CovenantRoad

Tag: men

  • Brother, I See You

    Brother,

    I need you to hear this. I see you.

    Not just the surface—not just the things you do or how the world labels you. I see the man you are. And I honor you.

    I see your body—strong, capable, shaped by the hands of God Himself. Maybe you carry muscle, maybe you don’t. Maybe you bear scars from battles, inside or out. Maybe your frame isn’t what the world calls impressive, but it carries the weight of your life, and that matters. You are made in His image, every part of you, and you are not a mistake. (Genesis 1:27, Psalm 139:14)

    I see your mind—sharp, searching, always wrestling, always reaching. Maybe you think fast, or maybe you take your time. Maybe your thoughts run deep, or maybe you keep things simple. Either way, God has given you a mind meant for wisdom, for truth, for discernment. You are built to think, to lead, to make sense of this world through His Word. (Proverbs 2:6, James 1:5)

    I see your heart—stronger than you know. Maybe it’s been bruised, maybe it carries weight most men wouldn’t understand. But it still beats with purpose. Your heart was made to love, to stand, to endure. To fight for what’s right, to protect what’s sacred, to hold onto the ones God has placed in your life. It beats because He has a plan for you. (Psalm 73:26, Jeremiah 29:11)

    I see your spirit—anchored in Christ, even when you doubt. You are not a lost cause. You are not too far gone. You are not defined by your past, your temptations, your struggles. You are a son of the Most High, a man called into something greater than yourself. (Romans 8:14-15, 2 Corinthians 5:17)

    I see your strength—not just the kind that lifts weight, but the kind that lifts burdens. The kind that carries others when they can’t stand on their own. The kind that chooses truth over comfort. The kind that refuses to quit when the enemy whispers, “You are not enough.” Brother, you are enough, because Christ in you is enough. (2 Corinthians 12:9-10, Philippians 4:13)

    I see your place among men. You are not an outsider. You are not unworthy. You belong. God made you to walk alongside your brothers—to stand shoulder to shoulder, to fight and to build, to love and to lift each other up. You were never meant to go at this alone. (Ecclesiastes 4:9-10, Proverbs 27:17)

    I see your calling—whether you are married, single, or bound in covenant brotherhood, your life has purpose. You are not waiting for something else to make you whole. You are already whole in Christ. Your worth does not come from a title, a relationship, or the approval of the world. It comes from the One who calls you His own. (Isaiah 62:2, Colossians 2:10)

    Brother, I see you. And I need you to hear this—you are a man. Not because of what you do, but because God made you one. Not because you always feel it, but because He designed you that way. Not because of the world’s standards, but because you were formed by the hands of the Almighty.

    Stand in that truth. Walk in it. Live in it. And know this—you do not walk alone.

    I am here. Your brothers are here. And Christ is with you always.

    You are seen. You are known. You are honored. You are loved.

    Now go walk as the man God made you to be.

  • Reflections of a Brother

    The water is still, reflecting the sky in endless hues of blue and gold. It cradles them, warm and living, flowing around their bodies like the breath of God Himself. Sunlight dances across the rippling surface, tracing golden lines over their bare skin, highlighting strength, form, and the undeniable reality of their shared manhood.

    Lior stands chest-deep in the water, facing Dain. The older man regards him with quiet intensity—not as a teacher measuring a student’s progress, but as a brother standing before an equal. The air between them hums with something unspoken, something weighty yet effortless, as natural as the rise and fall of their breath.

    For a long moment, neither speaks. They simply look—taking in the shape of the other, the lines of muscle honed by labor and trial, the subtle marks of experience that tell the story of their lives. There is nothing hidden, nothing obscured. Here, in the water, in the presence of the One who formed them, they are wholly seen and wholly known.

    Lior is the first to break the silence. “I see it now,” he says, his voice soft yet certain.

    Dain tilts his head, waiting.

    Lior’s eyes do not waver. “I see myself in you. And I see you in me.”

    Dain’s expression does not change, but something deepens in his gaze—pride, understanding, something beyond words.

