Moments With Him ad: If you’re a busy Christian man read this…👆

On the Saturday after Thanksgiving my wife watched a video of the man I used to be. Paused it on her own laughing face. And left the room. I stayed on the couch. I didn't recognize the man either. It was a cold rainy Saturday. We were digitizing old MiniDV tapes Susan found in the garage, labeled in her handwriting, running them through a cheap capture device plugged into the laptop on the coffee table. We sat at opposite ends of the couch, not touching, the way we've sat for longer than I can remember. The tape was from Christmas twelve years ago. I was in a Santa hat. Sarah was five in reindeer footie pajamas. Ben was two, on my knee, chewing his fist. I read Luke 2 from the family Bible in a huge goofy shepherd voice, and Sarah giggled so hard she fell over sideways on the carpet. Then I handed Ben to Susan, got down on the floor with Sarah, and prayed out loud over both of them. Nothing fancy. I thanked God for another Christmas and asked Him to make me the father they need. Sarah added her own line: "And thank you for Daddy's funny voices." Susan laughed so hard she had to set her blue coffee cup down on the side table. In the present, Susan reached over and paused the video. The frame froze on her own face mid-laugh, mouth open, eyes bright, the baby in her arms. She stared at it for about ten seconds. "That was the Christmas you read Luke in the shepherd voice." She closed the laptop. "I'm going to start dinner." And she walked out. I looked at the closed laptop for a long time. What got me wasn't the video. It was that the blue cup she set down in it was in the dish rack in our kitchen right now. Same cup. Twelve years later. Remember that blue cup. It matters later. Before I tell you what I saw my wife doing in the kitchen that night, you need to understand who I am. My name is Jackson Davis, and I own Davis Freight here in Colorado Springs. I drove for other outfits for twelve years, then started my own nine years ago with one used tractor and a dry van I bought with money borrowed against my own truck. Now I run thirteen trucks hauling regional freight up and down I-25 between Pueblo, Colorado Springs, Denver and Albuquerque. I'm up at 4:30 every morning. I've never missed a payroll. I write the tithe check from my own account on the first of every month. I'm in church every Sunday. But here's something I'm not too proud of… For nine years, I've nodded off in most church services. Grace at our table takes about three seconds. "Bless this food, amen." For years when we were younger, I started every day on my knees by the bed, out loud, quietly. Susan heard it through the door while she got the kids ready. I didn't make a thing of it. The year I started my own company, I started saying I'd do it later. Then I did it in my head in the truck. Then I stopped. Neither of us ever said a word about it. I followed Susan into the kitchen. She had her back to me, chopping an onion. I tried the old joke, the one about the wise men bringing gold, frankincense and myrrh, when three wise women would've brought diapers. It used to kill. It died in the air. She didn't turn around. "You used to start every day with God out loud." Then she said, "The whole house could feel it." Then she started crying and said it was the onion. It wasn't the onion. She told me she's asked God every morning for nine years to give her that man back, ever since the week I opened the company, March 3, 2017. I stood in the doorway with my hands at my sides and said nothing. That's what I do now. "Sarah and Ben have never heard that man," she said. "They were too little to remember. They think the man at the table is who you are." Then she said, "I need you to lead this family back to Him, Jackson. I want my husband back, and I want our kids to meet him." I said nothing. What can you say when you know she's right and you've been hiding under the excuse of being busy? That night I tried to think of everything I'd done to fix it. The 365-day Bible plans I quit in week two. The generic devotionals that overwhelmed me with more scripture than I could handle. They'd go in one ear and out the other. I went to my pastor once and told him I wanted to follow God more consistently. He said, "Just read your Bible more, Jackson, and you'll be okay." That man had no idea what it is to run thirteen trucks. Monday at 5:30 in the morning I was in the yard washing the same trailer wheel with a bucket and a brush, which is what I do when I can't sleep. Dave Okafor stopped by around 6:15, like he does every other Monday. Dave runs the chapel trailer at the truck stop in Fountain off I-25. Fourteen years of sitting with drivers. Married thirty-one years. He found me at the wheel, and I mentioned the video and tried to make it sound like a joke. Dave didn't laugh. "I've been trying to figure out for three years what changed in you." Then he said, "That man in the video wasn't funny. He was free. A