You Can Stop Now

You’ve been handing God your resume for decades. It’s time to put it down.

Two men go up to the temple to pray. As Jesus tells the story, he deliberately sets them up as opposites.

The first is a Pharisee. Forget the cartoon villain you might imagine; that’s not how people saw him. They saw the finest man in town. He was disciplined, generous, loyal to his wife. He tithed on everything. If he lived today, he’d be the deacon, the guy who arrives early to set up chairs, the man every mother points to. On the surface, he had it together.

The second is a tax collector. A sellout. A man who got rich turning on his own people and skimming off the top. Everyone in that temple knew exactly what he was, and he knew it too.

And here’s how they pray.

The Pharisee stands up where everyone can see him and lists his achievements to God. I thank you that I’m not like other men, robbers, cheats, or even this tax collector over here. Every word is true. He really is all those good things. He’s not lying. He’s just focused on the wrong thing.

The tax collector stands at a distance. Won’t even lift his eyes. Just beats his chest and says seven words.

“God, have mercy on me, a sinner.” Luke 18:13 (NIV)

No resume. No list. No comparison to the man next to him. He had nothing to offer. He could only ask for mercy.

And Jesus delivers a word that would have made every head in the room snap around:

“I tell you that this man, rather than the other, went home justified before God.” Luke 18:14 (NIV)

The sellout went home right with God. The good man went home exactly as he came.

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Here’s the thing most of us never grasp, no matter how long we’ve been in church.

The Pharisee’s problem was not that he was bad. He wasn’t bad. His problem was trusting his goodness to make him right with God. He walked into that temple as his own savior. A man who is already saving himself doesn’t need a savior. He walked out with exactly what he brought in: himself. And it was never going to be enough, no matter how high the pile got.

The tax collector brought nothing but need. And need is the one thing God can actually fill.

You can’t receive a gift while your hands are still full of what you were trying to earn.

That’s the bottom line. Unfortunately, it’s the one truth that most religious men don’t really believe about themselves. We’ll say grace is free. We’ll sing it on Sunday. But between Monday and Saturday, we keep repeating the Pharisee’s prayer in our minds: at least I’m not like that guy, at least I did the devotions, at least I showed up. We hand God our resume and hope it’s enough.

Paul, who had the best religious resume of anyone alive, says he counts the whole thing as garbage. His actual word is even stronger. He does this so he can have a righteousness that isn’t his own.

For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith — and this is not from yourselves, it is the gift of God — not by works, so that no one can boast. Ephesians 2:8–9 (NIV)

Not from yourselves. The gift of God. So that no one can boast. There is no resume in that sentence. Only a gift, and empty hands to receive it.

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Let’s bring this to where a lot of us live in the second half.

For decades, you’ve built a resume. The provider who never missed a day. The man who kept his word, paid his debts, stayed when other men left. And underneath, for many faithful Christian men, there’s a quiet reminder of the Pharisee’s prayer: I’ve been good enough. Look at the pile. We’re exhausted by it, and we don’t even realize it, because we’ve carried ourselves for so long that we’ve forgotten there was another way to walk into the room.

And here’s what the gospel says to that tired man. You can put the resume down. Not because it’s bad, but because it was never what made you right with God in the first place. Jesus already did that fully at the cross, when you had nothing to offer. The verdict is already in. It came two thousand years ago, with your name on it, and it didn’t depend on what you could bring.

You have been trying to earn something that was already yours as a gift. You can stop now.

That’s the freedom the tax collector walked out with. It’s what the Pharisee missed. It’s not freedom from being good. The tax collector’s life surely changed after that day. It’s freedom from having to be good enough. Freedom from the scoreboard you’ve been feeding your whole life. Freedom to serve God and love people out of gratitude, not fear, because what you were afraid of losing was never at risk. It was settled at the cross before you ever picked up the pen to start your resume.

A man who knows he’s already accepted doesn’t stop working. He works better: freer, steadier, with nothing left to prove. But he’s no longer working for the verdict. He’s working from it. That is a completely different way to be a man.

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Here’s what I’d ask you to do this week.

Somewhere in you there’s a resume you’ve been handing God. It’s a list of reasons you think you’re okay with Him. The devotions, the church attendance, the decency, the fact that you’re not like that guy. This week, notice when you reach for it. You will, probably by Wednesday. When you catch yourself repeating the Pharisee’s prayer, stop, and pray the tax collector’s instead. Seven words. God, have mercy on me, a sinner.

Not as groveling but as relief. Like a man finally setting down a load he was never meant to carry, and never strong enough to carry anyway.

The question underneath the whole week: What have I been trying to earn from God that He already gave me for free?

Put the resume down. Your hands were made to receive, not to keep proving. It’s finished. You can rest now.

If you’re ready to stop building your resume and allow God to transform you from the inside out, I’d love to walk you through the Rebound 8-Week Transformation. Take a look at www.reboundlifecoaching.com

— Ron

What You’re Holding is Holding You

Jesus asks every man to give up one thing, and it’s always the thing costing him his life.

A man runs up to Jesus and falls on his knees in the road.

He’s not begging for healing or asking to be set free from something. He’s just the opposite. He’s the success story. Young, wealthy, respected, religiously serious. The kind of man every father in the village held up as the one to emulate. He’s done everything right, and he knows it, yet something is missing. So he runs, drops to the ground, and asks the question that has haunted his whole life: What must I do to inherit eternal life?

Mark records the detail.