    “This bond,” Lior continues, voice steady, “it’s not just about learning or growing. It’s about knowing. Knowing who we are. Knowing who God made us to be.” His lips twitch with the hint of a smile. “I thought I was just becoming a man. But I’ve come to see—I was made for brotherhood just as much as for strength.”

    Dain exhales, slow and full, as if hearing words he has long known but never spoken aloud.

    “You understand,” he says. It is not a question.

    Lior nods. “I do.”

    Dain steps forward, and Lior mirrors him instinctively. They meet in the center of the water, standing close enough that their reflections blend together in the shifting surface. Dain places a firm hand on Lior’s shoulder, the touch carrying both weight and warmth.

    “You are a man,” Dain says, his voice low and full of certainty. “You are my brother.”

    Lior lifts his own hand, mirroring the gesture, his grip strong, sure. “And you are mine.”

    The water ripples outward from them, as if the world itself acknowledges what has been spoken. The sky above is vast, the land around them unshaken. But in this moment, it is the reflection in the water that holds the greatest truth—two men, two lives, bound in purpose, in strength, in the love that God Himself has woven into the heart of their covenant.

    They linger a moment longer, their hands remaining where they are—two lives mirrored, two hearts beating as one. Then, with silent agreement, they lower their arms and turn toward the shore.

    The journey is not over. But when they leave the water, they do so as men who have seen and been seen—who have beheld their own reflection in the eyes of a brother and found something sacred there.

    (Chapter from the Unfallen Earth fantasy series. Contact me if you’d like to read the full story or series.)

  • Still Standing

    Still Standing

    The night air hung heavy, thick with the kind of silence that wasn’t really silent. Wind stirred the trees, gravel settled under our boots, but neither of us spoke. We just stood there, arms clasped, leaning in—forehead to forehead, the weight of it all pressing between us. Not crushing—just there.

    I exhaled slow, steady. “You don’t have to carry it all, brother.” My voice was low, firm. A reminder, not a command.

    You gripped my arm tighter, not in defiance—just needing to feel something solid. “I know,” you said, but the words came like a man trying to convince himself.

    I let that sit. Truth doesn’t always land the first time. It takes a second pass, a steady presence.

    The weight of your shoulders, the tension in your jaw—I saw it all. The kind of weight a man carries when he thinks he’s failing at something God never asked him to hold alone.

    I didn’t fix it. Didn’t push. Just stood there with you, bearing the silence together.

    After a while, your grip loosened. Not in surrender, but in relief. Like the weight wasn’t gone, but it didn’t have to suffocate you either.

    The wind stirred again. I could feel you breathing deeper now, steadier. The battle wasn’t over, but you weren’t fighting alone.

    And that was enough.

    For now, that was enough.

  • Emotional Dependency vs. Healthy Covenant

    Brotherhood is meant to be deep, real, and lasting—but if we’re not careful, what starts as something good can slip into something unhealthy.

    There’s a fine line between leaning on a brother and needing him to hold you up. Between walking side by side and clinging in a way that weighs you both down.

    The world doesn’t understand this tension. It assumes all deep male love must either be romantic or toxic—but God designed something better, something stronger.

    So how do we know when a brotherhood is covenant—and when it’s crossed into emotional dependency?

    1. Covenant Strengthens—Dependency Drains

    In a healthy brotherhood, both men sharpen each other (Proverbs 27:17). They push each other toward Christ, toward truth, toward growth.

    But in emotional dependency, the relationship becomes one-sided—one man always needing the other to make him feel okay.

    Covenant says, I’ve got your back, but your strength comes from God, not me.
    Dependency says, I can’t stand unless you hold me up.

    Brotherhood should fuel your strength, not replace it.

    2. Covenant Builds on Christ—Dependency Builds on a Person

    A brotherhood built on Christ is unshakable—because its foundation is outside of either man.

    But emotional dependency happens when a man starts making his brother his anchor instead of God. He relies on his presence, his attention, his approval to feel secure.

