The answer to becoming a safe and good man is not becoming weaker (humble, yes—weak, no); it’s about becoming more powerful (not aggressive). However, stepping into authentic masculine power can seem like an oxymoron that conjures up images of the Marlboro man, or thoughts of violence, homophobia, misogyny, money, and greed. That is not the masculinity I am referring to, but only the kind that taps into our God-given glory and power.

Growing up as the oldest in a single-parent home doesn’t do much to foster and encourage your dreams. My own broken relationship with my dad has always made it difficult to relate to my Heavenly Father. Sometimes I can hear Jesus speaking and it’s beautiful talking with him, but there’s always been a blank when it comes to relating with the Father.

Jonathan David Helser and his wife, Melissa Helser, lead worship around the world and are deeply entwined with their artistic community in North Carolina. We are grateful that Jonathan took time to discuss with us the relationship that men have with worship music and also the beauty and power that occurs when guys let go and engage in worship wholeheartedly.

Ben hit my radar because fellow members of our team listen to his podcast religiously. He has a penchant for taking things seriously, for using his life and his body as an experiment, and he therefore engages life not theoretically but with that “grab the reins and hold on” attitude that defines pioneers in frontiers everywhere. What follows is a deep dive into the multiple wells that Ben has been exploring lately—wells that I believe overlap with the interests of the And Sons tribe but that may be explored or thought about slightly differently than we typically would.

My pornography use was the background sin while every other hard thing happened in our family. It was, in a very sick way, like an anchor. A marriage ended. Another began. More kids. My second (and forever) wife asked me a couple times if I ever struggled with pornography and of course I said no. Then she would dream that I was using it, and I would throw it back in her face. How could you!? I would white knuckle it here and there, trying to stop. In all my adult life, I might have gone a month at most and then I’d give in. I could not stop. I believed I needed and deserved it.

I remember sitting on the curb in front of my old apartment in Colorado Springs, half-drunk and weeping to my mother on the phone. “I don’t know who I am sober,” I told my mom. “I’m scared.”

My counselor has challenged me deeply in these beliefs, and if I’m being completely transparent, I’m still wrestling with this. But his argument to me is that, as a born-again believer in Christ and because of His atoning work on the cross, I hold both depravity and dignity. He challenged me that I focus too much on my depravity and not enough on the imbued dignity of all image-bearers, but especially those born again into the new covenant in Christ. Now, he’s not telling me to go wild out and do whatever the heck I want. But he has been gently (and not so gently) prodding my notions of sonship.

February found a cohort of And Sons pals intentionally committing to a singular practice that brings life: Year 2 of the February Experiment. Some of us have a hard enough time committing to brush our teeth twice a day, and yet we long to engage and mature in practices that stir the heart. So, with the best intentions to be disciplined, focused and dialed in, we tackled FebEx 2. How’d it go? A few kind souls share their experiences here.

So here I am, driving a pickup truck for the first time. I feel like a boy tagging along on “take your kid to work day,” and maybe that feeling is right: At the ripe age of 33 I have been given permission to be childishly curious again. Every day, everything I do is a first. First time using a cat’s paw. First time laying baseboard. First time demo-ing a kitchen. First time worrying if there will be a place at the job site for me to poop. It feels fun—and terrifying. When was the last time I let myself be the amateur in the room?

While on an epic caribou hunt this fall, north of the arctic circle, we followed a curious tip from an old Inuit guide and stumbled upon the North Pole Workshop. There we found The Man himself—Father Christmas—just as warm and inviting as you’d expect, and surprisingly candid. So here it is folks: an And Sons exclusive!

I honor and support any man who’s taking any initiative with his sexuality because we know that all sexuality is broken. It’s not just people that are “addicted” to sex, or porn, or people that have sexual trauma; all sexuality is broken. And to make movement toward that is really an honorable and strong thing. However, most young guys, when speaking about sexuality, are expecting one of four things.

A crisis of faith is not like puberty: no one sits you down and tells you what to expect. That’s unfortunate because most of us will enter times of unraveling, when we wonder what will become of our walk with God. Lacking a frame for this kind of experience, we proceed with fear and trembling, braced for the worst, not knowing that there is beauty and goodness to be found. I’d like to pass along a few tools that have helped me to reconstruct my faith. I can’t map out the wild territory God is leading you into, but I can point out a few landmarks and landmines you’re likely to find along the way.

Rational progress is my favorite false gospel. It goes this way: though Jesus definitely helps, people can see the truth apart from him (ignore, for a second, Jesus’s own thoughts on this), and when they do, they’ll do the right thing. Good information saves the world. Silly, right? Indeed. But no more so than the other false gospels, which are, in effect, alternative salvation strategies. Everybody has one.

The objectification of women has become normative. Many times through pornography use, men develop what I call a “pornographic style of relating” in which men learned how to relate to women from pornography. Think about your past, your present, and what you hope for your future. Let’s review these aspects of healthy and unhealthy sexuality together.

Survival is a gift we rarely appreciate. As a therapist, my job is to help people get out of survival mode, to stop just coping or getting by, and find their hearts and really live again. But all of that work matters only if we can first bless survival. Surviving a traumatic event or a crisis matters most. If we move on too fast or with too much gusto, we miss the chance to be grateful for what got us through.

Silicone Boone’s “The Reaches” is a lauded concept album about exploring space and alien contact. Much has been written about how this ex-Amish songwriter came to love this topic, and we’re honored that he took some time to discuss it in this And Sons exclusive interview.

Everyone has a story. Everyone has heartbreak; everyone has deep desires that have shaped them into the man or woman that you meet today. To love someone well and to partner with God in their restoration and with God’s vision for their life requires you to understand that story. Without knowing someone’s story, interacting with them is to meet the sum of a life incomprehensible, to navigate without sextant or map.

My diploma was still in an unopened Manila envelope on my apartment desk when I stood in front of a crowd of 300 sets of smiling eyes to tell them about what I’d committed to doing for the rest of my life. Though I didn’t say it in so many words, at 22, I knew I wanted to change the world for God.

Arousal is normally a source of great shame for many, yet the response of being aroused by beauty is a stunning act created by God, calling us to the beauty of heaven. Pornography has caused us to demonize something potentially glorious. When arousal controls you, the problem is not your arousal itself; it’s your choices. We must learn to enter into our fear of beauty with integrity, boundaries, and courage.

When facing my deepest shame and terror, I had to answer my deepest question and greatest fear: Am I a good man despite the evils I have perpetrated?

As anyone who works in the service industry can tell you, it’s hard work—spending the day on your feet, navigating the stress of rushes and the frustration customers take out on you. But I had finally mopped my last floor. I was done with the feeling that my college degree meant nothing. I was done with the service industry. But as I locked the door and walked away from my last closing shift and a story three years in the making, one year at this specific job, I felt no gratification, only loss.