Jesus looked at him and loved him. “One thing you lack,” he said. “Go, sell everything you have and give to the poor… Then come, follow me.” Mark 10:21 (NIV)

“Jesus looked at him and loved him.” This isn’t a cold demand from a distant God. This is love looking a man dead in the eye and telling him the one thing no one else had the nerve to say.

You know how the story ends. The man’s face falls. And he walks away sad, because he had great wealth.

He is the only person in all the Gospels who comes to Jesus sincerely, is personally invited to follow—and says no. And Jesus lets him go. He loved him and let him walk away. Jesus didn’t chase him or soften the terms. Just watched the man he loved choose the thing that was killing him.

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Here’s what we often get wrong.

We hear “sell everything,” and we assume, “That’s about money, and I’m not rich, so this one’s not for me.” And we miss the point.

It was never about the money. It was about the one thing. Jesus looked at this man and pointed to the one thing that had grown into his real god, the thing he trusted instead of God, the thing he couldn’t live without. For this man, it was money. For you it might be something else entirely.

Jesus doesn’t ask every man to sell everything. But he does ask every man to hand over the one thing he’s holding onto instead of God.

Following Jesus will cost you exactly one thing. It’s the one thing you’ve been trusting to save you instead of him.

And that’s why it feels like you’re dying. Because that one thing — the career, the reputation, the control, the comfort, the grudge, the secret, the image you’ve spent forty years building — it doesn’t feel like an idol. It feels like you. Handing it over feels like losing yourself.

Jesus never pretended otherwise. He didn’t hide the cost in the fine print. He held it up in broad daylight.

“Whoever wants to be my disciple must deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me. For whoever wants to save their life will lose it, but whoever loses their life for me and for the gospel will save it.” Mark 8:34–35 (NIV)

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Here’s the life-changing good news.

The thing Jesus asks you to give up is the thing that was already killing you.

That man’s wealth wasn’t making him alive. He ran to Jesus in the first place because it wasn’t enough. Something was still missing, and he knew it. The very thing he couldn’t let go of was what had left him on his knees in the road, asking a stranger how to really live. Jesus wasn’t trying to take something good from him. He was trying to pry his fingers off the thing that was strangling him.

He’s not asking you to lose your life. He’s asking you to let go of what was costing you your life—so He can give you a real one.

You think He’s asking you to trade a real life for a religious one. To give up the good stuff for duty and rules. That’s exactly what the rich young man thought, and that’s why he walked away.

The truth is the reverse. You’re trading the thing that was quietly killing you for the only life that was ever real. You lose your life to find it. Every man who has actually done it says the same thing on the other side: I thought I was giving something up. I had no idea what I was getting.

The cost is real. I won’t insult you by pretending it isn’t. It will feel like you’re dying. But it’s the death of what was already taking you under. On the other side of it is the man you were made to be, and a life you cannot currently imagine from where you’re standing.

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Here’s what I’d ask you to consider this week.

You already know your one thing. The second you read “whatever you’ve been trusting instead of God,” something specific came up. It’s the thing you’d fight hardest to keep. The thing you trust to make you okay more than you trust God. Don’t argue it away. Tell the truth.

You don’t have to let go of it this week. That may be years of work. This week, do the one thing the rich young man wouldn’t: stay in the conversation. Don’t walk away sad. Bring the thing to Jesus and say, “I think this is my one thing. I don’t know how to hand it over yet. But I’m not leaving.”

What am I holding onto instead of God — and what has it already cost me to keep it?

He’s looking at you the way He looked at that man in the road. With love. And telling you the one true thing. The only question is whether you’ll stay in the road long enough to find out what’s on the other side of letting go.

Don’t walk away sad. Whatever he’s asking you to release, he’s only trying to free your hands for something better.

— Ron

Someone Saw What You Buried

The thing you tried to hide so no one would ever find it—Jesus was there for that. He saw everything and still sought you out.

Nathanael is about to meet Jesus for the first time, and he is already skeptical.

His friend Philip approaches excitedly and tells him they have found the one Moses spoke about, and that he is from Nazareth. Nathanael laughs and asks, “Can anything good come from Nazareth?” It is a small, unremarkable town, and Nathanael is not impressed.

Yet Nathanael goes to see for himself, and the encounter takes a sudden turn.

Before Nathanael can say anything, before the introductions are finished or he can make another skeptical comment, Jesus sees him coming and turns to the group. He says, “Look here, we have a true Israelite, one in whom there is nothing false.”

Nathanael stops in surprise. How do you know me? He has never met Jesus, yet with one sentence, Jesus moves him to his knees.

“I saw you while you were still under the fig tree before Philip called you.” John 1:48 (NIV)

We do not know what happened under the fig tree. But whatever occurred was personal, shared only between Nathanael and Jesus. No one else witnessed it—perhaps it was a prayer, a moment of grief, or something he never shared.

Jesus was present, saw it, and acknowledged it. The man who was laughing at Him moments earlier now declares, ‘Rabbi, you are the Son of God.’

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What caused Nathanael to change his mind?

This was not a typical miracle. Jesus did not heal Nathanael or calm a storm. Instead, He did something less conspicuous and, in some ways, even more remarkable: He made Nathanael realize he had been seen—fully and personally, at the very moment he believed he was alone.

This realization is what changed. It wasn’t displays of power or general knowledge, but the specific, personal understanding of an ordinary man under an ordinary tree.

The God who governs the universe does not offer vague knowledge; He knows your name and what happened under your tree.

