Category: men

Whose World is This?

This is the one question a man needs to settle before he can pass on his faith in Jesus.

One man stands alone in the most sophisticated city on earth, surrounded by altars to gods he doesn’t believe in, about to tell a crowd of philosophers they’ve got it backward.

It’s Paul, in Athens. He’s at the heart of the intellectual capital of the ancient world where every philosophy, every religion, and every opinion is represented. Athens is a pluralist’s paradise. Paul walks through it and notices the altars everywhere, including one with an inscription: TO AN UNKNOWN GOD. Just in case they’d missed one.

Instead of arguing their philosophies on their terms, he points at that one altar and says: “That God you admit you don’t know? Allow me to introduce Him. He’s not one more god on your shelf. He made you.”

“The God who made the world and everything in it is the Lord of heaven and earth and does not live in temples built by human hands… For in him we live and move and have our being.” Acts 17:24, 28 (NIV)

That’s not a religious opinion offered into a marketplace of opinions. That’s a claim about reality itself. There is a God. He made all of it. And that one fact, if it’s true, is the thing everything else is built on.

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For the next stretch of letters, I want to talk about something I think matters more now than it did when we were younger: a biblical worldview. What it is, how a man holds it, and how he hands it down before.

It starts exactly where Paul started. A critically important question: Whose world is this?

A worldview isn’t a set of opinions you hold about religious topics. It’s the answer to the most basic question a man can ask — is there a God, and is this His world, or not? Everything else depends on that answer. Every man has one, whether he’s examined it or not. It’s the lens he’s looking through.

A worldview isn’t what you think about. It’s the glasses through which you see and understand the world.

The Bible doesn’t ease us into this. The first four words of the Bible are: In the beginning, God. Before anything exists, God is already there. He makes it all, and calls it good. That one sentence decides everything — where you came from, why you’re here, who you answer to, what a human being is worth, what’s right and what’s wrong, and why. Pull that foundation out and the whole house has nothing to stand on. Leave it in, and everything has a place.

We are living in Athens now. That’s just true. America, and the West, is more pluralistic, less Bible-literate, less sure of anything than the world most of us grew up in. The numbers bear it out. The American Bible Society’s 2024 State of the Bible report found that only about 38 percent of U.S. adults read Scripture on their own even a few times a year. This is the lowest level they have ever recorded. Most of our neighbors, and many men sitting in Sunday pews, go through the entire year barely opening the book that holds the whole foundation together.

Altars to unknown gods are everywhere again. And a man has a decision to make. It’s the same one Paul made walking through those streets. Do I quietly blend in with the plethora of opinions? Or do I know, settle, and say plainly whose world this actually is?

ONE MAN WHO DID THIS

A few decades ago, a pastor named Tim Keller did something that didn’t make much sense on paper. He moved his family to Manhattan, one of America’s least religious, most skeptical cities, to plant a church. He went into the lions’ den of educated doubters everyone said would never listen.

People told him it wouldn’t work. New Yorkers were too smart, too jaded, and too pluralistic. But Keller did the Athens thing. He didn’t water the faith down to blend in, and he didn’t shout at the culture from the outside. He stood in the midst of it and made the honest case for God. He did so patiently and respectfully, taking the skeptics’ hard questions seriously and answering them. In 2008, he wrote The Reason for God, which argued the Christian faith to the very people most sure they’d outgrown it. It became a bestseller. The doubters were listening.

When he died in 2023, believers and skeptics alike mourned him— because for decades one man had stood in the modern Areopagus and calmly, winsomely refused to treat God as one more optional god on the shelf. He knew whose world it was. He said it boldly and unapologetically, right where it was hardest to say.

You don’t have to move to Manhattan or write a book. But you do have to settle the same thing he settled, right where you live. Whose world is this?

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

Most men have never actually sat down and answered the foundation question on purpose. They absorbed an answer somewhere along the way and never examined it. So this week, settle it. Is this God’s world? Did He make it, and me, and does that change how I see everything else? Don’t rush past this. It’s the foundation your worldview is built on. Many men are building on a shallow, shaky foundation.

If this really is God’s world and not mine, what in my life have I been living as though it were the other way around?

Here’s something that might light a fire in you. When that same State of the Bible study came back in 2025, the long decline finally ticked back up—an estimated eleven million more Americans opened the Bible than the year before. And do you know who was leading the turnaround? Men. Men’s engagement with Scripture jumped more than any other group. Ordinary guys are carrying the recovery of the Bible in this country right now.

That’s you! You’re not just watching the decline. You’re deciding to do something about it. You’re exactly the man the turnaround is counting on. When you open the Bible as if you believe it, you become part of what pulls this generation back toward the center.

