Men’s deserve to heal

It was a cold, rainy Saturday morning, and my schedule was already stacked. But I agreed to squeeze in a men’s group session—not because I had the time, but because my brother Kevin wanted to be there. Sometimes that’s all the motivation you need: a brother asking you to show up. And when a man asks you to stand beside him in his healing, you don’t think twice—you show up.

I figured I’d walk in 30 minutes late and slide quietly into a seat while the session was in full swing. But to my surprise, the session hadn’t even started. The brothers were just sitting around, talking, laughing, vibing. It wasn’t formal, but the energy in the room was sacred. I walked in, shook every hand in the circle. Kevin, Keith—men I’d met before on a previous retreat—were already posted. Each handshake I exchanged carried this silent power… it wasn’t just grip and release. It was firm. Gentle. Restorative. Each one felt like, “I see you, bro. And I’m glad you made it.”
The purpose of the gathering was simple: Men. Healing. Together.
That’s it. No performance. No pretending. Just honesty and the presence of God. God was there. I could feel him in the room and the men in this group gave God his dues over and over as the sole reason why they are here today and not dead!
We were each given a hoodie that read in bold white letters: “Men Deserve to Heal.”
Let that soak into your bone marrow. Men deserve to heal. Not just because we’re hurting, but because a healed man changes everything he touches—his home, his children, his community, and most importantly, himself.
See, I’ve learned something about myself over the years: I am broken, and I’m still okay. That sentence holds tension and truth. It took me a long time to accept that healing isn’t about perfection. It’s about showing up in the rain. It’s about carving out space for grace even when life is loud and messy.

When I look back on my life—from fatherhood failures, broken relationships, to feeling like I was spiraling spiritually—I realize that every step back was an invitation to come back to God. And every time I took that invitation, something in me elevated. Not overnight, but consistently.
I’ve seen it happen in other men too.
Men who walk back into the arms of God—ashamed, confused, skeptical—but walk out full of purpose.
Men who used to numb their pain with women, drugs, or silence, now speaking truth and walking in light.
Men who used to believe they were only valuable if they provided, now realizing they are valuable because they exist.
That shift—from shame to purpose—is nothing short of God essence.
Over the past generation or two, society’s view of men has . We’ve transformed, from protectors and providers to either villains or emotional victims. We’re painted as either too hard or too soft. But the truth is, we are complex. And that complexity needs care, not criticism.
God is pivotal in that care. He doesn’t ask us to be perfect. He just asks us to return.
Return to Him. Return to ourselves. Return to each other.
So yes, I’m glad I made time for that men’s group.
Because what I witnessed in that room was something we don’t talk about enough—the power of presence, the beauty of brokenness, and the miracle that happens when men find their way back to God. This was not a religious event by any means. However the spirit was in the house.
If you’re a man reading this, know this: You are not too far gone. You are not too damaged.
You are not alone. Men deserve to heal. And when we do—watch the world change.