Why I'm Doing This

It was a Saturday afternoon, the summer before my son was going to be born. I'd told my wife I'd mow the lawn in the morning. I slept through my alarm. Or that's what I told myself. I knew I'd hit snooze. I'd stayed up until 1 a.m. playing video games again, because Friday was my weekend night and I deserved it after a long week.

I needed to clear my head before facing her. So I got in the shower.

I looked down at my gut. It was the biggest it had ever been. But I told myself the same lie I'd been telling myself for two years. At least I'm not as big as the other guys. At least I'm not that bad.

I stayed in too long. The water started running cold. I stepped out, grabbed my phone, and a Facebook notification was waiting on the screen. A year ago today.

It was a picture of me. Skinny. Smiling. Disciplined. Growing in the Lord.

I looked up into the mirror.

I didn't recognize the man staring back.

The man in the mirror wasn't who I used to be. And worse — he wasn't who I'd been telling everyone I was. I preached discipline on Wednesday and Sunday. This was Saturday. And Saturday was the truth.

• • •

I stared at the man in the mirror and asked myself: “how did I get here?” I had been fighting porn since I was 13. It all started with my first iPod touch with access to the internet. One moment I am searching the app store for new games to play and the next I realize I have a search browser and can look up anything I want and no one would know. Except for the Lord of course.

Eventually I broke free of the habit. I don't even remember exactly when. But my mind never forgot the images, videos, or fantasies. I told myself marriage would end it. I was wrong. The fantasies and memories didn't disappear — they just got harder to hide because now there was someone in bed next to me. Looking back, I see how demonic that thinking was. It started bleeding into my marriage. We weren't on bad terms — we talked about life, work, ministry, our families. But I never told her the truth. I never told her I felt like a piece of garbage because whenever we wanted to be intimate, I had to pray hard for the Lord to keep my mind pure.

And here's the worst part. Every week I'd stand in front of men and preach the very things I was failing at. I'm preaching the importance of staying pure in mind while fighting tooth and nail to keep mine pure. I'm preaching discipline and self-control while going to town on whole bags of chips because 'I deserve this for all my hard work.' I'm teaching that our bodies are gifts from God while not even taking care of mine.

I weighed 165 when I married my wife. By the time my son was on the way, I was over 200. The man who was ready to provide the best life for us had stopped working out, stopped tracking food, stopped getting up early, stopped pursuing her with passion. I'd stopped doing everything I'd promised God I'd do.

• • •

Everything changed when I admitted I needed help. I'd built this prison with my own decisions. I wasn't going to unbuild it alone.

As the oldest brother of 5, I'd always been the example. The leader. The one who was supposed to know what to do. But I was so lost I didn't feel like I deserved any of it. So I swallowed my pride and went to my youngest brother.

Nathan had lost over 100 pounds in a year while still enjoying the foods he loved and without living in a gym. One Sunday after church, I walked into his kitchen while he was prepping his lunch — kitchen scale out, weighing chicken, broccoli, and rice. I joked, "It's not that serious, is it?"

He looked at me and said, "That's why I'm not fat like you. I actually know what I'm putting in my body."

That hurt. But it was true. I'd just gotten back from slamming a giant plate of Mexican food with chips and salsa. Here was my little brother — shredded, strong, confident — telling his big brother the truth nobody else would. I apologized for the joke. Then I asked him to coach me.

Nathan gave me a simple plan. He showed me an app to track everything I ate and drank, pointed at a number, and said, "Don't go over this no matter what. Give me a week of consistency and we'll figure out what's next."

Week one was hard. I was hungry most of the time. I kept telling myself, Suffer now. Enjoy later. This is just my body letting go of what it shouldn't be carrying. I tracked everything like a madman. No macros, no vitamins, no distractions — just one number, every day, under the line.

Seven days later, the scale was down five pounds.

I couldn't believe it. I'd been told weight loss was impossible. It wasn't. It was a choice. Three weeks later I needed new pants and a new belt. My wife started saying things I'll keep to myself — let's just say she noticed, and she liked it. There were moments I wanted to coast because I'd already "lost enough." But I knew the Lord hadn't called me to good enough. He'd called me to go all in.

As the weight came off, my confidence came back. And something I didn't expect started happening: it got easier to say no to lust. When a fantasy rose up or a temptation came across my screen, I treated it the same way I treated a craving for food I shouldn't eat. I said no. And I meant it.

One night I was playing video games with friends. We hopped off Discord around midnight and I went to close out Steam. A sale popped up — the cover was a scantily dressed woman. Instantly, I wanted to click. Or — my flesh wanted to click. I won't call that me anymore.

The thought to click rose up. And right behind it came another thought, in the exact same shape as the food-temptation thought I'd been beating for months: What you choose now determines who you become. What does the real Matthew do here?

I closed the app and went to bed.

Lying there in the dark, it hit me. My spiritual discipline was being strengthened by my physical discipline. The verse I'd preached a hundred times was finally being lived.

"Do you not know that your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit within you, whom you have from God, and that you are not your own? For you have been bought for a price: therefore glorify God in your body."

— 1 Corinthians 6:19-20

I'd prayed a thousand times, "Lord, you can have every part of my life." I'd meant my heart. My desires. My ministry. I'd never once meant my body. Now I was finally living the prayer I'd been praying for years.

