Life starts at 70!

Optional preparation in the weeks leading up to (but separate from) the 40-Day Crucible Challenge FORGE TRIBE is a men’s brotherhood centered on Gospel formation, discipline, honesty, and long-term faithfulness. The heart of FORGE TRIBE is simple: men are formed through Truth, Brotherhood, and Commitment—not hype, performance, or self‑improvement. In the weeks leading up to the 40-Day Crucible Challenge, I’m hosting FIRE PIT: a 6-week interactive lecture series designed to help men prepare with clarity and depth. FIRE PIT is optional. It’s not required for the Crucible. There’s no pressure, and no long-term commitment—you’re welcome to attend one session or all six. What it is: live teaching + guided participation + time for honest questions, grounded in Scripture and the Gospel. What it isn’t: a performance space, a hype event, or a “must attend” program. When: Saturdays, 0700–0830 EST (90 minutes) Where: Riverside.fm (recorded) Group: ***limited to the first 25 participants- email [email protected] to request your link Recording note: These sessions will be recorded and used for future content in case you are not able to attend the live sessions. THE SCHEDULE Week 1 — Jan 17 — Enter the Story Theme: Story → Identity Speaker: Chaplain Pete Stone Bio: Pete Stone is a U.S. Army chaplain serving with the Eagle Commission and has spent years walking with men in high-pressure environments where identity and resilience are tested. He’s also the founder/host of Word for the Week, where he helps people connect faith, life, and story in a grounded way. Scripture primer: 2 Corinthians 5:17; Psalm 139:13–16 Week 2 — Jan 24 — Sent, Not Scattered Theme: Mission (long obedience & calling) Speaker: Topher Wallace Bio: Topher Wallace serves as a missionary and founder of The Pucusana Project, a Christian nonprofit in Pucusana, Peru focused on poverty alleviation through education, community projects, and business growth. He previously lived in Peru, became fluent in Spanish, and has returned with his wife and son to help lead the work on the ground.

This recently came up in a text message exchange I had with @Pete Stone and it got me thinking. Sometimes I dread the weekend. Not because I do not love my family, but because the weekend breaks my structure. During the week I know who I am. I have a routine. I have a role. I produce. I provide. Quick dopamine hits. I feel useful. Then the weekend shows up and that scaffolding disappears. I am no longer measured by output. I am measured by presence. And presence is harder for me than productivity. When things slow down, I notice how quickly I want to escape. Not physically, but mentally. I get irritated by small things. I look for something to manage or fix- usually my wife, and I miss the clarity of structure. The Sabbath stops feeling like rest and starts feeling like exposure. It confronts how much of my sense of worth is still tied to usefulness. How much I trust my own structure more than God’s. How uncomfortable I am being seen without a role. I do not experience Sabbath first as relief. I experience it as resistance. And maybe that resistance is the point. I am not writing this with an answer. I am writing it because Sabbath keeps showing me parts of myself I would rather avoid. God tells us to rest so that we leave our structure and enter His structure.

“Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth.” — Matthew 5:5 I’ve read that verse plenty of times, but lately it’s been sticking with me. During this prayer series, we’ve been slowing down and actually sitting with passages instead of moving past them. And for whatever reason, meekness keeps grabbing my attention. Probably because I never understood it. If I’m honest, I didn’t want to be meek. In my head, meekness meant weak. Passive. The guy who gets walked over. That wasn’t something I respected or wanted to become. So when Jesus says the meek inherit the earth, it always felt backward to me. At the time this verse really started bothering me, I was a deployed, working alongside men who were exceptionally capable and deeply experienced. Strength mattered in that environment. Control mattered. Meekness didn’t seem like it belonged there. Then there was a guy I’ll call Doc. Doc wasn’t loud. He didn’t flex. He never needed to establish himself. But everyone knew who he was and what he was capable of. One day after a messy mission brief, I was wound tight. I was working under a young troop commander who had a lot going on — a marriage falling apart back home, massive responsibility, and too much Provigil. The stress was bleeding into everything, and I needed to vent. I walked outside and found Doc sitting next to his Land Cruiser in a beat-up camp chair. He had a French press on a Pelican case, calmly making coffee like nothing around us was on fire. He nodded, poured me a cup, and let me talk. I unloaded everything. Doc didn’t interrupt. He didn’t pile on. He didn’t give advice. He just sat there and listened. And somehow, that was enough. Later, it hit me how strange that moment really was. This was a man who had the capacity to get angry, confront leadership, or escalate things if he wanted to. He had the experience and confidence to do it. But he didn’t. He stayed calm. He exercised restraint. That’s when meekness started to make sense to me. Not as weakness. Not as passivity. But as strength that doesn’t need to prove itself. Power that’s governed.

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