Iron & Grace

My friend Elijah grew up without a healthy picture of what it meant to be a man. Anger came early. Drinking started at 15. And eventually, the thing he thought was helping him escape became the thing controlling his life. But his story didn’t end there. Through the prayers of his wife, the grace of Jesus, and a heart that God began to soften, Elijah became a different man; and now he’s learning to be the husband, father, and man he never had growing up. This is a conversation about addiction, marriage, fatherhood, breaking generational cycles, and what happens when Jesus finally gets ahold of a hardened heart.

Some things don’t wreck a man’s life overnight. They creep in slowly. A little compromise here. A little resentment there. A habit we keep excusing. A wound we never deal with. Things that seem small enough to ignore…until they aren’t. Like a fox that infiltrates a vineyard and, over time, destroys it from the inside out. This week, I sit down with my friend Chris Beaudoin to talk about his mission to help others find their own “little foxes” (Song of Solomon 2:15) and what they can look like in a man’s life; namely - how they can slowly affect our faith, our marriages, our families, our friendships, and even the man we’re becoming. Because sometimes the things doing the most damage are the things we’ve gotten so used to that we barely notice them anymore. ** Note: Please excuse some minor technical difficulties. It gets resolved right after the 13th minute mark.

I almost didn’t record this episode. Lately, I haven’t felt like myself. I’ve been sick, mentally worn down, discouraged, and honestly struggling to find the motivation to keep creating. I’ve questioned the podcast, questioned whether any of this is actually making a difference, and found myself paying far too much attention to numbers that were never supposed to determine my worth. And if I’m being completely honest…I’ve thought about quitting. So this episode is different. There’s no polished lesson. No five-step formula. No pretending I have everything figured out. Just an honest conversation about what it feels like when the guy who spends his time encouraging other men suddenly finds himself discouraged. Because maybe you’ve been there too, brother… Maybe you’re exhausted. Maybe you’ve been questioning your purpose. Maybe you’re carrying something nobody knows about. Maybe you’re wondering if you’re failing when, in reality, you might just be tired. And maybe faith doesn’t always look like feeling strong. Maybe sometimes it looks like admitting you’re struggling, turning toward God anyway, and taking the next faithful step even when you don’t know what comes next. So yeah, I’m not ashamed to admit I almost quit. Because that means I’m still here. And maybe, for today, that’s enough.

Some wounds run deeper than we know how to talk about; especially the ones between a father and his son. This week, my friend Cayden from South Africa opens up about his relationship with his father, the hurt that came with it, and the incredible way Jesus stepped into the middle of their story and began restoring what seemed broken beyond repair. This is a conversation about fathers and sons, forgiveness and pain, and the beautiful power of redemption. Because some of the deepest wounds a man carries can often came from someone he desperately wanted to love him. And sometimes, Jesus doesn’t just heal the son. He goes after the father, too.

Leadership can look strong on the outside while anxiety quietly builds underneath. In this episode I sit down with my dear friend of over 17 years, Joel Ainsworth, for a candid conversation about the hidden pressure leaders carry, the uncertainty that can often accompany responsibility, and the challenge of leading well without pretending to have everything under control. We explore how faith, vulnerability, and clinging to our hope in Jesus can reshape the way we respond to anxiety and carry the weight of leadership; and how faithful brotherhood gives us people we can rely on when our burdens feel too heavy to carry alone.