Pass the Baton

03/02/2026

The Man God Wouldn’t Let Go Of
What Jacob’s Story Says to Every Man Who’s Failed

To my Son-

I want to talk to you about a man who started out as a manipulator and ended up as a patriarch.

His name was Jacob, I know you’re familiar with who he is. So, if we’re honest… he wasn’t the clean-cut hero type. He was insecure, Competitive with his brother, Always trying to secure his future through control. He grabbed for things instead of trusting for them. From the womb he was grasping. And yet before he ever did anything right — before he stole a birthright, before he deceived his father — God had already spoken:

“The older will serve the younger.”

God chose him before he proved himself.
Let that sit.
Before Jacob succeeded. Before Jacob failed. Before Jacob even knew who he was. God already knew. Jacob was a conniver:
Jacob wanted the blessing — but he tried to force it. He tricked his brother. He deceived his father. He ran for his life. And if we stopped the story there, you’d say, “That guy disqualified himself.” But God didn’t stop the story there. For twenty years Jacob lived with the consequences of his choices. He was deceived by his uncle. Worked harder than he ever imagined. Felt fear, Felt regret. Felt the weight of his own mess. God didn’t erase the consequences.
But He didn’t remove the calling either.

That’s something every man who feels like he’s blown it needs to hear. Failure is not final in the hands of God. Then one night everything changed, a moment in Jacob’s life where he’s alone by a river. He’s about to face his brother — the one he wronged. He’s afraid, And God meets him there. Jacob wrestles all night.
Not with his brother. Not with his past. With God. And when morning comes,

God changes his name to: Israel — “one who wrestles with
God.”

He walks away with a limp.
Not healed of it. Marked by it. And here’s the part that gets me every time…God didn’t rename him after he became perfect. God renamed him after he stopped running and started clinging.

God knew Jacob’s insecurity. God knew his manipulation. God knew his fear. And God still chose him to carry the promise first given to Abraham. Why? Because the covenant was never about perfect men. It was about a faithful God.

Through that flawed man’s lineage would eventually come Jesus Christ. Not because Jacob was spotless. But because God redeems stories.

Let me, say this clearly—
If you feel like:

• You’ve made too many mistakes
• You’ve wasted years
• You’re behind everyone else
• You’re disqualified from leadership
• You’re too inconsistent to be used by God

You are in good company. Jacob’s early life reads like a cautionary tale. But his later life reads like redemption. God didn’t use Jacob because he was polished. He used him because eventually… Jacob stopped scheming and started surrendering. Some men think if God forgives them, He’ll remove all reminders. But often He leaves a limp.
Not to shame you. To humble you. To remind you who carried you through the night. The limp becomes your testimony. It softens you. It deepens you. It keeps you dependent. And in a world full of men pretending to be strong, the man who has wrestled and survived carries a different kind of authority.

For you Ethan—

God knew your wiring before you ever stumbled. He knew the addiction before it surfaced. He knew the insecurity before it spoke. He knew the choices before you made them. And He is not pacing heaven wondering what to do with you now. He is forming you. Jacob wasn’t defined by his worst decision. He was defined by the God who wouldn’t let go of him. You may feel like you’ve grabbed at life trying to secure your own blessing. But there comes a night where you stop grabbing and start holding on. That’s where identity changes. That’s where strength becomes real. That’s where boys begin to become men.

A Word to Every one Reading This:

Your past may explain you. It does not own you. Your failures may mark you. They do not define you. If you are willing to wrestle honestly...If you are willing to cling instead of control… If you are willing to limp instead of pretend… God will write a different ending than you expect. Jacob the deceiver became Israel the father of nations. Not because he cleaned himself up. But because he stayed in the fight with God. And so will you.

Love you.
Keep wrestling.
Don’t let go.

Dad—

Pass the Baton

02/19/2026

Pass the Baton | Letter Five
Strong Enough to Protect. Gentle Enough to Be Trusted.

