This isn't Greatness. It's Obedience.

“The war for freedom begins in quiet submission.”

I’m a man worn down by the weight of God-given potential and the selfish, procrastinating version of myself I’ve too often served. My mind is restless, dreaming up a hundred lifetimes I’ll never live, but I’m here in just this one. And maybe you feel it too: the pressure is constant, the expectations high, and your weakness shows up every time you try to climb out. Each level you build caves in, and it’s getting harder to keep going. People tell me I have the perfect life, a leadership job with good pay (I feel like I’m failing at it), a home I own (that I secretly resent for not being what I pictured), a loving wife and kids I get to take to the park (but most days I feel like a poor excuse for a husband and father). Gratitude and bitterness fight for space in my heart. Some days, I thank God for it all. Other days, I’m haunted by the success I think I could’ve had if I had just started earlier. But even in this, I praise God for the conviction of obedience, because that failed business and the closed doors of the corporate ladder taught me how to love my family better and stirred the fire of the Holy Spirit again. The drive is still there. To build, to lead, to find freedom. And that’s what this is. A start. A line in the dirt. Maybe I’m at rock bottom physically and mentally. But this is where I rise.

Obedience is rarely loud. It doesn’t always look like progress. Sometimes it seems like showing up to a job that feels hollow, praying even when your heart isn’t in it, or choosing not to escape when everything in you wants to. That’s where I’ve been. I’ve learned that obedience isn’t a feeling; it’s a choice to keep going when you don’t feel like a man of God at all. And that’s what separates greatness in the eyes of the world from faithfulness in the eyes of God. I don’t need a platform. I don’t need applause. I need to follow Christ fully, daily, and honestly, even in the shadows where no one’s watching. This is my transition from defiance within myself and toward God, to complete obedience in Christ and the mission.

Obedience won’t make me rich. It won’t guarantee success. But it will make me whole. From obedience, I will become a man of peace in a world that profits from chaos. I will become a present father, a faithful husband, and a strong body in my home, not because I mastered discipline, but because I finally submitted to the One who did. I’ll lead my family with strength and clarity. I’ll build a mission that isn’t about me, but about Christ in me. Sword & Banner Press isn’t just a brand, it’s the altar I’m building for others to see the fire of God in an ordinary man who finally said yes. Yes to the narrow road. Yes to the quiet work. Yes to the daily death of self. That’s what obedience will build. That’s the man I and you could become.

I used to measure my life by everything I thought was missing. The house didn’t look like I imagined. The job felt good, but hollow for what I imagined. The numbers in the bank never added up to the dreams in my head. And every unmet expectation became fuel for bitterness. I blamed God without saying it out loud. But it wasn’t Him who failed me, it was me. I was too prideful to be grateful, too entitled to be obedient. That mindset was poison dressed up like ambition. And while I don’t have it all figured out, I’m learning that gratitude is the first breath of a free man. Not because I earned something, but because I finally saw what was already there. A faithful wife. Kids who crave my time. A mission that’s still alive in my chest. I’m not where I want to be yet, but maybe that’s the point. This isn’t the reward. This is the training ground. Obedience isn’t loud or pretty, but it’s where I’m learning to become thankful. One step, one breath, one 'yes' at a time.

If you’re reading this and you feel the same weight, the same shame, the same gap between who you are and who you were made to be, then let this be a call to rise. Not in pride. Not in performance. But in obedience. You don’t have to have it all together. You just have to stop running. Obedience is the long road back to becoming a man again. A father worth following. A husband worth trusting. A leader who doesn’t need

I’m a man worn down by the weight of God-given potential and the selfish, procrastinating version of myself I’ve too often served. My mind is restless, dreaming up a hundred lifetimes I’ll never live, but I’m here in just this one. And maybe you feel it too: the pressure is constant, the expectations high, and your weakness shows up every time you try to climb out. Each level you build caves in, and it’s getting harder to keep going. People tell me I have the perfect life, a leadership job with good pay (I feel like I’m failing at it), a home I own (that I secretly resent for not being what I pictured), a loving wife and kids I get to take to the park (but most days I feel like a poor excuse for a husband and father). Gratitude and bitterness fight for space in my heart. Some days, I thank God for it all. Other days, I’m haunted by the success I think I could’ve had if I had just started earlier. But even in this, I praise God for the conviction of obedience, because that failed business and the closed doors of the corporate ladder taught me how to love my family better and stirred the fire of the Holy Spirit again. The drive is still there. To build, to lead, to find freedom. And that’s what this is. A start. A line in the dirt. Maybe I’m at rock bottom physically and mentally. But this is where I rise.

Obedience is rarely loud. It doesn’t always look like progress. Sometimes it seems like showing up to a job that feels hollow, praying even when your heart isn’t in it, or choosing not to escape when everything in you wants to. That’s where I’ve been. I’ve learned that obedience isn’t a feeling; it’s a choice to keep going when you don’t feel like a man of God at all. And that’s what separates greatness in the eyes of the world from faithfulness in the eyes of God. I don’t need a platform. I don’t need applause. I need to follow Christ fully, daily, and honestly, even in the shadows where no one’s watching. This is my transition from defiance within myself and toward God, to complete obedience in Christ and the mission.

Obedience won’t make me rich. It won’t guarantee success. But it will make me whole. From obedience, I will become a man of peace in a world that profits from chaos. I will become a present father, a faithful husband, and a strong body in my home, not because I mastered discipline, but because I finally submitted to the One who did. I’ll lead my family with strength and clarity. I’ll build a mission that isn’t about me, but about Christ in me. Sword & Banner Press isn’t just a brand, it’s the altar I’m building for others to see the fire of God in an ordinary man who finally said yes. Yes to the narrow road. Yes to the quiet work. Yes to the daily death of self. That’s what obedience will build. That’s the man I and you could become.

I used to measure my life by everything I thought was missing. The house didn’t look like I imagined. The job felt good, but hollow for what I imagined. The numbers in the bank never added up to the dreams in my head. And every unmet expectation became fuel for bitterness. I blamed God without saying it out loud. But it wasn’t Him who failed me, it was me. I was too prideful to be grateful, too entitled to be obedient. That mindset was poison dressed up like ambition. And while I don’t have it all figured out, I’m learning that gratitude is the first breath of a free man. Not because I earned something, but because I finally saw what was already there. A faithful wife. Kids who crave my time. A mission that’s still alive in my chest. I’m not where I want to be yet, but maybe that’s the point. This isn’t the reward. This is the training ground. Obedience isn’t loud or pretty, but it’s where I’m learning to become thankful. One step, one breath, one 'yes' at a time.

If you’re reading this and you feel the same weight, the same shame, the same gap between who you are and who you were made to be, then let this be a call to rise. Not in pride. Not in performance. But in obedience. You don’t have to have it all together. You just have to stop running. Obedience is the long road back to becoming a man again. A father worth following. A husband worth trusting. A leader who doesn’t need a title to carry weight. I’m not writing this as a man who’s arrived, I’m writing as a man who finally stopped bowing to excuses. There’s holy ground ahead. But it starts with holy tension right here. So if you’re with me, take the next step. Obey. Repent. Build. Let’s become the men God intended us to be—not someday, but now. In the trench. In the quiet. With Christ at the center.