Good morning, my brothers! Most of us are willing to help a struggling brother. But letting another man see our own struggles? That's harder. And it may be exactly what we've been missing. Let’s go! 4-min, 58-sec read.

The book releases Tuesday: Please prayerfully consider buying a copy (or two😉). All proceeds benefit the ministry. Look for a special email Tuesday morning with a link!

Listen to the audio version here:

On Tuesday, men I've never met will read things about me I spent years hiding.

For the last three Tuesdays, I've prayed over the book, and fasted, too. This coming Tuesday, the day it releases, I'll do it one more time.

I haven't done it alone. A brother named Steve, my wingman, has fasted and prayed with me every Tuesday. Every week, an email from Steve shows up in my inbox on Tuesday (and many other days), a few lines of encouragement from a man who's hungry right along with me.

Steve isn't the only one. Over the last few months, 112 men have emailed with me to help, and many have given up their Tuesday evenings to join a Google Meet for prayer, honest feedback on the manuscript, and encouragement. They even picked the cover. It wasn't my favorite, and they made the right choice.

What Brotherhood Costs

These men reminded me of something by their commitment and actions. Brotherhood isn't free. It costs time, and most of us guard our time like a checking account.

It costs something else too, and for me that one's painful. It costs letting another man see who we really are.

That second cost runs through the whole book. I wrote about how I treated my dad when I worked for him, the shouting matches behind his office door that I'd give anything to take back. I wrote about the years I let a company become my mistress, and the marriage I lost because of that mistress.

I wrote about the pride that still sneaks up on me, the approval from men I long for, the idols I haven't fully released, and the fact that I'm still a work in progress.

None of it was easy to put on paper. It's hard for me to let my guard down and let others see all my warts and imperfections. Pride, all over me. Maybe this sounds familiar…

But here's what I've learned these last few months: the men who could pray for me best were the men who knew the most, and…stayed by my side. In fact, Monday night, we're gathering one last time as a group to pray over the book and, more importantly, the men God wants to read it. After all they know about me, they're still with me.

The Men Who Carried the Mat

In Mark 2, Jesus is teaching in a house in Capernaum so packed nobody else can get through the door. Four men show up carrying a friend who can't walk. They can't get in, so they climb onto the roof, dig through it, and lower him down right in front of Jesus.

We usually notice the four friends, and we should. Think about what that afternoon cost them: hours of carrying, a long wait at the edge of a crowd, and a roof to tear open, probably at their own expense.

But look at the man on the mat. He paid too. He had to let himself be carried through the streets in front of the whole town, every weakness on display, then get lowered into a crowded room with nothing to hide behind.

And notice what Jesus said first. Not "get up and walk," but "Son, your sins are forgiven." The deepest need in that room was the one nobody could see, and four men met it by giving their time, while one man let himself be seen.

Why We Hide

Most of us would rather carry the mat than lie on it. We're glad to help a brother move, pray for his surgery, or show up at his dad's funeral. But let him know we're struggling? That the marriage has gone cold, that we're drinking more than we should, that lust is eating us up? That's different.

So, we hand everybody the version of us that's fine. Then we wonder why we feel alone in a church full of men. James doesn't leave much room for that:

Confess, then pray, then healing. The order matters. A brother can't pray over what he doesn't know about, and we won't be healed of what we keep hidden.

Our brothers can't carry what we won't let them see.

Grace on the Other Side of the Roof

Here's the hope in all of it. The Father isn't waiting for us to look strong before He moves. He's the One who sends the four friends, and He meets us on the mat.

On Tuesday, strangers will read the worst of me in print, and part of me still flinches. But I've watched the Father use honesty to pull men closer, not push them away in disgust as I expected. Grace tends to work that way.

Where We Start

Men, in general, are lonely. Most of us don't have a wingman, someone we can share our deepest struggles and heartache with. We've bought the line: real men don't need anybody. Real men handle it.

My brother, that's a lie from the pit of hell. The enemy wants us isolated and alone. Know this: we're all struggling, and we all need four friends, 112 men, or just one man walking with us…and us walking with them.

We treat brotherhood like an expense on that checking account. It's really an investment, and it pays dividends here and in eternity.

Let's pay with our time. Pick one man this week, put 30 minutes on the calendar for coffee or a phone call, and guard it like you would a meeting with your best client.

Then let's pay with our honesty. Before that conversation ends, tell him one true thing you've been keeping to yourself. Not everything, just one thing. Then ask how you can pray for him, and pray right there.

And if there's a brother on a mat in your life, go pick up a corner and help bring him to Jesus. But if you're the one on the mat, let them carry you. Our brothers can't carry what we won't let them see.

Reflection: Who in your life knows the real battle you're fighting right now? If no one, what's kept you from letting him in?

Action: Text one man today and set up a 30-minute call or coffee. And if you don't have that man yet, email me at [email protected]. I'd be honored to pray with you and help you find him.

Prayer: Father, thank You for the men You've sent to carry me when I couldn't walk. If I don't have him, bring me one, and make me one for him as well. Give me the courage to be seen, and make me the kind of brother who shows up. In Jesus' name, amen.

-Will

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