We often treat God’s knowledge as just another line in a statement of faith. While it is true that He knows everything, we tend to keep this idea at a distance, like a fact about the sun’s size—true, but irrelevant to us.

Nathanael learned that God knows you personally. He does not know you as a computer knows a record in a database. He knows you as the psalmist describes: He knows when you sit and when you rise, and He knows all your ways. Even before you speak, He knows what you will say.

You have searched me, Lord, and know me. You know when I sit and when I rise; you perceive my thoughts from afar. Psalm 139:1–2 (NIV)

“From afar.” He understands your thoughts before they are fully formed. This is not impersonal knowledge; it is the attention of a Father who has never looked away from you, not even for a moment.

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Let me relate this to where most of us truly live.

By midlife, many men quietly wonder if anyone truly knows them. Your wife knows one aspect of you, your children see you as their father, and your coworkers recognize your professional side. Yet the real you—the fears you have never voiced, the experience under your fig tree you have never shared—has been hidden for so long that you almost believe no one will ever know it.

If this feels familiar, begin with a small step. Take a few minutes to write a brief note to God about what you have kept hidden or simply pray, telling Him what you have never said aloud. Even writing down a single honest sentence in a journal can be a way to start opening up to Him.

Here is the good news. The only One whose opinion really counts has already seen everything—the moment under the fig tree, the parts you would never reveal to your wife, and more—and He did not look away. He saw Nathanael’s honesty as He saw everything else. Both occurred at the same time. That is grace: being fully known and fully wanted at the same time.

Yet for many men, this can be difficult to believe. You might wonder if God could really want someone who has hidden or doubted so much. You may feel that you are the exception to this grace. If this is your struggle, know that you are not alone, and that God’s grace is real. The invitation to be fully known and fully wanted is for you, even in your doubts.

You may have never felt more alone than you did at that moment. Yet even then, He was with you under the tree the entire time.

This changes what it means to follow Him. You are not striving to earn the attention of a God who might notice you if you do enough. Instead, you are responding to a God who already sees you. The one who knew you before creation, who gave you a name before you cared for yourself, and who saw your worst moments and still sought you out.

A man does not follow a God like that out of obligation; he follows Him because in being fully known and loved, he finds rest for his soul.

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This is what I encourage you to remember this week.

Acknowledge the fig tree in your life—perhaps a moment, a wound, or a prayer you have never spoken aloud. You know the one I mean; it likely just came to mind. It is the thing you always thought you would take to your grave.

This week, if you are able, speak it aloud to God. You do not have to—He was there and already knows better than you do. Say it because you have never allowed yourself to be known in that way. Say it, and let the God who already saw it hear you finally speak it.

If you are not sure where to start, you might begin with something as simple as, “God, this is what I have been carrying. I don’t know how to share it, but I want you to see me as I am.” Even a single honest sentence is enough; what matters is letting yourself be known.

The central question throughout this week is this: What difference would it make if I truly believed I was completely known and still completely wanted?

This is not a minor question. For many people, it determines the course of the second half of life.

He saw you under the tree. He has seen everything. He came looking for you.

Ron

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The Rebound is an eight-week program for men ready to follow Jesus into the second half of life. Over these weeks, you will explore topics such as finding renewed purpose, healing from past regrets, building authentic relationships, and growing in your walk with Jesus as you navigate new seasons. Expect practical guidance, honest conversations, and support from others walking a similar path. Schedule a call with me. http://www.reboundlifecoaching.com

What If Jesus Wasn’t Who You Thought

We’re tempted to make him into what we want.

Four fishermen are in a boat in the dark, and they are afraid.

They’re not afraid of the water. They’ve worked this lake their whole lives. They’re afraid of the man asleep in the back of the boat.

The storm came up fast, the kind that kills men on the Sea of Galilee, and these were professionals — they knew they were going to drown. They woke Jesus up; he stood and spoke to the wind the way you’d speak to a dog that got up on the couch. Enough. Down.

And the wind lay down.

The water went flat as glass. And Mark tells us that right there—after the danger had passed, after they were safe—the fear actually hit them.

They were terrified and asked each other, “Who is this? Even the wind and the waves obey him!” Mark 4:41 (NIV)

Pay attention. The storm didn’t make them ask that question. Jesus did.

They were more unsettled in the calm, standing next to Him, than they had been a minute earlier staring down their own deaths. A storm is just a storm; every fisherman has faced one. But a man who tells a storm to stop — and it stops — defies expectation.

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Most of us have spent our whole lives with a Jesus who could never do that. We create a Jesus who is kind, gentle, and endlessly agreeable. A Jesus who mostly wants us to be nicer and feel better about ourselves. We put Him on the felt board in Sunday school and He never really came off it.

We tamed Him.

A tamed Jesus is a Jesus you can follow from a comfortable distance. He asks for a little of your Sunday and none of your Monday. He’s a life coach with good quotes. You can respect a Jesus like that. You just can’t be changed by Him, because there’s nothing in Him big enough to change you.

The problem with a safe Jesus is that a safe Jesus can’t save anybody.

The men in that boat did not meet a life coach. They met the God who made the sea, standing in a fishing boat with sawdust still under His fingernails from the carpenter’s shop. Fully a man — tired enough to sleep through a storm. Fully God — able to end one with a word.

This is Jesus. Not a nicer version of you or a gentle teacher who affirms your choices. This is the Lord of the wind and the waves, who stepped into your world, into a fishing boat, and eventually onto a cross.

Paul says it plainly: in Christ all the fullness of the Deity lives in bodily form—all of it. The full weight of God, walking around in a body, eating fish, getting tired, telling storms what to do.