Over the next year, I started seeing it everywhere. It wasn't just lust. It was the snooze button. It was the third hour of video games when I should've been with my wife. It was the prayer time I kept skipping. The same lying voice that told me "one more bite" was the voice telling me "one more click," "one more episode," "one more snooze."

One no had taught me how to say it everywhere.

• • •

I'm forty-five pounds lighter than I was that Saturday in the bathroom. I see abs in the mirror most mornings. But I'm not telling you that to brag — I'm telling you because Saturday me would have called present me a liar if you'd shown him a picture.

I was approached by a man in our congregation a few weeks ago and he said, “Matthew, you look big! Not big as in how you used to look, but big as in your muscles are huge!” This was a compliment that I never thought I would hear from anyone. It caught me off guard, and then I got to do my favorite thing in the whole wide world; give God the credit. I answered with, “Thank you so much. I couldn’t have done any of this without God. He convicted me and has been pushing me to be the best I can be in my mind, body, and soul. All glory to God!”

The same can be said about my marriage. On our vacation last year, my wife said, “Matthew, I want you to help me — I want to be in better shape too.” So we decided to start choosing at least 1 or 2 days a week to work out together. We love these times because we get to talk, push one another, and dream.

Doing this together almost feels like a dream. A year ago I would lay in bed beside her and feel so distant because I knew what I was dealing with in my mind: the struggle with lust, the difficulty communicating that I didn’t like the way I looked, the constant worry of whether I'd be able to provide the best life for our family.

But after losing the weight and creating lasting habits that align with all of those goals, I can say plainly that it is no longer a dream, it is reality. I lay beside my wife with confidence and a love that burns deeper than before, I can talk to her about anything, and we are open about where we are financially and have a plan for our dreams. But the man I'm becoming isn't just for her. He's also for the boy watching us.

My wife and I will never be the parents who drop our whole lives for our kids. That isn't biblical. But what we will do is train him up in the way he should go (Proverbs 22:6). And that calling isn't just spiritual — it's lifestyle. It's the way you eat, drink, think, act, react.

Silas is only 18 months old. But he's watching. He's copying. When I hug his mother, he wants to come hug her. When I kiss her, he comes to kiss her. When I lift something heavy, he wants to lift it too. When I go feed the chickens, he wants to feed the chickens.

He's watching and copying. And one thing I'm proclaiming over him — believing for him — is that he'll watch his daddy chase after the Lord Jesus and steward the life God gave him. And one day, he'll do the same.

I'd be lying if I said the fight is over. I still have nights I want to hit snooze. I still have moments my eyes linger somewhere they shouldn't. I still wrestle with filtering content in our house. Just the other night I was spending time with the Lord in prayer and the Bible and felt the Holy Spirit convict me for allowing a show in my house that wasn’t as pure as my standards should allow.

The man in the mirror isn't finished. But he's no longer the man from Saturday. I'm not done. I'll never be done. But I'm finally moving in the right direction. And if you've read this far, I'm guessing you want to be too.

• • •

You see, I am writing you my story, but if you are honest with yourself, you can hear your heart all throughout it.

Maybe you don’t have a biological brother named Nathan, but you do have a spiritual brother named Matthew that is looking at you saying, “Yeah I’m not bound anymore, because I know what I am doing with my life. What are you doing with yours?” Not in a harmful or hateful tone. But in one that cares enough to call you higher.

Maybe you have had the Saturday morning realization that you have let yourself go and it's time to grab ahold of yourself again. Maybe you are lying three feet from your wife and the gap feels like a mile. It’s time to close the gap. Maybe you feel like your mind is so full of garbage that it is impossible to clean. Let me tell you, you already know that God can clean us white as snow. Maybe you are watching your son grow up and you are worried about the man that he will turn into because you know who you look at in the mirror every day. It isn’t too late for you. Or for him.

We’ve never met — but I see you. I’ve never shaken your hand — but through these words I believe you know that I was you. So I want to say, “Hey man. I see you.”

I’ve built the F5 Brotherhood for us. For my past self. For your present self. For the ones that are done pretending and ready to truly thrive.

This isn’t another Christian club. This isn’t some self-help program with a million videos to watch to inspire you. This isn’t a church service. This isn’t a place where we accept you as you are. We call you higher. This is a living brotherhood. With real men, telling real stories about their bodies, their marriages, their porn fights, their faith, and their fathering.

A weekly call where you choose to stop hiding. A pastor in the trenches with you, not preaching at you from a stage but getting down in the muck with you. A community you have access to 24/7. Brothers who will know your name and your struggles. And will help you carry them until they are conquered. And they'll be there on Thursday whether you are or not. Still fighting for you.

Scripture says that iron sharpens iron in Proverbs 27:17. A knife used constantly on wood will become dull and pointless, until it comes into constant friction with iron. When sparks fly and tension is moved, the sharpening happens. It is an intentional practice.

So you can keep on doing what you have always done. You can keep saying that you promise this is the last time you go to that site. It's the last time you’ll hit the snooze. It’s the last time you will allow the night to go by feeling a million miles away from your wife. It’s the last time you’ll just “start on Monday.” Or you can do what past Matthew did. Swallow your pride. Say enough is enough. 'I need help.’

Your wife is waiting for the husband she married.

Your kids are watching to see what kind of man their dad actually is.

Our God is calling you to glorify Him in your body, not just from a pulpit (1 Corinthians 6:19-20).

Your future self is waiting on you.

There's a brotherhood of men ready to fight beside you the moment you decide to stop fighting alone.

The door is open. Walk through it.

• • •