There’s something I’ve grow to understand and see more clearly over time. It’s not enough to be strong. And it’s not enough to be gentle. We are called to be both.
I’ve shared through my posts and we’ve talked about watching love break… choosing covenant when it would be easier not to… learning the cost of laying down our lives… and making room instead of forcing control.
But this is where it all comes together.

If the people closest to me are not protected by my strength and safe in my presence, something is missing. I’ve had to wrestle with that.
There were seasons when I leaned hard into strength — firm, decisive, steady. But I learned strength without tenderness can create distance. It can feel intimidating even when it’s well-intentioned. I would know.

And then there were seasons when I softened — patient, understanding, careful. But tenderness without courage can leave the people we love unprotected, uncertain, unsupported.

Jesus was never divided inside Himself. He was the Lion — unshaken in truth, unmovable in conviction. And He was the Lamb — gentle, sacrificial, approachable.

Not half of one. Not alternating between the two. Both at the same time.
That’s the kind of man I want to become. And pray the one He’s been molding me into.

Not loud.
Not passive.
Not controlling.
Not disappearing.

But steady. Strong enough to protect what matters. Gentle enough to be trusted with someone’s heart. My wife, my family and my friends.

The world pushes men to extremes, dominate, compete Or withdraw.
Power up. Or shut down. Christ calls us higher. He calls us to integrity of heart — where strength and tenderness live together. So I’ve been sitting with this question myself:

Are the people closest to me both protected by my strength and safe in my presence — or is one of those missing?

Because the measure of love isn’t what I think I’m giving. It’s what they’re experiencing.
And if we get this right — if we learn to be both the lion and the lamb — we don’t just strengthen our marriages.
We pass something down.

We show our sons what courage looks like without cruelty.
We show our daughters what strength looks like without fear.
We show our wives what leadership looks like without control.
This isn’t about perfection. It’s about formation.

And I’m still being formed.

— Cubby
Pass the Baton

02/11/2026

There are seasons in marriage where strength doesn’t look like pushing harder… it looks like softening.

Where love isn’t proven by winning an argument, fixing a problem, or getting your way—
but by making room.
Room for her heart.
Room for her fears.
Room for her story.

I’m still learning that gentleness isn’t weakness.
It’s courage under control.
It’s choosing to understand when it would be easier to defend.
It’s staying present when walking away would feel safer.

Marriage has a way of teaching us things no other relationship can.
It exposes us, stretches us, humbles us—and if we let it—it softens us into better men.

This fourth letter is about that kind of strength.
The strength that makes room.
The strength that listens.
The strength that loves with gentleness and understanding.

If you’re a husband, I hope it speaks to your heart the way it’s been speaking to mine.

—Cubby

Pass the Baton—A Letter to Men (and Those Who Love Them)

With 27 years of marriage behind me, and 6 kids still finding their way, there are things that weigh heavily on me. As a husband, as a father and as a man—

This has been on my heart for a long time. I think we can all agree we’re living in some different days. Days where marriage is disparaged, criticized and questioned, a day where manhood and masculinity has become confusing and relational love often feels fragile or unrealistic.

Many of us grew up watching relationships fracture. We learned how to survive—but not always how to love deeply and stay present.

I’m not writing this as a man who has it all figured out.

I’m writing as a man who has stayed in the fight.

I believe marriage still matters.

I still believe covenant love is real.

I still believe God didn’t make a mistake when He designed men to be both strong and gentle.

Over the next several Mondays, I’ll be sharing a short series of letters—written from the middle, not the mountaintop, not from the valley. Letters shaped by lived experience, Scripture, and the contrast between what the world is showing us and what God has actually called us into.

These aren’t lectures.
They’re invitations.

For men—to reflect, repent where needed, and step more fully into who God is calling us to be.

For couples—to slow down, listen, and remember what covenant love was meant to look like.

If you’re tired of shallow definitions of love…
If you’re still willing to fight for faith, marriage, and family…

I pray the letters will encourage you, equip you and empower you...

To live out a covenant marriage,
Love well,
And Pass the Baton.