    Covenant says, You’re my brother, but Jesus is my rock.
    Dependency says, I don’t know who I am without you.

    A healthy brotherhood always points each other back to Christ, not just to each other.

    3. Covenant Respects Space—Dependency Fears Distance

    Brothers in covenant don’t have to be attached at the hip. Their bond isn’t threatened by distance, by life changes, by seasons where they don’t talk as much.

    But emotional dependency creates fear of separation—the belief that if we’re not constantly connected, I’ll lose you.

    Covenant says, I’m with you for life, no matter what.
    Dependency says, I need constant reassurance that you’re still here.

    A strong bond doesn’t demand constant contact—because it trusts the foundation is solid.

    4. Covenant Lets Go When Needed—Dependency Clings Out of Fear

    In true brotherhood, there’s freedom. If God calls one brother into marriage, ministry, a new season of life, the other doesn’t panic or feel abandoned.

    But emotional dependency can lead to resentment if one man starts pulling away—even for the right reasons. It can make a brother feel owned instead of loved.

    Covenant says, No matter where God leads you, our bond is still real.
    Dependency says, If you change, I don’t know who I am anymore.

    Real covenant releases, blesses, and trusts—it never clings out of fear.

    5. Covenant Deepens with Time—Dependency Eventually Breaks

    When a brotherhood is healthy, it grows stronger with time. It weathers storms, it adjusts to life’s changes, and it remains unshaken because it was built on something lasting.

    But emotional dependency eventually collapses under its own weight. It creates pressure, unmet expectations, and resentment when one man can’t be everything the other wants him to be.

    Covenant says, We’ll still be here for each other 20 years from now.
    Dependency says, If this doesn’t stay exactly the same, I don’t know what to do.

    Brotherhood isn’t about holding on too tight—it’s about holding on in the right way.

    The Answer: Bringing It to Christ

    If you’ve ever felt emotional dependency creeping into a friendship, don’t let shame take over. It doesn’t mean your brotherhood isn’t real—it just means it needs re-centering.

    Ask yourself:

    • Am I leaning on my brother more than I’m leaning on Christ?
    • Do I trust this bond, or do I feel like I have to control it?
    • Am I loving him in a way that strengthens both of us, or in a way that puts pressure on him?

    The goal isn’t to detach from brotherhood—it’s to make sure it’s holy, strong, and built to last.

    Because real covenant? It’s not fragile. It doesn’t suffocate. It doesn’t fade. It stands the test of time—not because of need, but because of calling.

  • More, Not Less

    The world says if two men love each other deeply, it must be romantic. That if you feel drawn to a brother, if his presence anchors you, if his friendship stirs something deep—you have to put a label on it that fits the world’s mold.

    But what if that’s a lie?

    What if what you’re feeling isn’t romantic longing, but something even deeper? Something older than time, written into your soul before the world told you what to call it?

    Because brotherhood—true brotherhood—isn’t second place. It’s not a consolation prize.

    It’s God’s design.

    And what He designed? It’s better.

    Not a Limitation—A Gift

    God isn’t holding out on us. He’s not saying, You don’t get to have deep love because you can’t have it like the world does.No—He’s saying, I have something richer for you, something that doesn’t fade, something that won’t leave you emptier than when you started.

    Romance can be good. Marriage is a gift. But brotherhood?

    It’s covenant. It’s lifelong. It’s not built on shifting emotions, but on something solid.

    • A brother isn’t here for what you can give him. He’s here because he’s called to be.
    • A brother doesn’t pull away when attraction shifts, when emotions fade, when life takes a turn. He stays.
    • A brother isn’t a passing season. He’s a constant.

    And that’s what makes brotherhood stronger.

    More Than Skin Deep

    When the world makes love only about physical connection, it shrinks it. It makes it less, not more.

    Because real love between men? It’s found in the way we fight for each other. The way we sharpen each other. The way we carry each other’s burdens—not for a season, but for a lifetime.