man who hands his day to God isn't carrying it alone, and his wife can feel it in how he walks into the kitchen." I said, "I'm up at 4:30, Dave. I've got thirteen trucks. I can't do an hour of Bible study." He said, "God never asked me for an hour. He asked for obedience. I'm at that chapel at 5:30 too. The enemy makes you busy so you don't have time for God. He knows you're the head of your house, and when you don't put God first, your family is the first one to suffer." Then he said, "Jackson, you're not a man without faith. You're a man whose faith can't survive his busy schedule." He looked at me. "At the end of a run you drop the trailer. You've been pulling yours through the front door for nine years, Jackson. Susan can hear it in the driveway. Sixty seconds is enough to unhook it." Dave walked over to his van, opened the glovebox, and came back with a small leather book. He'd already written "Jackson" inside the cover. "I keep a few for the drivers who go quiet." I said, "I don't need a devotional, Dave. I need God." He said, "Open it." Inside was a short message talking directly to men, not some generic devotional. A guided prayer. About sixty seconds. Dave said, "It's small enough that missing a day doesn't make you feel like a failure, but specific enough for you to remember the message through your day. Give it a month." Day one was Tuesday at 5:40 in the morning. I stood in the cab in the yard with my coffee in my hand and read one page out loud to an empty yard. It felt like talking on a CB radio nobody is on. Nothing happened. By day five I felt lighter, less stressed. Like the weight I've been carrying for nine years finally lifted. Week one, at dinner, I told the frankincense joke to Sarah and Ben. Susan laughed. One short, surprised laugh, with her hand over her mouth like she didn't recognize the sound. It was the laugh from the church youth group when she was seventeen and laughed at everything I said. Week two, Susan came home with grocery bags and found me on the family room floor with Ben and Sarah and the old Monopoly board. I was losing badly while Ben did a rich-man voice that made Sarah cry laughing. She stood in the doorway and said nothing. Week three, Susan walked into the kitchen at 5:30 in the morning and found me at the counter with the book, head down, praying out loud. She didn't say anything at first. Then she pulled out the stool and joined me, her own prayer, short. Week four was Christmas Eve. Sarah was seventeen and Ben was fourteen, and they were both on the floor of the family room, with Sarah holding up her phone to film it. Susan was on the couch with the blue cup in her hands. I read Luke 2 from the same family Bible in the big goofy shepherd voice. Ben groaned "Dad" and then laughed anyway. Susan laughed so hard she had to put the blue cup down. That night on the couch Susan played the clip Sarah sent her and paused it on her own laughing face. "I'm keeping this one." She put her feet in my lap. Her eyes were wet. "I've got my husband back." I didn't cry. For the first time in nine years the trailer was dropped. If you've ever watched an old video of yourself and didn't recognize the man. If your wife has been carrying your part of the faith. If your kids haven't seen you lead the way a God-fearing man is supposed to. You are not a bad man. Nobody handed you a way that fit your schedule. The devotional Dave gave me is called Moments With Him. One page, one prayer, one minute every day. Go be the man your family is waiting for. https://momentswithhim.com/products/one-moment-with-god-for-men-365-devotions?_kx=NJCBuDTB7qBm1OIwaGoDVSRFuh5Vz39MzsW2OVmn22c.Ww6kns —Jackson Davis P.S. It's a Saturday morning as I write this. Susan is at the kitchen table with the blue cup, watching the Christmas clip again. I can hear her laughing from the garage. P.P.S. Moments With Him is a daily devotional made for men: one page, one prayer, one verse, about 60 seconds. Over 50,000 men read it every morning, over 30,000 five-star reviews. It was never meant to replace the Bible. It was made so busy men can get closer to God. P.P.P.S. 30-day money-back guarantee. So if you don't feel more connected to God in 30 days, you get every penny back. P.P.P.P.S. Moments With Him is made by a small church in Rio de Janeiro, and they don't always have stock because of small print runs. I don't say this to pressure you into making a decision about your walk with God. But I say this so if you go to their site and they're out of stock, you know why. P.P.P.P.P.S. To the wives: if you've got a video on your phone of the man he used to be, you don't have to say a word about it. You can keep praying. You can also leave this devotional where he'll find it, in the door pocket of his truck, in his lunch cooler, no conversation required. It was made for men who hate to read. https://momentswithhim.com/products/one-moment-with-god-for-men-365-devotions?_kx=NJCBuDTB7qBm1OIwaGoDVSRFuh5Vz39MzsW2OVmn22c.Ww6kns