02/11/2026

Pass the Baton | Letter Four —
“I Thought Love Meant Leading—It Turns Out It Meant Listening”

One of my biggest break throughs in my thinking, my heart and ultimately our relationship came when I learned that Love doesn’t just ask us to stay.
It asks us to make room.

Room for emotions that don’t make sense to us.
Room for timing that doesn’t match ours.
Room for conversations we’d rather postpone.
Room for differences that aren’t meant to be fixed.

I used to think loving well meant having answers—
being steady, strong, decisive.

But I’ve learned that some of the most important moments in our marriage didn’t need my strength as much as they needed my gentleness.

There were times when my instinct was to explain, correct, or solve—when what was actually needed was presence. Times when my tone mattered more than my point. Times when listening without having to have a solution or an answer was the most loving thing I could do.

The world tells us that power looks like control.
God keeps showing me that love looks like understanding.

Scripture says husbands are called to live with their wives “in an understanding way.” I used to hear that as a responsibility. Now I hear it as an invitation—to slow down, to pay attention, to treat her heart as something entrusted to me, not something to manage.

Making room doesn’t mean agreeing with everything.
It means honoring someone even when you don’t.

It means recognizing that emotional safety is not created by volume or certainty—but by patience, consistency, and restraint.

I’ve had to ask myself some uncomfortable questions:

Does my presence create calm—or tension?
Do my words and tone invite openness—or shutdown?
Am I listening to understand—or listening to respond?

Gentleness isn’t weakness.
It’s strength that knows when not to push.

And understanding isn’t passive.
It takes effort, curiosity, and humility.

The world tells us to protect our space, defend our position, and stand our ground. God calls us to something deeper—to create space where love can breathe.

I’m learning that when a man makes room—when he softens his tone, slows his pace, and stays curious—love has a chance to grow where it once felt fragile.

If you’re like me, this doesn’t come naturally.
It has to be practiced.

So I’m sitting with this question—and maybe you need to sit with it too:

Am I making room for the people I love—or asking them to shrink to fit me?

Love that lasts isn’t loud.
It’s attentive.

And when we learn to make room,
we don’t just strengthen our relationships—
we reflect the heart of Christ.

— Cubby
Pass the Baton

02/03/2026

Pass the Baton | Letter Three — The Cost of Loving Well

There’s a part of loving that no one really prepares you for. We hear the verse—

“Husbands, love your wives as Christ loved the church and gave Himself up for her”

and it sounds noble… almost heroic.
But living it is quieter than that. And heavier. I’ve learned that laying down your life rarely looks dramatic.
It looks daily. It looks unseen. It looks like choosing restraint when reaction would feel justified.
It looks like staying engaged when you’re tired, misunderstood, or not affirmed.

If I’m honest, this is where love has stretched me the most. There have been moments when I wanted love to cost less— less patience, less humility, less self-denial.
Moments when I wanted to be appreciated, validated, affirmed, respected before I laid anything down.
There were moments when I wondered if giving any more of myself meant I’d lose myself.

But the Word keeps pulling me back to Christ. Jesus didn’t wait until love was reciprocated, He gave Himself without asking for anything in return. He didn’t measure sacrifice by outcome. He laid down His life because that’s what love does. We only know love because He loved us first.
And that’s hard to sit with for most of us.

Laying down your life doesn’t me you loose yourself —it just means you stop leading from a guarded place.” I’ve had to learn the difference between dying to myself and forgetting who I am. God never asks us to vanish. He asks us to be formed.

The world tells us: “Don’t give too much.” “Guard your heart.” “Make sure you’re getting yours.” But Scripture tells us:
“There is no greater love than this—to lay down your life for another.”

That kind of love isn’t weakness. It’s strength under control. It’s choosing faithfulness over fairness. Presence over pride. Obedience over outcome And here’s what I’m still learning—laying down your life doesn’t mean you won’t feel the weight. It means you choose to carry it with God instead of throwing it back on the people you love. This isn’t a call to martyrdom. It’s a call to maturity. To show up when it would be easier to shut down. To soften when hardening would feel safer. To love without keeping score.

