As the holidays wind down, I find myself thinking deeply about what it means to be a man in my family—and what that calling looks like as I walk with Christ. When the decorations come down and the routines return, the noise quiets just enough for the truth to surface. I see my strengths more clearly, but I also see my weaknesses with uncomfortable honesty.
I struggle. I struggle with anger. I struggle with attitude. I struggle with trusting people when I feel guarded or burned. None of that disappears just because I believe in Christ. Faith does not erase the battle; it defines where I fight it.
Recently, my family and I watched a film about David, and it stirred something in me. David’s life is often summarized by his victories—Goliath falling, a kingdom established, a lineage that leads to Christ—but Scripture paints a far more honest picture. David was chosen not because he was impressive, but because God saw his heart (1 Samuel 16:7, ESV). David was a man who consistently lifted his life before the Lord, even when his life was messy, fractured, and flawed.
What struck me most was not David’s courage, but his posture.
David put God first—not perfectly, but persistently. His success was never rooted in strategy or strength alone. It was rooted in submission. “The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want” (Psalm 23:1, ESV). That is not the confession of a man who has everything figured out. That is the confession of a man who knows he does not.
And that forced me to look inward.
I want what’s best for my family. I truly do. But too often, my definition of “best” is shaped by worldly thinking—security, control, achievement, comfort. I create plans. I justify them. I convince myself that they are wise and loving. And yet, when God is not at the center of those plans, they quietly become idols.
Here’s the hard truth I’ve had to own: I am not a perfect Christian man. Not even close. I am not polished. I am not consistent. And I am not deserving of grace by my own merit. Every difficult consequence in my life has come from my own decisions—not from God. God has never brought evil into my life. I have done that well enough on my own.
Scripture doesn’t hide this reality. David didn’t either. When David sinned, he didn’t blame circumstances or justify his actions. He fell on his face before God and said, “Against you, you only, have I sinned” (Psalm 51:4, ESV). That is the posture of repentance. That is the posture of a man who knows where responsibility truly lies.
The idea of “being better” sounds simple, but it is not easy. The struggle isn’t effort—it’s direction. I can work hard at self-improvement. I can refine my habits. I can manage my emotions better. But if my improvement is rooted in my own wisdom and strength, it will always fall short.
When God is excluded, I never actually become better—I just become more exhausted.
True change happens when I lift my thoughts, my plans, my fears, and my pride and place them on the altar before Him. When I allow God to nurture my heart instead of defending it. When I open my mind and soul to His will instead of insisting on my own. That is where goodness grows—not just in me, but in my family, my home, and everything my life touches.
Submission is not weakness. It is alignment.
The moments I feel closest to God—truly close—are the moments I stop resisting Him. When I stop arguing. When I stop controlling. When I stop pretending I know better. Jesus said, “Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest” (Matthew 11:28, ESV). Rest does not come from winning every battle. It comes from surrendering the war.
And what amazes me—even now—is that I know this. I’ve lived it. I’ve seen God work when I submit. I’ve felt the peace that comes when I let go. And still, my sin nature pulls me back toward myself. That tension doesn’t disappear with age or knowledge. It only becomes more obvious.
Maybe that’s why I write this blog.
Not because I have answers—but because I need reminders. Maybe I want this to succeed not for my name, but for His. Maybe I want every word, every reflection, every lesson to point back to Christ because I know how easily I drift without Him.
I will not get this right. I will fail. I will stumble. But I will not stop fighting for God’s will over my own. I will keep showing up. I will keep repenting. I will keep submitting. I will keep trying to be a servant, not a savior.
God’s love does not withdraw when I fail. His grace does not weaken when I fall. “The Lord is merciful and gracious, slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love” (Psalm 103:8, ESV). That love remains even when I feel like the unbalanced spoke in the wheel—imperfect, noisy, and out of alignment.
So as the holidays come to a close, this is what I offer—first to myself, then to any man reading this:
Be a gracious follower of Christ. Lay everything you have on the altar—your family, your plans, your success, your fears. Give God the glory before you demand results. Be the foot soldier who fights faithfully, not for recognition, but for obedience.
Because like David, when we hold God in the highest regard—when we give Him our effort, our trust, and our surrender—He changes the outcome.
Not because we are strong.
But because He is.
Have a blessed day.
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