You’re standing in Athens, just like Paul. Altars to unknown gods are everywhere. You know the One who made it all. Don’t blend in. Know whose world this is, and live like it.

And if you want to build this foundation alongside a few other men doing the same, I’d love to have you in the Rebound program. You can join at http://www.reboundlifecoaching.com

— Ron

The Rebound is an 8-week program for men ready to follow Jesus into the second half. http://www.reboundlifecoaching.com

Keep Showing Up

Nobody hands out medals for staying. But faithfulness in the unseen years is one of the most undervalued things a man will ever do.

An older man in the temple courts has been waiting his entire life for one thing.

His name is Simeon. Luke 2:25–35 tells us he was righteous and devout, and that he was waiting. The Holy Spirit had told him, somewhere back in the memory of his younger years, that he would not die before he saw the Messiah.

So he waited. Years. Decades. Every morning he got up and stayed faithful to a promise with nothing to show for it. An old man and a word from God he no longer had proof of, except that he refused to let go of it.

Then, on one ordinary day, a poor young couple carries a baby into the temple to do what the law required. Nobody notices them: nobody but Simeon. The Spirit moves him; he crosses the court, takes the child in his arms, and a lifetime of waiting breaks into praise.

“Sovereign Lord, as you have promised, you may now dismiss your servant in peace. For my eyes have seen your salvation.” Luke 2:29–30 (NIV)

A whole life of quiet, unseen faithfulness. It all came down to one moment holding a baby nobody else recognized. No one in that temple had any idea what they’d just watched. An old man most people had probably stopped noticing years ago held the hope of the world in his arms. He knew he could now rest in peace.

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We’ve spent the last few weeks on the big movements of life: knowing who Jesus is, being fully known, the cost, grace, and the freedom of following Jesus. This week, I want to turn to the part nobody writes about.

Staying.

The long, ordinary, unseen stretch where you keep showing up and nothing much seems to happen. Where you keep your word, keep your vows, keep praying prayers that don’t seem to move anything, keep believing a promise you can no longer see any evidence for. These are the years when faithfulness doesn’t feel heroic; it just feels like another day.

God sees your faithfulness in the long stretch of ordinary days, even when it feels unseen and unrewarded.

We get this backward. We think the spiritual life is built on mountaintops—the dramatic conversion, the answered prayer, the breakthrough. Those come, and thank God for them. But they’re not the substance. The substance is Simeon: an ordinary man, faithful across decades, in a life no one was applauding, holding onto a word from God when holding on had stopped making sense long ago.

Paul, at the very end of his life, doesn’t measure himself by his visions, his miracles, or the churches he planted. He measures his life in three plain statements:

I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith. 2Timothy 4:7 (NIV)

Finished. Kept. Those are staying words. The crown isn’t for the man who started hot or had the dramatic moment. It’s for the man who was still there at the end, still believing, still faithful, still in it when the applause had long since died down.

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Here’s why this matters.

The second half of life is mostly unseen years. The big decisions are behind you. The kids are grown or nearly. The career arc is fading. Some men hit this stretch and quietly conclude that the meaningful part of their life is over. They’re just running out the clock now, thinking that nothing they do matters much anymore because nobody’s watching and nothing’s dramatic.

But that is a lie, and Simeon is the proof. The most important thing that old man ever did happened near the end, in obscurity, at a moment that looked like nothing. His decades of unglamorous faithfulness didn’t disqualify him from the main event—they prepared him for it. He could recognize the Messiah because he’d spent a lifetime staying close to God when there was nothing in it for him but God.

The unseen years are not meaningless. They may be the realest, truest thing you ever offer God.

Think about what your staying power looks like. The husband who keeps loving a wife through an undramatic season. The father who keeps praying for a kid who isn’t changing. The man who keeps showing up when his faith has gone quiet, dry, and unspectacular. Staying itself is worship.

Nobody hands out medals for staying. No one applauds the man who kept his word for thirty years, kept believing, kept showing up. But heaven is not bored by it. Heaven is leaning in. God prizes long obedience in the same direction most, and men notice it least.

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

Somewhere in your life you’ve been faithful in the dark. You’ve kept showing up at something with no applause and no evidence it’s working. A marriage, a job, a quiet discipline, a promise you’ve kept when no one would have known if you hadn’t. This week, instead of despising that part as unremarkable, treat it as worship. Tell God you’re still in it. Then do the ordinary faithful thing one more day: say the prayer again, keep the word again, show up again.

Where have I been counting my faithful, unseen years as nothing — when they may be the truest thing I’ve ever given God?

Keep showing up. Simeon waited a lifetime for one moment, and it was worth every ordinary morning. Yours are not wasted either.

No one may be clapping for the man who stayed. But that man is the one who finishes the race.

