Running Metal on Metal

You’ve been running metal on metal.

The oil light’s been on for a while.

The warning signs — flashing.

The dashboard’s lit up like a Christmas tree.

But you kept going. Because the whole thing doesn’t run without you.

So you press harder.

Add more weight.

Ignore the squealing sound in your soul that says something’s wrong.

You’re carrying the load for your family.

Showing up to work.

Trying to stay connected to your wife.

Trying to be present with your kids.

Trying to walk with God…

Trying not to fall apart.

You know what that feels like?

It feels like courage.

It feels like strength.

And I want to say this clearly:

That strength is something God put in you.

It’s a good thing.

A God-given thing.

And it matters.

But here’s the tension:

You were never meant to carry that weight empty.

You were never meant to lead on fumes.

You were never designed to hold the world together in your own strength.

Marriage strain.

Addiction.

Spiritual numbness.

Exhaustion.

Apathy.

Those aren't random issues.

They’re what happens when you run dry — but keep going anyway.

When you try to carry the weight of a full life with an empty soul.

We applaud the load-bearing.

But we ignore the leaking.

We act like real men just "figure it out."

But the truth is: running metal on metal will seize the engine every time.

And your Father doesn’t want that for you.

He’s not impressed by burnout.

He’s not asking you to be superhuman.

He’s not disappointed that you’re tired.

He’s inviting you to pull into the garage, lift the hood, and let Him restore what’s grinding.

Son, you don’t prove your worth by how long you can run wounded.

You reveal your sonship by where you run when you're dry.

So let me ask you this:

When was the last time you were truly filled — not just busy?

When was the last time you slowed down long enough to listen?

When was the last time you let the Father speak strength into you before asking more from you?

You were made to carry weight.

But you were also made to run full.

There’s a better way than metal on metal.

A quieter way.

A stronger way.

A Father-fed way.

And it starts when you stop.

It’s never too late to be a son. And it’s never too late to lead from rest.