THE FIX — AND THE FAITH
Some things are not fixed by effort. They are healed by truth.
This is the chair where I meet the morning.
The lamp.
The open Bible.
The cup with my mark on it.
A book about wasting time with God.
The phone reading 10:16.
This is my chair — exclusively. An upgrade from the one I wore out. I shopped for it all over the country and finally landed it in South Carolina. The day it arrived, and I sat down in it, Marty said, “wow.” Then she came over, sat in it herself, and said “I want one.”
This corner has held more honest moments than most rooms in my life.
Less furniture.
More territory.
I often sit here beside the Holy Spirit and let the day come to me before I go to it.
There are places that quietly become sacred.
Not because they are expensive.
Not because they are impressive.
But because they have held versions of you no one else ever fully knew.
This chair has held many of mine.
DEDICATION
To the Holy Spirit — who keeps forging my soul through every season.
To my wife, Marty — my first reader, my steady encourager, the faithful keeper of the flame.
To Bryan Kramer — whose reflections often stir deeper reflection in others, including me.
To the reader — who may be carrying something today that does not need to be fixed first… but faced honestly.
SCRIPTURE
“Create in me a clean heart, O God, And renew a steadfast spirit within me.” — Psalm 51:10 (NKJV)
“Being confident of this very thing, that He who has begun a good work in you will complete it until the day of Jesus Christ.” — Philippians 1:6 (NKJV)
THE HOOK
We spend a lot of life trying to fix what only truth can heal.
The leaking faucet.
The flat tire.
The bill that needs paying.
Those have answers.
The ache underneath does not.
THE STORY
This morning I opened an email from my friend Bryan Kramer.
He had written about standing in line for coffee, phone in hand, mentally trying to repair himself before the day had even started.
The conversation he replayed.
The email he wished he had written differently.
The decision he kept second-guessing.
The pressure to become a better version of himself before the first sip.
Then came the line that stayed with me:
“When did I become a problem that needs solving?”
That question has weight.
Because many of us live that way.
Trying to optimize ourselves.
Repair ourselves.
Outperform our weaknesses.
Manage perception.
Correct every flaw before anyone notices it exists.
Especially men.
We are built to fix things.
The leaking faucet.
The broken gate.
The engine noise.
The financial problem.
The family tension.
The future.
Give a man a problem and he often feels alive.
But give him a wound — and many of us reach for tools that were never made for healing.
I know because more than once, I mistook control for growth.
THE MOMENT
Yesterday I was talking with a friend about one of his employees.
The man had just finished two years on an ankle monitor and was heading back home to Tennessee. My friend was worried he would fall right back into old patterns.
I understood the concern.
But I told him something simple.
We can guide people.
Support people.
Pray for people.
Love people.
But we cannot fix people.
Only God and a willing heart can do surgery that deep.
That includes us.
Some of the hardest people we try to fix are the ones staring back at us in the mirror.
Some wounds were never meant to be managed.
They were meant to be surrendered.
THE TURN
There have been seasons sitting in this chair when I looked backward more than forward.
Roads I chose.
Strength I once had.
Memories I wish I could step back into.
Moments I would handle differently now.
Age has a way of introducing reflection.
And reflection becomes one of two things:
Wisdom.
Or regret.
The difference is whether truth is invited into the room.
Maturity is not pretending everything turned out perfectly.
It is owning what didn’t.
Accountability is where correction becomes possible.
Not denial.
Not spin.
Not image management.
Not blaming the season, the stress, the spouse, the economy, the childhood, or the timing.
Accountability.
The moment a person says:
Yes… that was me.
Yes… that needs work.
Yes… I see it now.
Yes… Lord, come into that place.
That is where healing gets permission to begin.
THE DRIFT
There is a voice that keeps a lot of people trapped.
Just keep polishing the outside.
Stay impressive.
Stay busy.
Stay defensive.
Stay one explanation ahead of the truth.
That voice sounds like protection.
It is not.
It is delay.
And delay can cost years.
There is a kind of self-improvement that looks productive on the outside — but is really avoidance dressed in nicer clothes.
I know.
Because I wore them.
For years.
THE REFLECTION
I once went through a tax audit.
His name was Joe.
Short guy. Briefcase in hand. The kind of man who walks in looking ready to disassemble the plant.
My CPA had warned me before he arrived:
“This guy is tough. We’ve dealt with him on a lot of audits.”
There was one write-off Joe questioned.
Truthfully, I had questions about it too.
I could have argued.
Deflected.
Acted offended.
Pretended certainty.
Instead, I said:
“You know what — I have wondered about that myself. I am happy to gather whatever is needed and let you guide me.”
He took his time.
He looked it over carefully.
Then he set the paper down and said:
“You know what — we’re not going to worry about it.”
At the end of the audit, he told me it was the most pleasant audit he had ever experienced.
I smiled.
(Ha ha — until the next guy.)
But the lesson stayed.
Owning a weak position honestly is stronger than defending it falsely.
That is true in marriage.
True in leadership.
True in friendship.
True before God.
A lot of people think accountability is humiliation.
It is not.
It is alignment.
It is stepping back into reality.
And reality is where grace does some of its best work.
You cannot correct or fix everything.
Sometimes you just need to find the flow.
Jesus did not call perfect men.
He called willing ones.
He did not ask people to arrive polished.
He asked them to follow.
He did not heal those who had image.
He healed those who brought truth.
The freest people I know are not the ones who fixed themselves.
They are the ones who finally stopped pretending — and let God meet them honestly.
WALKAWAY LINE
You cannot heal what you refuse to name.
SOMETHING TO THINK ABOUT
Where in your life are you still trying to fix what first needs to be faced honestly?
MY PRAYER
Heavenly Father,
Thank You for the places that hold our history while You shape our future.
Thank You for the quiet chairs, the early mornings, the hard reflections, and the moments when truth finally rises to the surface.
Forgive me for the times I worked on appearances while neglecting the heart.
Forgive me for trying to fix through effort what only surrender could heal.
Break every alliance I still have with appearances.
Give me courage to name what is real.
Give me humility to own what is mine.
Give me faith to trust that where truth enters, grace can follow.
Create in me a clean heart.
Renew a steadfast spirit within me.
And keep forming me into the man You intended all along.
In Jesus’ name, Amen.
ABOUT G~
G~ writes from lived experience — exploring identity, authority, and time through the lens of faith, trial, leadership, and surrender. His reflections are not meant to condemn or hype, but to steady. Rooted in covenant, forged through adversity, and anchored under the authority of Jesus Christ, his work invites readers to examine who governs their lives — and to live intentionally under truth.
If what you’ve read resonates with your journey, feel free to reach out.
G~
This thought is profound, and needs much reflection. Love