The Hour That Builds Eternity: Finding Your Sustainable Rhythm
When the choice between calling and family is a false dichotomy
Tonight I almost gave up writing.
Modern light, ancient rhythm—one faithful hour at a time.
I was listening to a highly recommended book that seemed to be telling me to abandon this "writing fetish" that isn't producing immediate results. The author shared how he gave up his music studio to be an awesome dad. Noble. Necessary. Right.
And it gutted me.
Because here I am, pulling all-nighters to write, trying to post daily, feeling the tension between the words burning in my bones and the family sleeping in their beds. Trying to be employee, father, husband, writer, builder of Zion—and feeling like I'm failing at all of it.
Then wisdom spoke. Not in thunder. In whispers.
The False Choice
What if it's not writing OR family? What if it's writing AND family, but differently?
The Brother of Jared didn't abandon his calling after seeing God. He refined it. He built boats at a pace that let him also build a family. Moses led a nation AND raised his sons. They found the rhythm.
The music studio wasn't the calling—it was a stepping stone. My all-nighters aren't the calling—they're unsustainable passion without wisdom.
The Sustainable Rhythm
Here's what I'm learning: My children need a dad who's present. But they also need a dad who's purposeful. They need to see me stewarding gifts wisely, not abandoning them in false nobility.
So I'm setting boundaries:
One hour a day for writing
Publishing when pieces are ready, not when deadlines demand
Writing from abundance, not depletion
Letting my writing schedule serve my family, not vice versa
The Steady Plod
"Line upon line, precept upon precept." The Brother of Jared didn't sprint up the mountain. Moses didn't part the Red Sea on day one.
Some days that hour will produce a paragraph that changes a life. Other days it might birth three posts. But each hour is a stone in Zion's foundation. Each word that lifts another soul is part of the gathering.
The windows of heaven don't always burst open. Sometimes they crack wider with each faithful hour. But they do open. They always open for those who persist in purpose.
Building in Public
So here's my commitment, documented publicly:
I will write one hour a day. Not to meet quotas but to honor the gift. Not to build a platform but to build the kingdom. Not at the expense of my family but as an example to them.
My children will grow up watching a father who chose presence over performance. Who showed them what it looks like to build eternally, one steady hour at a time.
That's the real legacy.
The Joy in the Journey
You know what I discovered tonight? The tension between calling and family isn't a problem to solve—it's a rhythm to find. The wrestle itself is holy.
Every parent who's felt this pull between purpose and presence knows: It's not about choosing one or the other. It's about finding the pace that honors both.
Writing brings me joy. Sharing ideas that might lift others fills my soul. And doing it within boundaries that honor my first ministry—my family—makes it sustainable.
Your Hour
What's your hour? What gift are you stewarding? What calling keeps whispering even when life shouts?
Don't abandon it. Refine it. Find the rhythm that lets you build both your family and the kingdom. Set boundaries that honor both your gift and your responsibilities.
Because the world needs parents who are present AND purposeful. Children who see their parents stewarding gifts wisely. Families where callings aren't abandoned but integrated.
One hour a day. One stone at a time. One steady plod toward Zion.
That's how eternity is built.
P.S. To everyone who's been reading these posts: Thank you for being part of this journey. The traction may be slow, but knowing these words might lift even one soul makes the hour worthwhile. We're building something together, one post at a time.