    Platonic brotherhood isn’t lacking anything. It’s fuller than the world could ever imagine.

    It’s David and Jonathan, swords drawn for each other.
    It’s Moses and Aaron, holding each other up when the battle raged on.
    It’s Jesus calling His disciples not just servants, but friends (John 15:15).

    That’s what we’re made for.

    Something That Lasts

    Romance can come and go. The rush of feelings, the fire of attraction—it fades like all things do. But a bond forged in covenant? That’s something the years can’t touch.

    God isn’t taking something from you—He’s giving you something better.

    A love that isn’t fragile. A bond that doesn’t waver. A brother who walks with you—not because of emotion, but because of calling.

    And when you lean into that—when you embrace the fullness of what God designed—

    You don’t lose anything.

    You gain everything.

  • Letter to My Brother

    Brother,

    I don’t say it near enough. I probably should, but I need you to hear this. I thank God for you every day I’ve got breath.

    I don’t know where I’d be without this, without you. I think of those nights we’ve sat on the tailgate with our boots dangling, not saying a word because we didn’t need to. I think of those calls you’ve made, pulling me up when I’m sliding, your voice steady, reminding me who I am when the mirror’s foggy and I can’t see straight.

    This world’s cold, man. We’ve both felt it bite. That loneliness sneaks in, even when the room’s full. Folks see you but don’t get you, know your name but not your soul. I’ve walked that with my chest hollow, searching for something warm to hold onto.

    But not with you, brother.

    With you, I don’t have to front. I don’t need to flex, watch my step, or wonder if I fit. No masks, just me with my rough edges and dumb quirks, all of it. You’re home, brother, plain and simple, steady ground when everything else shakes.

    This thing we’ve got isn’t some fling that fizzles when life piles up. It isn’t built on quick laughs or easy days. It’s covenant, carved deep, soul to soul. I don’t toss that word around. It’s weight I carry, a promise I keep.

    If the world tugs at you, I’ll yank harder. If you drift, I’ll track you down with my boots on and coffee in hand. I won’t stop until I find you. If you stumble and hit the dirt, I’m there with my hand out. I ain’t letting you stay low, not on my watch.

    That’s us. That’s what we are.

    We don’t always go deep. Half the time it’s you roasting my coffee or me saying you owe me lunch. But don’t you ever think you’re solo on this road, not for a second. I’m making it crystal. You’re not alone.

    I’ve got your back, always have, always will.

    So wherever you’re at tonight, whatever’s sitting heavy on your chest, know this. I’m here. Miles don’t matter. Storms don’t shake me. Nothing changes it.

    We’re in this, locked tight, and I ain’t going nowhere.

    Yours, always,
    Josh

  • Not Alone

    Jason had been watching Eli slip for weeks.

    It wasn’t the kind of thing most people would notice. He still showed up to work, still laughed at the right moments, still answered texts. But Jason saw the difference. The way Eli’s voice had lost something. The way he never lingered after church anymore. The way his eyes were always tired.

    Tonight was the first time he actually got Eli to come over. No agenda, just burgers and a game on in the background. But Jason could tell—Eli was somewhere else.

    They sat on the porch now, the night quiet around them, crickets filling the space between their words.

    “You gonna tell me what’s going on?” Jason finally asked.

    Eli exhaled sharply. “Nothing, man. Just been tired.”

    Jason didn’t buy it. “Tired how?”

    Eli shrugged, staring at the ground. “Like…what’s the point?”

    Jason’s chest tightened.

    Eli shook his head. “I’m not gonna do anything stupid,” he muttered. “I just—man, I’m so tired of fighting.”

    Jason leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Fighting what?”

    Eli let out a humorless laugh. “Everything. Temptation. The loneliness. Trying to be strong all the time. Feeling like I’m the only one who walks into an empty house every night, wondering if this whole ‘choosing Christ’ thing is actually gonna be enough.”

    Jason swallowed hard.

    Eli kept going, voice raw now. “I know the truth. I know God’s got me. But it still hurts, man. And it’s like no one even sees it.”

