The Trap of Trying to Be a “Good Christian Man”

For a long time, I thought being a good Christian man meant being perfect.

Not close to perfect. Not growing. Just… already there.

I thought a good Christian man:

Always had the right answers
Was the unquestioned authority in the home
Read the Bible constantly, not to learn, but because it was expected
Prayed with rigid discipline, never missing a beat
Never doubted, never struggled, never slipped

Basically? He was more like a robot than a man.

Looking back, I didn’t really want to become him—I was afraid of him.
That version of a man felt cold. Distant. Intimidating. Like someone who had power, but not presence. Command, but not compassion.

So instead of running toward the label of “Christian man,” I ran away from it.
Not because I hated God.
But because I didn’t believe I could be good enough for Him.

And in that distance, I made another mistake: I let shame become my theology.

Performance Without Grace

Trying to live up to that image didn’t bring me closer to God.
It pushed me deeper into shame.

Because when you believe you’re supposed to have it all figured out, you never feel safe enough to admit when you don’t.

So you fake it.
You isolate.
You become skilled at surface-level spirituality.

I didn’t talk about my struggles.
I didn’t lean on grace.
I filtered out every verse about surrender, help, weakness, and mercy.

I kept the stoic stuff.
The “real man” stuff.
The verses that sounded strong—even if I was barely hanging on.

I didn’t become legalistic. I just stayed distant.
Close enough to believe, but never close enough to be held.

And the worst part?
I thought that was holy.

I was measuring my faith by how little I needed God.
But real holiness starts when you admit how much you do.

I Didn’t Feel Like a Man—Or a Christian

I wasn’t Paul, preaching from city to city.
I wasn’t a missionary selling everything and going to the nations.

I was a guy with a job. A paycheck. A mortgage. A family.
And I didn’t know where that kind of man fit into God’s story.

I’d read passages where Jesus raised the standard:

Lust is adultery.
Hatred is murder.
Perfection is the goal.

It felt like the standard got higher and higher, while I stayed right where I was.
And if I’m honest? Sometimes it still does.

But here’s what’s changed:

I’ve stopped pretending that I’m supposed to be enough.
And I’ve started trusting that He already is.

When I measure myself against Christ, I always fall short. But when I look to Him as my source, I’m reminded I was never meant to do it alone.

What a Godly Man Looks Like (Now)

I still don’t have it all figured out.
But I’m not running anymore.

I’m a man who:

Opens God’s Word regularly—not out of ritual, but out of need
Leads his home by pointing to Scripture, not his own opinion
Prays with his wife and kids—not perfectly, but intentionally
Tries to live honestly, even when it’s uncomfortable
Admits when he’s struggling, and leans on grace

I try not to enforce my will in my household.
I try to remind my family of God’s.

And I’m not doing it alone.

My wife is a huge part of that picture.
She’s nurturing. Sensitive. She carries so much of the emotional heartbeat of our family.

Sometimes she needs reminding of what the Word says. Sometimes I do.
We’re learning how to carry each other.

She’s not my project.
She’s not beneath me.
She’s not my follower.

She’s my partner in the life God is building through us.

There’s a reason Scripture said it wasn’t good for man to be alone. When I was alone, I was unstructured. Numb. Drifting.

Now?
Life isn’t perfect.
But it’s grounded.

I see my role differently now. Not as a commander issuing orders, but as a servant leader—called to wash feet, not just point fingers. I’ve realized my strength isn’t in how forcefully I can lead, but in how humbly I can follow Christ.

When my kids ask hard questions or when my wife needs reassurance, I don’t reach for a perfect answer—I reach for God’s Word. I want to be a man who is quick to listen, slow to speak, and anchored in truth.

That’s not weakness. That’s discipleship.

Final Thought

I used to think being a good Christian man meant becoming flawless.

Now I know: it means becoming faithful.

Not to an image. Not to a role. Not to a list of behaviors.

But to a Person.
To Jesus.

That’s who I follow.
That’s who my wife and kids need me to point to.
That’s who picks me up when I fail.

And that’s the only way I’ve ever found freedom.

Not in being “enough.”
But in being His.

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