THE NIGHT I CHANGED BANNERS
Cold water. Clear authority. No bridge back.
It was 1:00 a.m. The water was in the 40s. Steam lifted off shoulders under a black Atlanta sky. No crowd. No spotlight. No music. Just men. Breathing hard. Standing still. Knowing something was about to be left behind.
Some nights don’t feel dramatic.
They feel settled.
And settled is heavier than dramatic.
Because settled means something has been decided.
DEDICATION
To Jesus Christ — the only banner worthy of surrender.
To Marty — who felt the shift before I could articulate it, and whose covenant beside me has steadied my path.
To my brothers — who stood in cold water without flinching, who told the truth when it would have been easier not to, who carried my suitcases when I could not, who prayed over me at 30,000 feet, who wiped the sweat from my forehead, who tied my shoelaces after the nurse removed my shoes, and who loved me without hesitation.
And to you, the reader — that you may recognize your own shift point when it comes.
SCRIPTURE
“Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation; old things have passed away; behold, all things have become new.” — 2 Corinthians 5:17 (NKJV)
THE HOOK
1:00 a.m.
Black Atlanta sky.
The water was in the 40s.
Steam lifted off shoulders.
No crowd.
No spotlight.
No music.
Just men.
Standing chest-deep in something that had no interest in being comfortable.
Breathing hard.
Eyes closed.
Hands on each other’s shoulders.
Nobody was performing.
There was nothing left to perform.
A full weekend of truth-telling had already stripped that away.
What remained was something quieter.
Something that doesn’t show up until everything else has been set down.
Readiness.
THE STORY
I had already been baptized once.
March 5, 2013.
With my wife, Marty.
That moment was sacred.
There is something powerful about entering covenant water beside your bride.
It doesn’t just renew marriage externally.
It reignites it internally.
Two individuals surrendering to Christ.
Together.
And separately.
That day sealed something in our covenant.
It stuck.
So this wasn’t a redo.
This was something else.
Years later, in Atlanta, I found myself in another body of water —
surrounded by men who had spent an entire weekend doing something most men avoid.
Telling the truth.
No image management.
No spiritual posing.
No filtered versions of ourselves.
We talked about ego.
About lust of the flesh.
About pride.
About fear.
About the silent battles men carry alone.
And something happened.
The lights came on.
Not because of a sermon.
Because of surrender.
When a man is fully known by other men and does not flinch —
something shifts internally.
THE MOMENT
When we first stepped into the lake, the cold bit hard.
It didn’t ease you in.
It grabbed your legs like electricity.
Your breath shortened.
Your chest tightened.
For a moment the body asks,
Why are you doing this?
Every nerve sends the same signal.
Get out.
But the soul answers differently.
Because this isn’t about comfort.
It’s about covenant.
And sometimes covenant requires a man to step into cold water on purpose.
Seventeen years earlier, I stopped being an orphan.
But that night — I made the banner visible.
THE TURN
Something interesting happens if you stay in cold water.
Your body adjusts.
The shock fades.
The nerves dull.
The water doesn’t feel as cold anymore.
You can stand there longer than you thought possible —
not because the water warmed,
but because your body stopped registering the danger.
Unless something splashes onto fresh skin.
Then suddenly the cold wakes everything back up.
Sin works much the same way.
The first step into it carries a bite.
A warning.
A signal that something isn’t right.
But spend enough time in it, and the soul adapts.
The conscience dulls.
What once felt dangerous becomes familiar.
Until something splashes onto a place that hasn’t gone numb yet.
Sometimes that splash is truth.
Sometimes consequence.
Sometimes God waking you up.
That night in the lake, the cold water wasn’t just cold water.
It was clarity.
THE DRIFT
There is a voice that negotiates with the water’s edge.
You’ve already changed. You don’t need to go all the way in.
This is enough. You’re further along than most.
You can step in and step back out. Nobody has to know.
That voice sounds like wisdom.
It isn’t.
Wisdom goes under.
This voice bargains from the shore.
There is a kind of spiritual progress that looks like movement on the outside —
but is just the old self standing at the edge,
never quite getting wet.
Nodding at the water.
Describing the water.
Talking about the water.
Without ever surrendering to it.
I know. Because I stood there. For years.
THE REFLECTION
Under Les’s guidance and covering, men went under one by one.
When it was my turn, I stepped forward.
I had spent fifty years under an authority that drained me slowly.
Chasing.
Managing.
Proving.
Surviving.
Unsustainable.
We weren’t just going under water.
We were leaving things at the bottom.
In my mind, I placed a rock over them.
Ego.
Control.
The need to win.
The safety net of returning to old patterns.
Rock placed.
Walk away.
My wife could feel the change when I returned home.
Not because water changed me.
Because surrender did.
Every man eventually lives under a banner.
Some banners are built from ego.
Some from fear.
Some from the approval of others.
But there is only one banner that gives a man authority without draining his soul.
The banner you stand under will determine the man you become.
WALKAWAY LINE
99% of something is 100% of nothing.
SOMETHING TO THINK ABOUT
What banner are you really standing under?
MY PRAYER
Heavenly Father,
Reveal the shift point in every person who reads this.
Expose the bridges that keep them half-committed.
Give them courage to burn what must be burned.
Steady their steps when forward feels costly.
Anchor them under Your authority.
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~
Genice, that’s a powerful observation.
Jesus is the Truth. He stood on it, lived it, and never stepped away from it — even when it cost Him everything. Why would it be any different for those of us who claim to follow Him?
When we stay in the Word, it does expose darkness — sometimes in the world around us… and sometimes in ourselves. But that’s the beauty of it: truth doesn’t condemn us; it invites us into the light.
Honesty is the soil where integrity grows.
Of course, not everyone believes, and there has always been a deceiver. In the end, it comes down to whose authority we choose to live under.
Thank you for that reflection.
G ~
Genice, that word honest means a lot to me.
Once a man decides to live under one authority, there’s really no reason left to hide.
Truth may expose us for a moment — but it also frees us to walk forward without the weight of a facade.
Thank you for receiving it the way it was meant.
Bless You, my Friend...