    Jason didn’t speak right away. He just reached over and grabbed Eli by the shoulder, firm.

    Eli flinched, barely noticeable.

    Jason tightened his grip. “I see it.”

    Eli’s throat bobbed.

    Jason didn’t let go. “You hear me? I see you, brother. And I need you to listen to me real close—you are not walking this road alone.”

    Eli squeezed his eyes shut. His breathing was uneven now, something cracking open inside him.

    Jason pulled him in, one hand gripping the back of his neck, the other around his shoulder. Eli didn’t move at first—stiff, like he didn’t know how to accept it.

    Then, slowly, he let out a shaky breath and leaned in.

    Jason held tight. “I’ve got you. We got you. And you’re gonna make it.”

    Eli didn’t say anything. Didn’t have to.

    Jason could feel it—the weight lifting, the battle shifting.

    And for the first time in a long time, Eli let himself believe it.

    This one hits harder—real weight, real release. The physical touch isn’t just an extra detail—it’s part of what breaks through.

  • Already There

    Jake sat on the tailgate of Logan’s truck, staring out over the field. The last of the evening light stretched long across the grass, turning the sky soft shades of orange and blue.

    Logan stood nearby, tightening the straps on the cooler, slow and steady.

    “You ever think about how weird this is?” Jake asked.

    Logan glanced over. “What’s weird?”

    Jake exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “This. Us. The way we just… I don’t know, fit.”

    Logan raised an eyebrow. “Something wrong with fitting?”

    Jake huffed. “No. Just feels like—” He shook his head. “I don’t know. Like I didn’t sign up for this, but somehow, here we are.”

    Logan chuckled, shutting the cooler with a firm thunk. “That’s ‘cause you didn’t sign up for it.”

    Jake frowned. “What do you mean?”

    Logan leaned against the truck, arms crossed. “You think David and Jonathan planned to be brothers like that? Think they sat down, drafted up an agreement, made it official?”

    Jake smirked. “I mean, technically, Jonathan did make a covenant with David.”

    Logan nodded. “Yeah. But only ‘cause he recognized what was already there. He didn’t create it. He just stepped into what God had already done.”

    Jake was quiet for a second, letting that settle.

    Logan kept going. “A lot of men walk around thinking they’ve gotta build something like this from scratch. That if they want deep brotherhood, they’ve gotta go find it, make it happen.” He shook his head. “But covenant’s not something we manufacture. It’s something God writes into the grain—and we either step into it or we don’t.”

    Jake exhaled. “So you’re saying this—” he gestured between them—“was always gonna happen?”

    Logan shrugged. “I’m saying it was always possible. But you had to have the eyes to see it. Had to have the courage to say yes to it.”

    Jake picked at the edge of the truck bed, thoughtful. “So… I’m already in this, huh?”

    Logan smirked. “Been in it, brother. Took you long enough to notice.”

    Jake chuckled, shaking his head.

    The field stretched quiet around them. No need for more words.

    Some things don’t have to be built.

    They just have to be seen.

  • Walking It Out

    Zach sat on the park bench, stretching out his legs as he watched the sun sink lower over the trees. Tyler dropped down beside him, taking a long sip of his water.

    “You ever just feel… off?” Zach asked.

    Tyler glanced over. “How do you mean?”

    Zach shrugged. “Not like I’m doubting or anything. Just—some days, the whole celibacy thing feels easy. Other days, it feels like climbing a mountain with no summit.”

    Tyler nodded. “Yeah. I get that.”

    Zach exhaled. “So what do you do when it feels like that?”

    Tyler took another sip, thinking. “Honestly? I remind myself why I’m here. Not just the why not—but the why. The bigger picture.”

    Zach smirked. “Oh, here we go. Hit me with some deep wisdom.”

    Tyler laughed. “Nah, man. I just mean… I think about what I’d actually be chasing if I wasn’t choosing this. I think about how everything else is temporary, but this—this life in Christ? This brotherhood? It’s solid.”

