I imagine that most of the men reading this care deeply about what God thinks of you.
But pause for a moment — what does God think of you?

That question runs deeper than we realize. It is one of the most fundamental human questions, and most of us ask it daily, even if we can’t put it into words. Beneath the surface, we are all wondering: Will someone, something, some accomplishment, look me in the eye and tell me who I am?

If you’re a follower of Jesus, you probably know — at least in your head — that God is the giver of identity, purpose, and meaning. He alone names us. He alone calls us His sons.
And yet, apart from receiving that identity from Him, we remain restless men.

Our culture promises to name us. It promises to tell us we matter, to validate us — through what we build, what we earn, how we perform, how we appear. But we know the truth: culture over-promises and under-delivers every time. Our greatest goals and victories can’t quiet our deepest longings.

That’s why we’re here — to press past the false names, to learn to live as sons of the Father, to become whole men who walk in the love and identity only God can bestow.

The Stories We Live By

Every one of us is living out a story about what it means to be a man.
Culture gives us scripts: “If you do this, you’ll get that.” But they are hollow promises.

Let’s briefly name a few of these cultural archetypes — broad strokes, yes, but perhaps you’ll hear a hint of your own story in one of them.

The Builder

The lie says: “Work hard, build something great, and you’ll be secure, respected, and satisfied.”
But the more you build, the more it owns you. Comparison whispers that someone else is always building faster and better. Your identity becomes tied to output and outcomes. One lost deal, one stalled quarter — and suddenly your whole life feels on trial. You look around and realize the things and people that matter most have been sacrificed on the altar of what you were building. That shame cuts deeper than failure.

The Manager

You “plan well, budget well, optimize everything” so you can stay in control. You take pride in being steady, reliable — the “rock.”
But control is a fragile illusion. Life interrupts with something you can’t predict, fix, or work your way out of. Instead of peace, you feel anxious and angry. You’ve treated life as a problem to solve rather than a grace to receive.

The Visionary

Culture says: “Dream big. Make an impact. Change the world. That’s how you’ll feel alive.”
The adrenaline of progress keeps you moving, but the applause fades quickly. The impact feels smaller, shorter, forgotten sooner than you imagined. You chase the next dream just to stay afloat, but deep down, you know there must be more.

The Adventurer

Culture says: “Escape the grind. Chase pleasure, collect experiences or purchases, stay free — and you’ll be happy.”
But the thrill always fades. The highs must grow higher to keep you satisfied. What started as freedom turns into escape — from responsibility, from pain, from God Himself. You’re left restless and lonely.

Do you hear yourself in any of these? If you’ve been walking with Jesus, perhaps you’ve already begun to see through these false scripts. Yet maybe, just maybe, there’s still a restlessness within you that remains unaddressed.

The Ache Beneath the Restlessness

Saint Augustine famously wrote in his Confessions, “You have made us for yourself, O Lord, and our hearts are restless until they find rest in You.”

That restlessness is more than boredom or dissatisfaction — it’s the ache to be named, to be known, to be home. It is the cry of a soul searching for its Father.

And the Scriptures speak directly into that ache. Psalm 131 offers a wild, countercultural alternative to the modern obsession with self-actualization — with doing whatever we want, whenever we want, however we want. It’s a quiet rebellion against the tyranny of performance. “…My eyes are not raised too high; I do not occupy myself with things too great and too marvelous for me. But I have calmed and quieted my soul, like a weaned child with its mother…”

This psalm calls us away from striving, from proving, from building our own identities. It calls us to rest like a weaned child with its mother — content, secure, at peace.
It feels almost anti-American. And yet, this is the way of Jesus. The way of peace. The way of becoming the kind of men we were made to be.

As Richard Foster reminds us in Celebration of Discipline, “The desperate need today is not for a greater number of intelligent people, or gifted people, but for deep people.”

Depth. That’s what God wants. He’s not merely after changed behavior — He wants to renovate our motivational structure. He wants our hearts.

The God Who Looks at the Heart

In 1 Samuel 16, the Lord reminds Samuel not to look at outward appearance or height of stature, “for the Lord sees not as man sees: man looks on the outward appearance, but the Lord looks on the heart.”

By heart, Scripture means the inner, unseen core of who you are — the center of your thoughts, emotions, will, and spirit. From that core, everything else flows.

Before we rush into all the insights and experiences ahead, perhaps we should pause and examine our own hearts. Psalm 139 offers a diagnostic prayer for this:

“Search me, O God, and know my heart;
Try me and know my thoughts;
See if there is any grievous way in me,
And lead me in the way everlasting.”

To pray that is to ask, “Would You disrupt my life? Would You disrupt my thinking — so I can truly know You, and be known by You?”
It’s an invitation for God to rewrite our stories, to reorder our chaos, to restore our wholeness.

The Flourishing Man

What does it mean to be a free man? A named son?

A flourishing man is a man of integrity — not just moral integrity, but wholeness. The word “integrity” comes from “integration.” A flourishing man is a fully integrated man. Every part of his life — heart, mind, body, relationships, work, faith — is brought together before God. A true and honest convergence. 

Jesus warned the Pharisees that they cleaned the outside of the cup while the inside remained filthy. They were dis-integrated. And much of our sin, shame, and sense of inadequacy flows from the same fragmentation. We present a false self to the world while our true self stays hidden.

But flourishing begins when we invite God to bring every part of us into alignment with Him. That’s freedom. That’s integrity. That’s sonship.

If you feel dis-integrated, ask God for a holy disruption. 

A Posture of Receiving

Let’s posture ourselves in humility before the Lord. Repentance is the doorway to receiving. Pray:
“Search me, O God. Show me where I am out of alignment. Awaken me again to Your love and provision.” 

Remember your sonship. Remember that Jesus’s love has been pursuing you all along. And He is still beckoning — not to do more for Him, but to be with Him.

Because that’s where the restless heart finally finds peace:
Not in what we build, manage, dream, or chase — but in being known and named by our Father. Only there, in His love, does a man finally rest.