photo #8766499

We’re raising a generation of ladyboys and lost boys. Soft hands. Soft doctrine. Peter Pan pulpits telling men to “wait on God” while Neverland eats their 30s. Where’s Captain Hook? Get a job. Marry the girl. Raise the kids. Read the Book. That’s the obituary. For a lot of modern Christianity. Men who can exegete Greek but can’t look a good woman’s father in the eye. Men who can argue online for hours but can’t hold a screaming baby at 2 a.m. Men who “feel led” to switch churches every 18 months, but never feel led to buy a ring. We traded callouses for content. We traded vows for “seasons.” We traded “Here am I, send me” for “I’m just not in a place right now.” Neverland discipleship. The pulpits helped. They don’t preach anymore. They manage vibes. Ten points. Three anecdotes. One joke about sports. Soft jokes. Soft applications. Soft men. Nobody says, “Brother, you’re wasting your life.” They say, “Give yourself grace. God’s timing. You do you.” So a 33-year-old boy with a study Bible and a porn problem feels completely normal. And the Wendys? They’re there too. Endless attention. Endless options. Zero vows. Everyone is “talking.” No one is betrothed. She wants a man who will bleed for her, but calls him “too intense” when he shows up. So she keeps a rotation of Peter Pans who can quote her favorite podcast but can’t carry her cross. Lost boys. Lost girls. Lost decades. Meanwhile, the system is licking its chops. If Dad never grows up, the state will parent. Schools will catechize. Screens will disciple. The algorithm will teach your son what a man is. Spoiler: it’s not you. A boy who never becomes a man is easy to own. He’ll trade his birthright for Wi-Fi and air conditioning. This is why marriage matters. Why fatherhood matters. Why building a home matters. Not because it looks good on Instagram. Because it drags you out of Neverland by the throat. You don’t “feel ready” to be a husband. You become one by saying “I do” and then dying small deaths every day after. You don’t “feel ready” to be a father. You become one when you hold something tiny and loud and realize God just handed you a soul to answer for. Responsibility is the road out of Neverland. If you’re a man in your thirties and all you’ve built is a hot take, a gaming rig, and a bookshelf— you’re not cursed. You’re just stuck. You do not get out with more theory. You get out with vows. Ask the girl out. Ask her dad for coffee. Ask a pastor to get in your business. Get a job that hurts. Tithe when it stings. Serve when nobody thanks you. It will not feel romantic. It will feel like dying. Good. You can’t resurrect what never died. We’re raising a generation of ladyboys and lost boys. We don’t have to keep doing it. You don’t need another conference. You need a backbone. Turn off Neverland. Pick up a shovel. Open your Bible. Put a ring on a godly woman’s hand. Get a job. Marry the girl. Raise the kids. Read the Book. And finally grow up before your 30s finish eating you. TBM