If you’d rather not walk the long stretch alone, I’d

be glad to walk you through the Rebound program. You can join at www.reboundlifecoaching.com

— Ron

The Rebound is an 8-week program for men ready to follow Jesus into the second half. reboundlifecoaching.com

Now What?

You’ve been forgiven. Now what? Grace isn’t the end of the road; it’s the reason to start living!

A short, rich, deeply disliked man climbs a tree to see Jesus.

Zacchaeus is a chief tax collector. He’s not only a sellout, but he’s the man other sellouts worked for. He’s wealthy off his own people’s backs, and everybody knows it. He’s too short to see over the crowd, and nobody’s about to let him through, so he does something that costs a grown man his dignity. He runs ahead and climbs a sycamore tree like a kid.

Surprisingly, Jesus stops under the tree, looks up, and invites himself to dinner. Zacchaeus, come down. I’m staying at your house today.

Of all the houses in Jericho, Jesus picks this one.

Watch what happens inside that man. Nobody lectures him. Nobody hands him a list of reforms. He’s just received — welcomed, wanted, eaten with — by the one person whose opinion he’d have thought was most against him. Something breaks in Zacchaeus, and he stands up and says:

“Look, Lord! Here and now I give half of my possessions to the poor, and if I have cheated anybody out of anything, I will pay back four times the amount.” Luke 19:8 (NIV)

Nobody made him do that—no sermon on generosity, no demand, no condition attached to the dinner. Grace showed up, and a changed life came pouring out. A man who spent his whole life taking suddenly can’t give it away fast enough.

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Last week we met the tax collector who went home justified. This week, we meet a man who shows us what grace looks like.

The question everyone of us should ask after experiencing grace is: okay—now what? If I can’t earn it, and it’s already mine, then what do I do? Do I coast? Does anything I do even matter anymore?

Zacchaeus answers it with his checkbook before lunch is over.

Grace doesn’t make a man lazy. It makes him generous. You don’t obey to get love—you obey because you finally have it.

This is what many can’t quite believe: a man will actually do more good, not less, when you stop making him earn his standing. We assume if you tell a man he’s fully accepted no matter what, he’ll go slack. The opposite happens. The man who’s trying to earn his way does the minimum and resents it. The man who knows he’s already loved can’t stop giving, because the giving isn’t a payment anymore — it’s a thank-you.

Paul puts the whole Christian life in that exact order.

Therefore, I urge you, brothers and sisters, in view of God’s mercy, to offer your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and pleasing to God — this is your true and proper worship. Romans 12:1 (NIV)

In view of God’s mercy. A free man does everything looking back over his shoulder at the mercy Jesus has given. He doesn’t reach forward for mercy he hopes to earn. The whole movement of the Christian life runs on gratitude, not fear.

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So let’s talk about this. This is where the second half of a man’s life either comes alive or stays stuck.

Many men hear “you’re saved by grace, not works” and quietly file it as, “So my effort doesn’t matter.” And they go passive. They coast into the back half of life spiritually retired — just showing up.

Here’s the other half. You were set free for something. The same grace that took the weight off your back put a purpose back in your hands. You don’t have to earn your standing, which means for the first time in your life, you’re free to pour yourself out without keeping score. Free to be generous. Free to serve your wife, your kids, your church, the younger man two steps behind you because grace has to go somewhere. It overflows. It always overflows.

You’re not retired. You’ve been released.

Think about Zacchaeus for one more second. The most alive that man had ever been wasn’t the day he got rich. It was the day he started giving it away. The selfish life left him up a tree, alone, disliked, watching real life pass by in the street below. The poured-out life finally seemed like living.

That’s what’s on the table for your second half—not coasting, not earning. A man so sure of what he’s been given that he spends the rest of his days glad to give it away.

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Pick one thing this week that you do purely out of gratitude—with nothing in it for you, no credit, no scoreboard. Give something away. Serve somebody who can’t pay you back. Go two steps beyond what’s required for your wife, a kid, or a neighbor, because you’ve been given more than you could ever repay, and it has to go somewhere. Don’t announce it. Just let grace move through you and out your hands, as it did through Zacchaeus before the meal was even finished.

The question for the week: If I really believed my standing with God was already settled, what would I be free to do today that fear has kept me from?

You’ve been released. Don’t coast. Run. Find out what a free man does.

The selfish life leaves a man up a tree. The poured-out life is the one that finally feels like living. Go pour something out this week.

And if you’re ready to stop coasting and build a second half that really counts, I’d love to have you in the next Rebound group. You can join at reboundlifecoaching.com.

— Ron

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.

❊

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

❊

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.

❊

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.

❊

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?

❊

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.

· · ·

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.

· · ·

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.