Prodical Warrior

There comes a moment, sometimes more than one, when the life a man has been carrying collapses under its own weight. Not because Jesus failed him, but because the version of faith he built could not survive the truth. I know that place. I know it well.

What collapsed was not Christ’s faithfulness. What collapsed was my attempt to keep sin and keep Jesus at the same time. I tried to live divided: close enough to God to feel safe, far enough to stay in control. That kind of life does not hold.

“A double minded man is unstable in all his ways.” — James 1:8

I did not leave God because I was smarter than faith. I walked away because I was tired of pretending. I wanted forgiveness without surrender. Grace without training. Christ as Savior, not as Lord. So I ran. Slowly at first. Then faster. Compromise followed compromise until despair felt more honest than belief. Eventually, I stopped saying, “I’m struggling.” I started saying, “There is no God.” That was not reason. That was exhaustion soaked in sin.

God did not argue with me. He let me collapse. He let my confidence run out. He let my image fall apart. He let my ability to manage appearances fail. Not because He is cruel, but because He is a Father who loves too much to leave a son pretending.

“For whom the Lord loveth he chasteneth, and scourgeth every son whom he receiveth.” — Hebrews 12:6

I did not need motivation. I needed death, death to negotiating, death to managing, death to the lie that I could follow Jesus on my terms.

“We are buried with him by baptism into death… that we should walk in newness of life.” — Romans 6:4

I come from a line of faithful men. Ministers. Obedient men. I knew better, and that made the fall feel final. Disqualified. Finished. That weight stayed on me until I heard what happened to my grandfather. He was in his mid-eighties. He fell down the stairs and broke his leg. While sitting there in pain, he did not curse, rage, or complain. He leaned back and said, “Well… praise the Lord.” When I heard that, it crushed me. I remember thinking, I will never be that man.

But now I see it clearly. That was not grit. That was grace. It was the fruit of a life shaped by decades of surrender. And that same grace is available for men like me. And people like us.

In Luke 9, Jesus sets His face toward the cross. And men begin offering to follow Him, with conditions. One says, “I will follow You anywhere.” Jesus replies, “Foxes have holes, and birds have nests, but the Son of Man has nowhere to lay His head.” Others say the same familiar words: “Let me first.” Let me fix this. Let me get through that. Let me clean myself up.

“No man, having put his hand to the plough, and looking back, is fit for the kingdom of God.” — Luke 9:62

Jesus does not ask for intentions. He calls for allegiance. Managing God and managing sin does not work. If you belong to Him, He will not leave you comfortable in what is killing you. I can say it now without bitterness. I thank God He let me collapse.

Grace does more than pardon. Grace teaches. Grace trains. Grace changes what a man loves.

“The grace of God that bringeth salvation hath appeared to all men, teaching us that, denying ungodliness and worldly lusts, we should live soberly, righteously, and godly.” — Titus 2:11–12

When I stepped away from a decades-long career, it was not loss. It was mercy. I needed Scripture. I needed silence. I needed presence. I needed to stop performing, no platforms and finally sit with God and let Him deal with me.

This is not about cleaning up your image. This is about coming to Christ.

“The wages of sin is death; but the gift of God is eternal life through Jesus Christ our Lord.” — Romans 6:23

The turning point is not, “I will do better.” It is, “I will come.”

“Him that cometh to me I will in no wise cast out.” — John 6:37

If you are exhausted, not just from pain, but from living half-hidden and half-obedient, hear me: the collapse you faced or face today may be mercy. Do not confuse delay with wisdom. Do not confuse holding it together with faith. Do not confuse “let me first” with obedience.

Let it fall. Let it die. And let Jesus raise something new. No backup plan. No secret compromise. No more negotiating. Follow Him. Not because you earned it. But because He has always been worthy.

If you do not know Jesus, or you are in church and starving for something deeper, find a church that preaches the gospel. Look for the cross. Look for repentance. Look for Jesus at the center. You will know it when you hear it. And often it will not be in a massive room with loud lights and smooth words. Too many gatherings have become concerts with pep talks.

The real gospel does not flatter us. It tells the truth about our sin, then lifts our eyes to a real Savior, a bloody cross, an empty tomb, and a risen King who is worth your whole life.