If you’re feeling tired in your love right now, you’re not failing. You’re being invited deeper. To deeper water and higher ground.

So I ask myself—and maybe you need to ask yourself too: What am I holding onto that God is asking me to lay down—not to lose myself, but to become more like Him?

Love costs.
But it also forms.
And every time we choose to lay down our lives in small, faithful ways,
we pass on something far greater than words. We pass on the way of Christ and love well.

— Cubby

Lord,
Help us discern when love is calling us to deny ourselves, and when fear is causing us to protect ourselves. Give us strength to live out who You made us to be. Give us the courage to lay down what we need to— not out of guilt, but out of love. Form us through the cost, and help us love the way You love us—
faithfully, humbly, and present.
Amen.

Pass the Baton

01/28/2026

“The Strength of a Gentle Man”
by Cubby Chalmers

There was a time in my life when I thought strength meant never bending.

I thought being a man meant holding my ground, never backing down, raising my voice when I felt disrespected, and keeping my heart armored so no one could wound it.
That mindset worked on the field when I was a young athlete—small but fierce, outmatched but never out-hearted.
It carried me through football games where the guys across from me were bigger, stronger, heavier… but never more determined.

That same grit shaped the soul of the man.

But it wasn’t until years into marriage that God began shaping the spirit of the man.

Because the truth is this:

The toughest battles I ever fought weren’t against opponents on the field—
they were inside my own heart.

Somewhere along the way, my toughness turned into defensiveness.
My fire turned into frustration.
My raised voice became a shield to protect myself from the pain I didn’t know how to articulate.

But my heart…
my heart wouldn’t let me quit.

Because even when things were breaking down, even when misunderstanding and fear filled the space between my wife and me, I still recognized her heart—buried under pain, confusion, and years of misalignment.

Something in me refused to walk away.

And now—after years of humbling, listening, learning, repenting, adjusting, and softening—I feel more masculine than I ever have in my life.

Not because I’m louder.
Not because I’m tougher.
Not because I dominate the space.

But because I finally learned the dance.

I learned her rhythm.
I learned how her heart breathes.
I learned that gentleness isn’t weakness—
it’s mastery.
It’s restraint.
It’s sacrificial strength.

And here’s the secret most men never discover:

A man does not lose himself by attuning to his wife—
he finds the truest version of himself.

When a man becomes safe…
when he becomes steady…
when he learns patience, tone, presence, and emotional intelligence…

He becomes a knight in shining armor.
Not because of muscle or bravado—
but because he carries his strength with tenderness.

And that kind of man?

A woman can trust.
A woman can soften for.
A woman can rest beside.

⸻

Scripture

“Husbands, love your wives, just as Christ loved the church and gave Himself up for her.”
(Ephesians 5:25)

“The wisdom from above is first pure, then peace-loving, gentle…”
(James 3:17)

⸻

Reflection Questions for Men
1. What part of your masculinity has been shaped more by fear than by faith?
2. Where do you rely on toughness when God is calling you to gentleness?
3. What would change in your marriage if you learned your wife’s rhythm instead of expecting her to dance to yours?
4. What childhood moments shaped the man you became—and which moments is God reshaping now?
5. Are you leading your home with authority… or with attuned love?

⸻

A Closing Prayer

“Father, shape the spirit of the man in me.
Teach me the strength of gentleness, the power of patience, and the courage of emotional honesty.
Make me a safe place for my wife’s heart, a steady leader for my home, and a man whose masculinity reflects Christ Himself.
Amen.”

Pass the Baton

01/28/2026

I’m not writing this as a man who has marriage figured out.
I’m writing as a man who’s still being shaped.

Over the years, God has been teaching me that being a husband isn’t about having all the answers—it’s about learning what He is asking of me in covenant.

I used to think leadership meant fixing.
God showed me it means covering.

