Failure isn’t fun. It’s frustrating, humbling, and often painful. But the way I see it now—it’s also sacred ground. Because it’s in failure that we’re formed. It’s where God meets us and reminds us who we are—not in our success, but in the struggle.
It’s a lesson I’m still learning myself. And it’s a truth I try to pass down to my son. Every setback holds a seed of strength if we’re willing to keep showing up. What I’ve come to realize is that failure is not an enemy—it’s a mirror. And sometimes, it reflects the most important work God is doing in our hearts.
Watching My Son Lose (and Still Show Up)
My son is turning thirteen soon. He’s kind, respectful, makes straight A’s, and works hard in sports. Right now, he’s on a travel soccer team that’s still figuring itself out. Last season, they lost every game.
I expected him to be discouraged—maybe even embarrassed. But he wasn’t. He still wanted to sign up for another season. Not because they were winning, but because he was growing. He just wanted to keep playing with his friends. That simple loyalty and joy in the game—despite the outcome—struck me.
That response? That showed me a lot. It’s one thing to win when things are going well. It’s something else entirely to show up, knowing the outcome might be rough. That kind of grit is rare, especially at his age. And I’m proud of it.
There was a time, years ago, when a season ended and he cried. Not because they lost—but because he was going to miss his friends. That was an early taste of how endings feel. Even good ones can sting. But he learned the relationships don’t end when the season does. That was a turning point.
Now, he’s old enough to understand the value of staying committed through hard things. His attitude after that winless season? It reminded me what faithfulness looks like. That’s not just maturity—it’s wisdom. And it’s the kind of wisdom you don’t always expect in a middle schooler.
Sticking It Out, Even When It’s Hard
We talked about it. I told him how proud I was. Because sometimes life feels like that—season after season of effort with no scoreboard to show for it. But if you don’t quit? That’s a win. That’s what real character looks like.
When I asked if he wanted to join the team again, he didn’t hesitate. Even though they didn’t win a single game. Even though it would’ve been easier to play somewhere else or not play at all. He said yes because he sees the value in showing up. In putting in the work. In seeing the long-term gain—not just the short-term reward.
I’ve seen a lot of grown men quit much faster than that.
Learning from Rejection (and Awkward Layups)
He once tried out for the basketball team and didn’t make it. I could relate. I never made my team either, even though I’m 6’2”. I just wasn’t that coordinated. My layups looked like a wounded stork trying to take flight.
But we talk about those things—not to dwell on failure, but to normalize it. To show him it’s not the end. It’s just feedback. It’s just a new direction. He’s been exploring new interests since then and taking those moments in stride.
I told him about my own missed shots, my own letdowns. And how even now, I still wrestle with not feeling like I measure up. It’s a thread that runs through my life—and I don’t want it to tie him down.
Breaking the Loop of Self-Judgment
Everything I do, I tend to evaluate with the same question: “Could I have done better?” And the answer is almost always yes. That question has haunted me—made me doubt myself more times than I can count.
But I’m learning to reframe that. To stop demanding perfection and start honoring progress. For me that demand for perfection was the ultimate all or nothing mentality. If I din’t feel like I could be great, I just wouldn’t do it. I want my son to also focus on progress.
I ask him:
- Did you show up?
- Did you try?
- Did you make a difference?
- Did you have fun?
Those are better questions than, “Did you win?” or “Did you do it perfectly?”
Because grit doesn’t always look like glory—it usually looks like quietly choosing not to quit. That’s what I want to pass on.
Sometimes I worry if I’m failing at being a dad. I wonder how my kids will remember me—what they’ll say about me when I’m not around. But then I think about the small, steady moments. The consistent presence. The conversations where I tell them I love them, that I’m proud of them, that they matter—especially when they fall.
What I Pray He Always Remembers
When I pray for my kids, I pray for three things:
- Peace in the struggle.
- Clarity in the confusion.
- Grit when life gets hard.
One of my favorite verses is Joshua 1:9:
“Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go.”
That’s the kind of strength I want rooted in him. A strength that doesn’t depend on success but on God’s presence. Because no matter how good I try to be, I can’t be everywhere. But God can.
That verse reminds me—and I hope it reminds him—that he’s never alone. That courage isn’t the absence of fear, but the decision to keep going, knowing God walks with you.
Letting Go, but Never Backing Off
I miss the days when I could shield them from everything. Now they’ve got their own lives. Their own fears. Their own trials. I won’t always be there. But God will.
He’s the Father who never leaves. Who strengthens. Who shapes us through failure. Just like He’s shaping me.
The truth is, being a dad comes with doubt. I wonder what they’ll remember about me. Will it be my flaws—or my faithfulness? Will it be my harsh critiques—or the way I always showed up?
I may not be perfect, but I’m present. And presence matters more than perfection.
The Dad They’ve Got (And Always Will)
I want to be the best dad I can be. Not some flawless figure—but a man they know is in their corner. Every day. Through every loss. Through every win.
They’ve got me. All in. Always.
No one else gets to be their dad but me. And failure won’t change that.
That’s what I want my son to know. And maybe that’s what I need to keep remembering too.
Because the best thing I can teach him about failure—is that it doesn’t disqualify you.
It develops you.
If you’ve ever wrestled with failure—your own or your kid’s—and you’re looking for a simple way to reset each day, I put together something for you.
The Start Strong 31-Day Devotional is built for men who want to lead with clarity, faith, and grit—even on the days they don’t feel like it.
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