowriders.
The lesson Ruben repeats: small obedience compounds. He frames it biblically (David carrying bread and cheese forward), practically (a stranger at the store with his book in his Amazon cart), and strategically — the tiny favor you dismiss might be the hinge for a whole ministry.
“Someone’s blessing is waiting for you on the other side of your yes.” — Ruben Torres
From touring life to the Legacy Center: choosing stability
For decades Ruben toured in the entertainment world — bus life, hotels, short stops. When the Legacy Center (a two‑hundred‑million dollar facility) opened in Mission Valley, someone reached out on LinkedIn and asked him to help build a faith‑based venue. He took the Creative Director title seven years ago.
He explains why: he needed to be home, to steward family and faith. Touring offered excitement; the center offered continuity and influence. Ruben is candid about the tradeoffs — the industry can “eat away” at you — and how stepping out of the nonstop grind made room for ministry that lasts.
Be still: the book, the pause, and the posture of the heart
Ruben’s new book — the Moses Factor — wasn’t written from a podium of wins. He wrote parts of it at his wife’s bedside during cancer treatments, while moving back in with his dad after a divorce, and during seasons he calls “not pretty.” That context matters: the book is not a highlight reel; it’s a testimony of wounded obedience.
Right now Ruben is in a season he describes as “be still.” He’s promoting the book from home, stepping back from earlier, larger community roles, and letting God reconfigure motive and posture. A hard pivot: after the city proclaimed a Ruben Torres Day (November 9, 2024), he confessingly questioned whether the spotlight had been pointing to him rather than to Jesus — and repented.
He tells Gabe the change wasn’t slow. A spiritual confrontation earlier in the year reset his life: what he does now is measured by whether it points people to Christ, not to Ruben.
The Connected men's retreat: raw, small, and catalytic
Ruben started the Connected men’s retreat because he wanted a place for men who aren’t “polished seminary guys” to be honest about pain and struggle. Practicals: the retreat (called the Reset) runs Friday–Sunday, October 9–11; it’s held at a ranch venue; cost is $180 and that covers room and meals. Attendance has grown from ~30 the first year to close to 40 last year. Guests have included Sonny Sandoval from P.O.D., and the programming mixes worship, small groups, and intentionally raw testimonies.
Common threads he sees at the retreats: lust and pornography, generational wounds, absent fathers, and men carrying shame. Ruben’s approach is not polished performance preaching — it’s peer testimony and practical mentorship: tattoo artists teaching art, music producers running studio sessions inside juvenile units, guys learning trades. The goal is simple: reset a man so he can go home and be a better husband, father, and neighbor.
Bridging with law enforcement — the peace gathering and toy drives
One surprising axis of Ruben’s work is partnership with law enforcement. He was skeptical at first, but after the District Attorney’s office invited him to their Regional Leadership Institute (36 officers from agencies across California attended), his posture changed.
Key examples:
He rented the Qualcomm parking lot for a community peace gathering that deliberately paired civilians and law enforcement.
He and partners organized “Coffee with a Cop” on their terms, not the police department's.
Last December they loaded cop cars with toys, played Christmas music, and surprised apartment complexes with gifts — a stunt that broke down suspicion in real time.
Ruben’s tactical advice to officers is plain: show up human. Roll down a window. Be visible. Every contact is an opportunity to change a person’s narrative about police. Those relationships have led to programs inside juvenile halls, training sessions, and joint door‑to‑door wellbeing checks.
Unlikely leadership, mentoring, and the posture that lasts
Ruben calls his next project the Unlikely Leader initiative: bulk buying books and shipping them into juvenile halls and prisons, plus building a six‑week curriculum based on the Moses Factor. He believes his audience includes people who feel disqualified — high‑school dropouts, ex‑gang members, or anyone whose past makes them think they don’t belong.
He names mentors who mattered: Noah Bernardo (early influence), Devin DeHaven (industry mentor), and Bo Harrells (a pastor who discipled him in Modesto). The dynamic he repeats: be discipled and be discipler — keep a core group who will hold you accountable and let you be honest.
On repentance and legacy, Ruben’s answer is terse and urgent: “Repent. Grow closer to the Lord.” He wants to be remembered as a servant — not a name on a marquee — and he’s repositioning his work to ensure his platforms point people to Jesus.
Why this matters for you
Ruben gives us two practical, transferable anchors:
When you’re tempted to say “send someone else,” say yes to the small thing. The hinge moment is rarely dramatic at first.
Periodically sit still. Measure your motives. Let God strip the “look at me” posture from your work before He uses it to bless others.
If you take one thing away, let it be this: obedience to small, humble tasks builds networks, opens doors (even with police and prisons), and creates the soil for legacy work. Ruben’s story is a reminder that messy pasts don’t disqualify; they can become the very material God uses.
If you want the full, unedited conversation (stories about touring, raw retreat testimonies, and the moment he felt spiritual warfare hit reset), the episode is worth the listen.
—A note from Gabe: Ruben’s on Instagram at @ConnectedWithRT and the retreat and Love Thy Neighbor updates live under Connected Men and Love Thy Neighbor Movement. He’s building curriculum and looking for partners to put books into juvenile halls — if that stirs you, his DMs are open.
Be still. Say yes.