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Why does this matter for a man in the second half of his life?

Because you cannot give the second half of your life to a Jesus you’ve made small.

A tamed Jesus will get your church attendance. He’ll get the leftovers. But He will never get your life, because you don’t hand your one remaining half to a mascot. You only hand it to someone worth it. Someone with the authority to actually do something with it.

The men in that boat followed Jesus into places that cost them everything because they had seen who He was. Their courage didn’t come from working up more commitment. It came from a bigger view of Him. It always does.

You don’t need to try harder to follow Jesus. You need to see Him more clearly. Once you do, following takes care of itself.

So before we talk in the coming weeks about how to follow Him—prayer, obedience, the cross —we have to start here: with who He is. Because everything else is just religious effort until a man has stood in the boat, felt the fear, and asked the only question that matters.

Who is this?

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Here’s what I’d ask you to work on this week:

Somewhere along the way, you built a picture of Jesus in your head. Most of us did it when we were young and never updated it. This week, go back to the Gospels — Mark is short, start there — and read three chapters. As you’re reading, ask one question about Jesus: what is He actually like? Not what you were told he’s like, but what he says and does on the page.

Don’t study it. Just watch Him. Let Him be as strong and strange and real as he is in the text, instead of the tame version you’ve been carrying since you were ten.

Is the Jesus I’ve been following big enough to be worth the rest of my life?

If He’s only as big as the felt board, of course you’ve held back. Any man would. But that’s not who’s in the boat.

— Ron

You Can’t Lead Who You Don’t Know

How Well Do You Know the Woman You’re Trying to Lead?

THIS WEEK

We’ve said a leader goes to God first, and serves before he leads. Here’s the third need, and it’s the one most of us are worst at — including me.

You cannot lead a person you don’t actually know.

A shepherd doesn’t lead sheep he’s never studied. A good one knows them. He knows which ones wander, which are anxious, which are hurting. And a husband who wants to lead his wife spiritually has to start by knowing her. Where is she struggling? What is she afraid of, and what does she long for?

Most of us think we already know her. We’ve been married twenty, thirty, forty years. But knowing her schedule is not the same as knowing her heart. And the only way in is a skill most men were never taught — listening.

You’ve been married long enough to predict what she’ll say. That’s not the same as knowing what she means.

· · ·

The counselors at The Ravines, who do intensive marriage work, named the problem exactly:

“Too often, couples speak to be understood rather than to understand. Servant leadership invites spouses to listen without planning a rebuttal — truly receiving the other’s heart.” — The Ravines, on servant leadership in marriage

Listen without planning a rebuttal. Be honest: how much of your listening is really just waiting? Waiting for the pause so you can say your piece. Waiting to correct the detail she got wrong and waiting to fix the problem so the conversation can end.

That’s not listening. That’s reloading.

Authentic listening—truly understanding her—means setting aside your own response and genuinely receiving her heart: not fixing it, not defending yourself, and not solving it —just receiving it, the way you’d want God to receive you.

And here’s what most men discover when they finally do it: the woman they’ve been married to for decades has depths they stopped exploring years earlier. She’s changed. She’s grown. She’s carrying things she never told you because you never really made space to hear them.

· · ·

There’s a beautiful line in the Song of Songs where the lovers call each other friend. Under all the romance, that’s what a marriage is supposed to become — a deep friendship.

A man who listens is doing the quiet work of leadership. He’s learning the terrain of her soul so he can lead her through it well. You’d never try to guide someone through country you refused to learn. Your wife’s heart is the country. Study it.

The husband who knows his wife’s heart can lead her. The husband who only knows her schedule can only manage her.

DO THIS THIS WEEK

Ask her one real question this week. Don’t say a word until she’s fully done.

This week, take time to sit with your wife and ask her a question you haven’t asked before. Avoid logistics and focus on meaningful topics like, “What have you been holding onto lately that I might have overlooked?” or “Where has your faith been feeling strong or drained recently?” Listen attentively until she finishes, avoiding the urge to respond, fix, or defend yourself. When she stops speaking, ask, “Is there more?” Your goal is to understand her heart so you can lead it. Be open to what she shares.

THE BROTHERHOOD

No man leads his marriage well alone. Here’s how to work this with other men.

Listening is a skill, and men sharpen skills best around other men who are working on the same one. Nobody gets better at this alone. If you regularly meet with a group of men, here’s how you can practice this together.

→ Report what you heard, not what you said. When your group gathers, have each man share one thing he learned about his wife this month by listening. If a man has nothing, something’s wrong. He didn’t ask, or he didn’t really listen. Let the group gently press him to try again.

→ Practice on each other first. Men are out of practice at being heard. Take turns letting one man talk for five minutes while the others listen—no advice, no fixing, no reloading. Learning to receive a brother’s heart trains you to receive your wife’s.

→ Keep each other from ‘fix-it’ mode. Give each other permission to ask, “Did you listen to understand, or listen to respond?” Most of us don’t even notice we’re doing it. Another man’s question wakes us up.

THE ANCHOR VERSE

“Everyone should be quick to listen, slow to speak and slow to become angry.” — James 1:19 (NIV)

The order is the whole lesson: quick to listen, slow to speak. Most of us reverse it, speaking quickly, listening slowly, and getting angry when we feel unheard. James offers an antidote in one verse. Lead your marriage with this order and see what opens up. Consider: When last did you listen to your wife without planning to respond, and what might you learn if you did so this week?