Covering your bride isn’t control.
It’s protection.
It’s presence.
It’s absorbing weight so she doesn’t have to carry it alone.

It looks like listening when it would be easier to explain.
Staying steady when emotions run high.
Guarding her heart—especially in her vulnerable places.
Praying over her when she’s exhausted, overwhelmed, or running on empty.

Covering means your strength becomes her safety.

Not because she’s weak—
but because love takes responsibility.

Christ covered His Bride by laying Himself down.
That’s the model.
That’s the calling.

Marriage isn’t a destination—it’s a refining fire.
And God doesn’t ask us to be perfect husbands,
He asks us to be faithful, humble, and willing to grow.

This is the baton we carry as men.
This is the baton we pass.

— Pass the Baton

01/27/2026

01/27/2026

Pass the Baton | Letter Two — Staying When Pulling Away Would Be Easier
I want to take one step closer inward, in hopes of both sharing and connecting this week.

In the first letter, I talked about how many of us didn’t reject love—we watched it break. That’s true. But there’s another truth I’ve had to face in my own life:
Watching love break doesn’t just shape what we believe…it shapes how we show up every time after.
I know because I’ve felt it in myself. There were seasons where staying emotionally present was harder than staying physically present. Seasons where it would have been easier to pull back, guard my heart, or simply go quiet instead of leaning in. Not because I didn’t love my wife—but because love, real covenant love, was asking more of me than I felt capable of giving. The world has a name for that instinct. It calls it self-protection, and if I were to be really honest—Fear.
However, Gods Word calls us to something different. It calls us into a covenant.
Covenant isn’t romantic language—it’s faithful language. It doesn’t say, “I’ll stay as long as this feels good.” It says, “I’m here, even when this costs me.” I’ve learned—sometimes the hard way—that love can’t grow when other options are always on the table. You might survive that way, but you won’t experience intimacy. You might stay married, but you’ll slowly drift apart. God never designed marriage to be a contract. He designed it to be a covenant. That’s why Scripture says marriage is witnessed by God Himself. That’s why faithfulness matters even when no one is clapping. That’s why staying engaged—especially when it’s uncomfortable—is part of our spiritual formation and maturity, not just relationship management.
And this isn’t just a call to men.
For men, covenant calls us out of passivity and into presence. For women, covenant offers security —not control, not silence, but covering.
Covenant creates a space where:
men learn to stay instead of withdraw, women learn they are not alone and both learn that love isn’t sustained by feelings, but by faithfulness. I’ve had to ask myself questions that weren’t comfortable:
Where am I half-present instead of fully engaged? Where do I protect myself instead of trusting God with my heart? where have I mistaken endurance for intimacy? The world tells us to look out for ourselves, keep options open.
God calls us to stay rooted. And staying rooted doesn’t mean pretending everything is fine. It means choosing faithfulness inside the tension. I’ve learned that covenant isn’t about perfection. It’s about posture. It’s the daily decision to show up again…to soften when hardening would feel safer…to stay present when withdrawal would feel easier. If you’re walking this road too—married, committed, trying to love well in a world that keeps telling you to protect yourself first—you’re not behind. You’re being formed.
Think on this, this week:
Where is God inviting you to recommit—not just to marriage, but to being present? For those not there yet— How am I preparing myself to be the Husband God is calling me to be within that Covenant?
We don’t walk this out alone. And we don’t pass the baton by accident.
We do it by making the choice to stay, to keep the covenant—again and again.

— Cubby

Lord,

Teach us to choose covenant when it would be easier to protect ourselves.
Soften what has hardened.
Strengthen what feels weary.
Help us stay present, faithful, and rooted—
not by our strength, but by Yours.
Amen.

01/21/2026

Some battles look obvious.
Others are fought where no one else can see.

I’ve learned that growth doesn’t come from avoiding the inner fight—but from facing it with humility, courage, and surrender.

The work God does in us is what ultimately shapes what we pass on.

This is the baton worth carrying.

Pass the Baton.