Weekend at the Workbench 002

“An Offering Acceptable”

It’s Friday again. The work is still unfinished. And the weight is real.

This week, I came home from Montana to a hard reality—one that I helped create. We’d made commitments to vendors and subs that we couldn’t keep, based on receivables we expected but never received. A few of those guys are my friends, which made the news harder to deliver and even harder to carry.

Some of those conversations got tense. Threats were made. And I had to sit in the tension—fully aware that I wasn’t in control of the outcome, but still responsible for the way I handled it.

By 4:30 Friday, the building was empty. I was still at my desk - stayed there for an hour wrapping up the final loose ends that had to be done before I called it a week. 5 years ago, I’d have disappeared by 2pm to go blow off steam. I didn’t hit the bar or hide behind a late meeting, or some lame excuse as to why I missed dinner…again.

I came home.

My wife was in the driveway with my sister, talking after a walk. I took off my boots, sat down, and tried to zone out. That’s when she walked in and said:

“Aren’t you going to that new meeting?”

It was a Grapevine-based AA group I had heard about last week. I told her it might be too late. She said gently, “It seems like you could use one.”

She wasn’t accusing me. She was inviting me. To take care of myself. To walk it out differently. To be formed—not just bruised.

So I went. Showed up late. Sat in the circle. Listened to men and women share about things that made my week look small. And I was reminded: this isn’t about escape. It’s about offering.

⸻

“Make my whole self into an offering of praise…”

The Exodus 90 reflection this week struck like a hammer:

“Make my whole self into an offering of praise… united to the sacrifice of Christ. Strengthen me so I may never shrink back by preferring my ideas and passions.”

The old version of me would’ve chosen shame, silence, or sedation.
This week, I chose to show up.
To stay in the fight.
To let the process of formation go one step deeper.

Weekend at the Workbench

The workbench isn’t a stage.
It’s not a confessional booth.
It’s the place where men get formed by the fight they didn’t ask for.

So here’s the question for all of us as we step into this weekend:
• Where do I usually escape instead of offer?
• What would it look like to stay a little longer at the bench?
• Who’s inviting me into something better—and am I listening?

See you next Friday.
Keep your boots on.