THE REBOUND LETTER — FREE · EVERY WEEK

Know a man who’s stopped really knowing his wife?

There’s a man in your life coasting on autopilot in his marriage — married for decades, but not really knowing her heart anymore. Forward him this letter. Sometimes one nudge is all it takes to get a man to sit down and actually listen again.

Forward this issue to one man →

You Can’t Lead Her Where You Won’t Go

The heart of spiritual leadership isn’t about having special skills. It’s about being a man who genuinely walks with God.

THIS WEEK

In the next four letters, we’ll talk about something many of us feel guilty about, and few really know how to do: spiritual leadership in marriage. Don’t think this is for someone else. If you’re married, it’s for you. We’ll start with the foundation: your own walk with God.

Just hearing the phrase makes some men tense up. It sounds like one more thing to do, another area where you’re supposed to have it together but don’t. Lead family devotions. Pray out loud with your wife. Be the spiritual head of the home. Most of us, if we’re honest, quietly feel like they’re failing at all of it.

So let’s start with something freeing. Spiritual leadership doesn’t begin with leading others. It starts with your own walk with God. That’s where real leadership begins.

You can’t lead your wife somewhere you’re not going yourself.

Spiritual leadership isn’t a performance you put on for her. It’s the overflow of a life that’s actually near to God.

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Tim Keller explained this really well. He compared love to money in the bank.

“If your only source of love and meaning is your spouse, then anytime she fails you, it will not just cause grief but a psychological cataclysm. If, however, you know something of the work of the Spirit in your life, you have enough love “in the bank” to be generous to your spouse even when you are not getting much affection or kindness at the moment.” — Tim Keller, The Meaning of Marriage

This explains why so many of us feel empty at home.

If your wife is your only source of love and meaning, you come home each night needing her to fill you. When she’s tired, distant, or cold, you have nothing left because your only well just ran dry. You react, withdraw, or get resentful. It’s not because you’re a bad man, but because you’ve tried to draw living water from another person, and she was never meant to be your source.

But a man who is truly walking with God, praying, reading Scripture, and being honest, has love in the bank. He can be generous with his wife even when she has nothing to give, because he isn’t running on her supply. He’s running on God’s presecnce.

The most spiritual thing you can do for your wife this week may be to get your own soul fed — so you have something to give her that isn’t dependent on her.

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Here’s what this looks like in real life.

It’s you quietly tending your own relationship with God. That way, what flows out of you comes from a source deeper than the results of your day.

How does it work? Spend a few minutes in Scripture before the day starts. Engage in a prayerful conversation with God that doesn’t come from crisis. Confess when you blow it. Feed your spirit.

Your wife will notice the difference before you ever say a word. A man at peace with God leads his home simply by being present differently.

DO THIS THIS WEEK

Feed your own soul first.

Before you try to lead your wife, focus on your own walk with God this week. Spend ten minutes each morning in Scripture. Don’t do it to perform or to report to anyone. Do it so you have something in your tank when you walk through the door tonight. You can’t give her water from an empty well. Fill your well first, and see how differently you show up at home.

THE BROTHERHOOD

No man leads his marriage well by himself.

This kind of issue often remains hidden in private but becomes more noticeable in a group setting. A man may ignore his soul for months without acknowledging it, but once others notice, everyone else does too.

→ Find one man and trade a simple question. Text one friend this week: “Did you spend any real time with God today?” Ask each other this question every day for two weeks, then keep it going. That’s it. You’ll be amazed how much a single honest question from another man does for your consistency.

→ Meet monthly, and go first. Get two or three men together once a month. The only rule: one man starts by honestly answering, “How’s your walk with God actually going?” When one man goes first and tells the truth, it gives the others permission to do the same.

→ Don’t try to lead your home from an empty tank. Men who keep a real walk with God rarely do it alone. Let a brother know when your well runs dry. Isolation is where good intentions quietly fade.

THE ANCHOR VERSE

“I am the vine; you are the branches. If you remain in me and I in you, you will bear much fruit; apart from me you can do nothing.” — John 15:5 (NIV)

Apart from me you can do nothing. Nothing. All the spiritual leadership you’re trying to build for your marriage comes from one source: your connection with Jesus.

If you get that right, the fruit will come. If you skip it, no amount of effort will yield anything sustainable.

Here’s a question to consider: Is the well you’ve been drawing from at home actually full? When was the last time you let God fill it?

THE REBOUND · FREE 30-MINUTE CONVERSATION

Is your own walk with God running on empty?

Many men trying to lead their marriage are running on fumes themselves. They feel spiritually dry, just going through the motions, with nothing left in the tank. If that’s you, let’s talk today. Start by feeding your own soul again, then lead your home from strength.

Book your free Rebound Call →

— Ron

You Can’t Fix Them. You Can Pray for Them

The quietest leadership is a man on his knees for the people in his care.

THIS WEEK

We’re closing this stretch of letters with the quietest man of all. Most of you have never heard a single sermon about him. I’ve never preached a single sermon on him! His name was Epaphras, and he shows up in just a few verses near the end of Paul’s letter to the Colossians.

He was, as best we can tell, the man who first brought the gospel to his hometown, Colossae. He planted the church there. And then, while he’s away with Paul, he can’t stop thinking about those people.

So he does the only thing a man can do for people he loves but can’t be with. He prays. He prays hard and constantly.

Paul, who knew what real labor for the church looked like, watched this man pray for his people and was moved enough to write it down.

