I walked into my father’s office. I watched as he packed up 40 years of work in cardboard boxes. I was worried for him. He was riding out his last months before his official retirement in May of 2014. Since his appointment as president of Evangel University in 1974, he had given himself to the development of a struggling faith- based institution. From the day he began his work, my father never took his hand off the wheel of leadership. With the Lord’s guidance, he sculpted the vision for the university; students would earn an education that would integrate their faith in Christ with their sacred calling of vocation, as teachers, accountants, doctors, lawyers, artists, or pastors.

Since 1979, I’ve been committed to mentoring emerging leaders— both students and young professionals. I became a father myself in 1988 and now have two adult children. Over time, I identified the experiences that are the most meaningful to my mentees, the experiences that mature Generation Z kids need to build grit and depth. Collectively, they serve as a sort of “rite of passage.” I invite you to consider inserting these experiences into your own investment in your kids.

I agree with Eldredge. He says there is one significant question echoing in the soul of every man. It’s a question that can haunt him and be the source of every insecurity. It’s the question that drives a man into an out-of-balance work life and unhealthy ambition.

What is that question every man needs answered?

Do I have what it takes?

A few weeks after Father’s Day in 2019, I was on our back patio having a phone conversation with my father. We talked for what had seemed like more than two hours, a wonderful conversation. Towards the end of the call as we were wrapping up, he said; “Peter, I need to tell you something; I never should have left you and your brothers, I’m sorry.” I almost fell apart because these words from him were an affirmation that meant “Son, I love you, you are my beloved.” For the past 30 years, each time we’ve spoken, my father has always told me “I love you,” but this time it was different. If only I could have jumped through the phone; I would have wrapped my arms around him for a very long, long time.

As I stood in church and listened to the words of that popular worship song, I tried not to roll my eyes. One specifically frustrating line went, “You’re never going to let me down.” That couldn’t be further from the truth, I thought, not where I was today. Instead of singing it, I stood there wondering, is it possible for God to let someone down?

Known affectionately by the family as Granddaddy, Mitchell never liked drawing attention to himself. As the son of a farmer and school teacher growing up in the Deep South of Mississippi, I’ve never been sure if his strong yet humble demeanor was a result of how he was made, how he was raised, or what he endured on the battlefield. But now at ninety-seven years old, when the beloved patriarch starts telling stories, everyone listens.

We were in the final days of our pregnancy awaiting the arrival of our first son. I am the last male descendant carrying our family name, so after having three beautiful daughters, I was humbled to find out we had a son on the way. The family name and its legacy would continue beyond me.

The word stewardship has greatly changed my life.

I recently celebrated my 39th birthday and spent some time reflecting on what has changed over what I perceive to be the best decade of maturation in my life. I spent much of my young adulthood trying to come to grips with dangerous narcissistic tendencies that were, in the words of a very helpful therapist, “destroying all the relationships that mattered most.”