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If You Love Me, Keep My Commands
In John 14, Jesus tells his disciples: “If you love me, keep my commands.”
In John 14, Jesus tells his disciples: “If you love me, keep my commands.”
Biblical brotherhood isn’t primarily built around shared hobbies, watching the game together, or grabbing breakfast once a month. Those have value, but they aren’t what Scripture has in mind when it calls us to love one another. Jesus never called us to admire one another from a distance; he instructed us to “carry each other’s burdens” (Galatians 6:2). That’s up-close and hands-on—we can’t be that kind of brother in Christ from the sidelines.
At least, that’s the story we tell ourselves.
Every healthy relationship is built on connection and communication: The strongest friendships, marriages, and family bonds grow through honest conversation, shared experiences, and a commitment to spending time together. Real and lasting connection requires openness, trust, and a willingness to be present. The same is true of our relationship with God.
At least, that’s the story we tell ourselves.
As men, most of us have spent our lives believing that strength comes from control, and so we muscle up and fight for it: control over our futures, our finances, our relationships. We work hard to manage the weight of others’ opinions, the outcomes we can’t predict, the timing we can’t understand. Even when we can’t do it all, we fight to stay in charge because surrender somehow feels like losing. It feels like weakness.
At least, that’s the story we tell ourselves.
Most men don’t drift from God in a single dramatic moment. It happens quietly—a small compromise here, a blurred conviction there. And the strange thing is, we often don’t notice until we’re already far off course.
Most men agree: We want our lives to count. And not just in terms of surface-level success, but in ways that are deep and lasting. We want purpose. We want to leave a legacy. And the real legacy comes from the people we invest in.
Most men don’t break because they’re weak. They break because no one stays when they are.
Forging dates back as far as 4000 BC, but it truly left its mark around 1200 BC with the rise of iron. The process of forging iron is rugged, monotonous, and time-consuming. You heat the metal, beat it, reheat it, and reshape it again and again. Yet the result is stronger, more durable, and more useful than in its raw form.
Maybe you’ve heard the name Frank Abagnale—the real-life con artist who became famous in the film Catch Me If You Can. Before the age of 21, he successfully convinced the world that he was, among other things, an airline pilot, doctor, and lawyer. Each identity came with confidence, credentials, and applause. And for a while, the masks worked—Abagnale fooled many people. However, it eventually caught up with him. Every false identity he wore led him deeper into consequence, fear, and exposure.
Psalm 107:2
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