14 lessons from 24 years of marriage, 5 kids we homeschooled on food bank groceries, and every mistake a man can make.
I’ve been married for 24 years.
Five kids. All homeschooled. My wife was pregnant for 8 of those years.
We pawned stuff to make rent. Hit the food bank more times than I can count. Drove beater cars while friends upgraded their lives.
MacGyver lied to me.
At eight years old, I thought his Swiss Army knife made him capable. That’s the lie a whole generation swallowed. Not about knives. About manhood.
Turns out, you don’t become a man by owning the right tools.
You become one by staying when everything in you wants to leave.
Here are 14 lessons nobody told me.
1. “Retiring your wife” sounds noble until you’re at the food bank for the third time that month.
I retired my wife 24 years ago so she could stay home with our kids.
Nobody told me that “building a family” actually meant poverty, pawnshops, and ramen for dinner. That she’d be awake at 2 AM and I couldn’t fix it.
I regret not understanding what I was asking her to sacrifice.
I don’t regret the choice.
2. Your kids won’t remember the food bank. They’ll remember Mom was there.
Every. Single. Day.
Not daycare. Not babysitters. Not whatever “village” the world says it takes.
Mom.
The world calls that “wasting potential.” The same world that says quarterly earnings matter more than raising humans who know they’re loved.
3. The MacGyver your son needs to become isn’t the one on TV.
My youngest son is 19. Ultra marathoner. The kind of man you want around when stuff goes sideways.
He can fix anything. Build anything. Solve anything.
Not because of a Swiss Army knife.
Because I stayed on the job site when I wanted to quit. And he watched.
4. Your oldest son will become a father. Pray he’s ready.
My oldest is 21. He’s Blake’s dad.
I watched my grandson fight for his life in the NICU. Watched my son step into a weight he’d only seen me carry.
Everything I did wrong, he’s correcting.
Everything I did right, he’s multiplying.
Your son is watching. What will he repeat?
5. Raise daughters who can handle themselves.
My oldest daughter is 23. Works with autistic children.
She’s 120 pounds. Uses her ju-jitsu training to restrain 200+ pound non-verbal kids who are beating on her.
She’s been hit. Yelled at. Tested.
She doesn’t quit.
Because she watched her mother not quit.
6. Some gifts don’t look like gifts at first.
My middle daughter turns 18 soon. Concert pianist. Plays for the local high school.
We couldn’t afford lessons for years. She practiced on a keyboard with broken keys.
Now she plays for hundreds.
Poverty didn’t stop her gift. It revealed it.
7. Raise at least one kid the world will hate.
My youngest daughter is 15. Charlie Kirk in a girl’s body.
She can debate with the best of them. Loves her country. Wears her MAGA hat into any room without shame.
The system tried to soften her. The culture tried to silence her.
We raised her louder.
8. Your wife’s submission is a gift. Not a right.
The moment I demanded it, I lost it.
The moment I earned it through sacrifice, she gave it freely.
Christ didn’t demand worship. He died for it.
9. There will be nights you want to kill each other.
Not metaphorically.
Actually want to walk away and never come back.
“Traditional family” sounds beautiful until you’re crying together at midnight because you can’t remember the last time either of you bought something that wasn’t from Goodwill.
Stay anyway.
10. Titus 2 and Proverbs 31 aren’t for people with money.
They’re blueprints for people willing to be poor for something that matters.
Beater cars. Saying no to every vacation. Upgrading your grocery budget from $100 to $150 a week and calling it progress.
That’s the cost. Pay it.
11. “Provider” doesn’t mean you’re a hero.
It means you carry weight you can’t put down.
You sacrifice financial freedom. She sacrifices career identity. Both of you sacrifice comfort for something bigger.
That’s the deal. It costs everything.
12. When suffering comes, it will expose your house.
When my grandson Blake got covid, my wife asked Christians to pray.
She didn’t get prayers. She got a salvation interrogation.
“Is she even saved?” “False teacher.”
Suffering didn’t break us.
It exposed who was really with us.
13. The world wants your sons castrated, your daughters confused, and your marriage dissolved.
This isn’t paranoia.
Look at the curriculum. Look at the entertainment. Look at the church.
You are the last line of defense.
Act like it.
14. Love isn’t a feeling. It’s a decision you make every day for 24 years.
Even when you’re broke and exhausted and ready to quit.
Because building something that lasts requires builders who stay on the job site.
The result?
24 years later, my kids know they were wanted.
My oldest son is a father. My youngest son is the man you call when things break.
My daughters are warriors — one restrains 200-pound men, one fills concert halls, one debates grown adults and wins.
My grandson knows me.
My wife and I do this thing together every morning.
Not because we figured it out.
Because we stayed when we wanted to leave.
That’s the whole secret.
Stay.
What’s one lesson you wish you’d learned sooner? (Reply below)