    Zach nodded slowly. “Yeah. That’s what I keep coming back to, too.”

    They sat in silence for a moment, just taking in the stillness of the park.

    Tyler leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “You ever notice how people assume celibacy is all about what we’re missing? Like we’re just out here suffering through it?”

    Zach scoffed. “All the time. Like, ‘Oh man, you’re choosing not to be with someone? That must be so miserable.’”

    Tyler grinned. “Right? But they don’t get it. It’s not just about not doing something. It’s about living for something bigger.”

    Zach was quiet for a second, then nodded. “Yeah. And the crazy thing is, even on the hard days, I wouldn’t trade it. I mean, I get to live my life fully present, not chasing the next emotional high or trying to figure out where I belong.”

    Tyler leaned back. “Exactly. And we’re not doing this alone.”

    Zach smirked. “That’s the best part.”

    Tyler grinned. “Damn straight.”

    Zach bumped his shoulder. “Careful, man. We gotta keep it holy.”

    Tyler laughed. “Yeah, yeah. Work in progress.”

    They sat there a while longer, the sun dipping behind the trees. No rush. No weight of expectation. Just two brothers, walking the road together.

    And somehow, even on the hard days, it was enough.

    This keeps the focus on living it out—not on what they left, but on why it’s worth it now.

  • The Divide

    Josh tightened his grip on the steering wheel, jaw clenched. The streetlights blurred past as he drove, heart pounding harder than it should over something like this.

    I should let it go.

    But he couldn’t.

    Mike’s words from earlier still echoed, sharp and unfiltered. “You don’t get it, man. You think you do, but you don’t.”

    Josh had snapped back—something about always being there, about how Mike was the one pushing people away. Things escalated, and now here they were—silence.

    Three weeks. No texts. No calls.

    Josh pulled into the diner parking lot, killed the engine, and sat there. He wasn’t even sure why he came. Maybe just to stop feeling like he was waiting.

    Inside, the place was half-empty, the hum of conversation mixing with the clatter of dishes. And then—Mike.

    Sitting in the back booth, arms crossed, staring out the window.

    Josh exhaled, ran a hand through his hair, and walked over.

    Mike looked up as he approached, his expression unreadable. He didn’t nod, didn’t wave. Just watched as Josh slid into the seat across from him.

    Neither spoke at first. The waitress came, took their orders, and left.

    Finally, Josh leaned forward. “I almost didn’t come.”

    Mike scoffed, shaking his head. “Same.”

    Josh sighed. “So what are we doing here?”

    Mike didn’t answer right away. He tapped his fingers on the table, staring down at his coffee. “I don’t know. But I know I don’t want to pretend like none of it happened.”

    Josh nodded slowly. “Yeah.”

    Another silence.

    Mike shifted in his seat. “You were right about some things,” he admitted, voice quieter now. “But you don’t know what it’s like to carry this…this weight.”

    Josh’s chest tightened. “Then tell me.”

    Mike glanced up, eyes wary, but something in Josh’s face must’ve told him he meant it.

    And so he did.

    He talked—about the anger he’d been holding in, the things he never said out loud. About how sometimes the weight of past struggles, of feeling different, of wanting to be known but fearing being too known—how it all built up, and Josh had just been the guy who caught the fallout.

    Josh listened. Really listened.

    And when Mike finally ran out of words, Josh just nodded. “I hear you.”

    Mike exhaled, shoulders dropping. “So where does that leave us?”

    Josh studied him for a moment. “Same place we started.”

    Mike frowned. “What does that mean?”

    Josh leaned back. “You’re still my brother.”

    Mike let out a short laugh, shaking his head. “Even after all that?”

    Josh smirked. “Especially after all that.”

    The waitress came back, setting down their plates. The tension in the air had shifted—not gone, but lighter. Real.

    Mike picked up his fork, shaking his head. “You’re a stubborn idiot.”

    Josh grinned. “That’s what makes this work.”

    And just like that, the divide wasn’t so wide anymore.