· · ·

“Epaphras, who is one of you and a servant of Christ Jesus, sends greetings. He is always wrestling in prayer for you, that you may stand firm in all the will of God, mature and fully assured.” — Colossians 4:12

Always wrestling in prayer for you.

The word “wrestling” is derived from the same root as “agony.” This isn’t a man tossing up a quick blessing over dinner. This is a man laboring in prayer, sweating over it, fighting for these people on his knees the way a wrestler fights for a pin.

And what’s he praying for? Not small things. He’s asking that they’d stand firm, mature, fully assured. He’s praying for their character. Their depth. Their faith. He wants them to become everything God made them to be. Since he can’t be there to make it happen himself, he wrestles it out before God on their behalf.

Epaphras couldn’t be there. So he did the most powerful thing a man can do for the people he loves — he took them to God, over and over, and would not let go.

· · ·

Here’s what I want you to see because I think a lot of us have this backwards.

We treat prayer as the thing we do when there’s nothing else we can do. It’s the last resort. “Well, all we can do now is pray.” As if prayer were the weakest option.

Epaphras shows us the opposite. Prayer wasn’t his last resort. It was his leadership. It was the strongest, most active thing he could do for the people in his care. He threw his whole body into it.

Now think about the people in your care. Your wife. Your kids. Your grandkids. The men you’ve been learning to believe in and stand beside these past weeks. The people at your church. The friend in the hard season.

You cannot fix most of what they’re facing. You know that by now. The second half teaches a man his limits. You can’t make your grown son choose well. You can’t heal your friend’s marriage. You can’t reach into your grandkid’s future and steady it.

But you can wrestle for them. You can take every one of them to God by name and refuse to let go. And that is not the least you can do. According to Scripture, it may be the most.

You may not be able to fix the people you love. But you can carry them to God. This one action changes things you’ll never see this side of heaven.

· · ·

There’s something good about learning this in the second half.

In the first half, we lead by doing. We build, provide, fix, and show up with solutions. And that’s good, in its season.

But there comes a point where the most important people in your life are living lives you can’t control and facing battles you can’t fight for them. And a man can either rage against his own limits — or he can get on his knees and become a wrestler like Epaphras.

Nobody will see it. Nobody will give you credit for it. Your family may never know how many mornings you carried them before God while they slept.

But it will be some of the most important leadership of your entire life. And one day, you’ll find out just how much it mattered.

DO THIS THIS WEEK

Wrestle in prayer for one person by name this week.

Pick one person in your care — your wife, a child, a grandchild, a friend in the fire. This week, pray for them by name every single day. Not a quick blessing. Wrestle. The way Epaphras did. Pray that they’d stand firm, that they’d grow, that they’d become everything God made them to be. Set a time and keep it — same chair, same few minutes, seven days. Don’t tell them you’re doing it; this one’s between you and God. Watch what it does in you as much as in them. This is real leadership. It just happens on your knees.

THE ANCHOR VERSE

“The prayer of a righteous person is powerful and effective.” — James 5:16 (NIV)

Powerful and effective. Not sweet. Not nice. Not a last resort. Powerful. Effective. Prayer does something. It moves things you cannot move with your own hands.

Who in your care most needs you to become a wrestler in prayer for them? What would it look like to start this week?

THE REBOUND LETTER – FREE EVERY WEEK

Know a man carrying people he can’t fix?

Somewhere in your life there’s a man quietly breaking over a kid, a marriage, a situation he can’t control. He needs to hear that he’s not powerless — that he can still wrestle for the people he loves. Forward him this letter. It might be the word that gets him back on his knees.

Obeying God When You’re Afraid

You don’t have to be fearless. You just have to be willing to knock on the door.

THIS WEEK

There’s a man in Saul’s story most of us have never stopped to think about. His name was Ananias, an ordinary disciple living quietly in Damascus, minding his own business.

God hands him one of the hardest assignments in the whole New Testament.

Saul is in the city, freshly blinded, freshly broken on that road. God comes to Ananias in a vision and tells him to find Saul, lay hands on him, and pray for him. Go to the man who came to Damascus for the express purpose of arresting and imprisoning people exactly like Ananias.

That’s crazy! God is asking him to walk straight toward the most dangerous man in the region—the man hunting his church, maybe carrying his name on a list—knock on the door and touch him.

So Ananias argues.

· · ·

“‘Lord,’ Ananias answered, ‘I have heard many reports about this man and all the harm he has done to your holy people in Jerusalem.’” — Acts 9:13 (NIV)

In other words, “Lord, do you know who this is? Are you sure? Because I’ve heard the stories, and this is the last man on earth I want to go anywhere near.”

There’s something freeing in that. Ananias wasn’t a fearless spiritual giant. He was scared, he was honest about it, and he said so right to God’s face.

And then he went anyway.

Courage isn’t the absence of fear. It’s obeying God while you’re still afraid.

He walked to the house. He knocked. He stepped inside to meet the man who terrified him. And the first words out of his mouth may be the two most beautiful words in the chapter.

“Then Ananias went to the house and entered it. Placing his hands on Saul, he said, ‘Brother Saul, the Lord — Jesus, who appeared to you on the road as you were coming here — has sent me so that you may see again and be filled with the Holy Spirit.’” — Acts 9:17

Brother Saul.

The first human being to call the great persecutor a brother wasn’t an apostle. He wasn’t a hero. It was a frightened, ordinary man who almost didn’t come — and obeyed God when it scared him half to death.

