“If you stand for nothing, you will fall for anything.”
— often attributed to Alexander Hamilton
I am an old man now, and as the years have passed, much of what once felt urgent has fallen away. What remains is simple: putting one foot in front of the other, day after day. I have learned slowly, often through failure, and I am still learning. Nearing the end has not made me strong in myself; it has made me aware of how much I depend on Christ.
When I look at the next generation of young men, I see myself—not as I am now, but as I was at the beginning. I was eager and unsure, quietly hoping I would become someone. You are growing up in a world louder than the one I knew. Every screen pulls at you. Every voice tells you who you should be. Strength is often confused with aggression, and conviction is treated like a flaw. If you are not careful, this world will shape you before you realize it has.
Jesus did not shape me with long explanations. He shaped me by asking me to follow. It happened in ordinary days—early mornings, hard choices, and moments when obedience cost more than I wanted to give. Many times, walking away would have been easier than staying. Following Him taught me how to remain steady when pressure pushed me to react.
Over time, I stopped thinking of my life as leading others and began to see it as cutting a trail through the wilderness. I cannot walk the path for anyone else. I cannot force my family or anyone who comes after me to follow. Each person must choose whether to step into a trail already cut, follow the paths of other godly men, or cut their own way through the brush. But I am responsible for knowing where my trail leads.
My wife did not need to be pushed; she needed to know the direction of my heart. My children did not need perfect guidance; they needed to see a steady path. I wanted them to know that when the way became unclear, the trail I was walking—and the trails walked by faithful men before me—were moving toward Jesus.
There were seasons when I confused effort with faith. I worked harder, spoke louder, and thought I was being strong. Those seasons brought strain, not peace. Stability came when I slowed down and let Jesus set the pace again. I have learned that faithfulness is rarely dramatic. It is daily. It is telling the truth, keeping your word, and staying on the path when no one is watching.
I have watched men drift, and I have felt that pull myself. It never happens all at once. It begins with small compromises and choosing comfort over obedience. A man rarely decides to abandon Jesus; he simply stops following closely. Staying near Him—and near faithful men who walk with Him—has made the difference between becoming and getting lost.
The world you are entering demands constant reaction—outrage, performance, endless opinions. Jesus calls you to something quieter and harder: to follow, to listen, and to obey. Strength is not found in forcing others to walk behind you, but in faithfully walking the narrow way yourself.
One story has stayed with me all my life. Jesus told His disciples to cross the lake. They obeyed, and the storm came anyway. Obedience did not calm the waters, but it kept them moving in the right direction. That is how a man becomes—not by arriving, but by continuing forward because Jesus has spoken.
I am nearing home now, and I am still walking. I do not measure my life by success or strength, but by direction. My trail has not been straight, but it has been set. I know where it leads.
If you want to become a man in this generation, stay close to Jesus. Walk honestly. Cut your trail carefully—or follow the faithful paths already laid before you—but make sure they are leading toward Him.
“Let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, fixing our eyes on Jesus.”
— Hebrews 12:1–2