· · ·

Ananias appears in exactly one scene. He shows up, he obeys, he says the words, he prays, Saul’s sight comes back — and then he’s gone. We never hear his name again.

But without that one act of quiet, frightened obedience, there is no Paul. The most influential man in the history of the church needed one ordinary disciple willing to do the hard, unseen thing that nobody would ever put his name on.

That’s what most real leadership is. Not the visible kind. The kind where God asks you to do the frightening, thankless thing in private — make the call you don’t want to make, go to the person you’d rather avoid, obey the nudge you’ve been talking yourself out of for weeks — and you do it, scared, with no guarantee anyone will ever know you did.

God’s biggest work often runs through the obedience of men whose names never make the story.

You don’t have to be extraordinary. Ananias wasn’t. You only have to be willing to go when God says go and trust that He knows what He’s doing on the other side of that door.

· · ·

So let me ask you: Is there a ‘go’ you’ve been avoiding?

A person God keeps putting on your heart that you keep finding reasons to put off. A hard conversation you know is yours to have. A nudge toward someone difficult — someone you’ve quietly written off, someone it would be so much easier to keep avoiding.

Ananias permits us to be afraid of it. You can even argue with God about it, the way he did. But the blessing is on the other side of going anyway.

DO THIS THIS WEEK

Do the one thing you’ve been avoiding.

You already know what it is. The moment you read “is there a go you’ve been avoiding,” a specific name or conversation came to mind. That’s the one. This week, go — make the call, have the conversation, show up for the person God keeps bringing back to your mind. You’re allowed to be afraid. You’re allowed to tell God you don’t want to. Go anyway. And when you get there, lead with grace — be the one who calls a hard man “brother,” who offers the kind word first. The blessing is on the other side of the going.

THE ANCHOR VERSE

“Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go.” — Joshua 1:9 (NIV)

God doesn’t say you won’t feel afraid. He says: Don’t let the fear rule you. God is with you wherever you go. Including the doorstep of the person you’re dreading.

Ananias went scared, and God went with him the whole way. He’ll do the same for you.

What is the one ‘go’ God keeps setting in front of you — and what would your obedience actually look like?

The person you’re avoiding is so often the person who needs you most. God knew that long before He ever nudged you toward them. Go this week. Someone is waiting on the other side of your obedience.

THE REBOUND · 8-WEEK TRANSFORMATION

Sometimes the ‘go’ you’re avoiding is the work on yourself.

For a lot of men, the frightening thing God keeps nudging them toward isn’t out there — it’s in here. The honest look at your own life you’ve been putting off for years. The Rebound program is eight weeks of finally going there. If the ‘go’ you’ve been avoiding is your own, this is it.

Learn about the Rebound program →

— Ron

I Am With You

Some of the most important leadership in the world isn’t out front. It’s the man beside you who won’t let you go alone.

The most powerful four words one man can say to another

THIS WEEK

Last week, we considered Barnabas and the importance of believing in someone. This week, I want to introduce you to a man who remains unnamed in the Bible, yet whose leadership might be the kind we need most. He is simply called Jonathan’s armor-bearer.

Israel’s army is pinned down, outnumbered, and demoralized. Jonathan, King Saul’s son, gets a daring idea. He looks across a rocky pass at an entire enemy garrison and decides that perhaps God wants the two of them to confront it. Just the two of them. Against a garrison.

It’s the kind of idea that could get them killed. Jonathan turns to his armor-bearer, this unnamed man in history—to see what he thinks.

“‘Do all that you have in mind,’ his armor-bearer said. ‘Go ahead; I am with you heart and soul.’”—1 Samuel 14:7 (NIV)

“I am with you heart and soul.”

He didn’t say, “Let me think about it.” He didn’t respond, “That’s insane; we’ll die.” He didn’t hedge, ask for a plan, or calculate the odds of survival.

He said: wherever you’re going, I’m going. Whatever your decision is, I’m in. All the way. Heart and soul.

Together, they climbed up that pass, and God routed the entire garrison through them. Just two men. The enemy’s line panicked and broke, marking the turning point of the entire battle, and it all began with one man saying to another, “I’m with you.”

Some of the most important leadership in the world isn’t out front. It’s the man beside you who won’t let you go alone.

We’ve been conditioned to picture leadership as always being at the forefront. The visionary. The one with the plan, the platform, the voice. And while that’s one type, there’s another kind that Scripture honors just as much. The world has a much greater shortage of it. It’s the person who stands beside someone facing a challenging call and says, “I’m with you. You’re not doing this alone.”

Think about who in your life is currently trying to climb some challenging pass.

– A friend starting over after a job loss.

– A younger man in your church stepping into something larger than he feels prepared for.

– Your pastor, who may be feeling more exhausted and alone than anyone realizes.

– Your own grown son, struggling with heavy burdens while pretending he’s fine.

Most of them don’t need you to fix things. They don’t need your five-point plan. What they need is what that armor-bearer offered Jonathan—a companion who simply says, “I’m with you. Whatever this is, you don’t have to carry it alone.”

You will never know how many men are just one, “I’m with you” away from finding their courage.

Here’s the challenge: Being the person beside someone means you might not get credit. History didn’t even record the armor-bearer’s name. He understood that if the story were ever told, Jonathan’s name would be the one remembered, not his.

He did it anyway because he cared more about his friend and the work God was doing than about being recognized for it. That’s what second-half leadership looks like. After spending the first half chasing recognition, you have nothing left to prove, making you ideally positioned to support someone else and focus on them.

DO THIS ONE THING

Come alongside one man this week.

Think of a man in your life who is facing a difficult climb—a struggle, a calling, or a heavy season he may not be open about. This week, reach out to him. Let him know, “I’m with you. You’re not carrying this alone.” Then show up, check in, and be there again next week. Don’t wait to be asked. Men in tough situations rarely ask for help. Be the armor-bearer. Go up the pass beside him.

THE ANCHOR VERSE

“A friend loves at all times, and a brother is born for a time of adversity.”—Proverbs 17:17 (NIV)

Born for times of adversity. Some of the men around you are facing their adversity right now. In a sense, you were born for this. Be the one who shows up when things get tough.

You’ve endured enough of your own difficult seasons to understand the impact one steady person can make. Now, you have the opportunity to be that person for someone else.

Who in your life is struggling with something significant right now that you could support? What is stopping you from telling them, “I’m with you” this week?

That’s the essence of the armor-bearer. He didn’t solve any problems; he simply refused to let his friend face challenges alone. Never underestimate the value of your presence to a man in distress.

THE REBOUND: FREE 30-MINUTE CONVERSATION

Sometimes, you may find yourself in the position of needing an armor-bearer.

As you read this, you might realize that you are the one climbing the pass alone, without anyone saying, “I’m with you.” That’s more common than you might think, especially for those who are usually the strong ones for others. else. Let’s talk. Sometimes a man just needs one other man in his corner.

Book your free Rebound Call →

— Ron

Somebody’s Waiting on You

There’s a kind of leadership we don’t think about. It doesn’t require a title or a platform. It just requires a man who’s willing to see the potential in someone before it’s obvious, and to say so out loud when it costs him something.

Sometimes the most important thing a man can do is believe in someone before anyone else will.

THIS WEEK

We’ve spent a lot of weeks on you— your own heart, your own marriage. This week I want to turn us outward. I want to turn us toward the men and the people around you who are waiting on something from you that you may not even realize you have to give.

Let me start with a man most people move right past when reading the Bible. His name was Barnabas.

You know the story of Saul on the road to Damascus. He was the great persecutor of the church, knocked flat on his butt and changed forever. It’s one of the most dramatic conversions in history.

But here’s the part we forget. After it happened, nobody believed it.

Saul comes to Jerusalem, trying to join the disciples. They want nothing to do with him. This is the man who held the coats while Stephen was stoned. He was the guy who dragged believers out of their homes. Now he shows up saying he’s one of them, and every man in that room is thinking the same thing: it’s a trap.

“Every door in Jerusalem was closed to Saul. And then one man opened his.”

· · ·

Here’s what Scripture says. It’s a short verse. Most people read right over it.

“But Barnabas took him and brought him to the apostles. He told them how Saul on his journey had seen the Lord and that the Lord had spoken to him, and how in Damascus he had preached fearlessly in the name of Jesus.” — Acts 9:27 (NIV)

Barnabas took him.

Think about what that cost. Barnabas put his own reputation, maybe his own safety, on the line for a man everybody else considered dangerous. If Saul turned out to be a fraud, it was Barnabas who’d vouched for him. Barnabas would be blamed.

He did it anyway. He walked Saul into the room and said, in front of everyone: I’ll stand behind this man. I’ve seen what God is doing in him. Trust me, and give him a chance.

And because one man was willing to believe in Saul before anyone else would, Christianity got Paul. The letters. Half the New Testament. The gospel carried across the world.

“None of it happens without one man willing to say: I believe in you, and I’ll put my name on it.”

That’s a kind of leadership we don’t think about. It doesn’t require a title or a platform. It just requires a man who’s willing to see the potential in someone before it’s obvious, and to say so out loud when it costs him something.

· · ·

Here’s why this matters for you in the second half.

You are surrounded by people who are waiting to be believed in. A son who’s not sure he’s got what it takes. A younger man at work who’s talented but unproven. A guy at church that everyone’s a little wary of, who might need one person in his corner. Maybe even your own wife, carrying a dream she’s never said out loud because she’s not sure anyone would take it seriously.

You have something powerful. You have the standing that comes with age. When a man who’s been around says I believe in you — it hits differently. It carries weight a younger man’s words don’t.

You’ve spent decades earning that weight. The second half is where you get to spend it on somebody else.

DO THIS THIS WEEK

Tell one person this week that you believe in them, and be specific.

Pick one person who’s waiting to be believed in. Your kid. A younger man. Someone who’s been written off. This week, tell them that you see something in them and you believe in it. Don’t be vague. Name the specific thing you see. “I’ve watched how you handle pressure, and I think you’ve got something most men don’t.” Then, if you can, do a Barnabas — open a door for them. Make the introduction. Put in the word. Vouch. Your name still carries weight. Spend some of it on someone who needs it.

THE ANCHOR VERSE

“Therefore encourage one another and build each other up, just as in fact you are doing.” — 1 Thessalonians 5:11 (NIV)

The name Barnabas was actually a nickname. His given name was Joseph. The apostles started calling him Barnabas — which means son of encouragement — because that’s just who he was. He was the guy who built others up.

Imagine being so consistent in believing in people that they change your name to match it.

Who in your life is waiting for you to believe in them out loud? What has your silence been costing them?

THE REBOUND LETTER — FREE · EVERY THURSDAY

Know a man who needs someone in his corner?

There’s a man in your life right now who’s been written off, or who’s written himself off. Forward him this letter. Sometimes believing in a man starts with simply handing him something that says: you’re not finished, and somebody sees it.

Forward this issue to one man →

— Ron