Raising Boys in an Age of Comfort
Ryan M. Reeves
I’m 46 now, with no hair and a lot of miles behind me, and I’ve been watching you—younger men, chasing toddlers, juggling diaper bags and dreams, trying to figure out what it means to be a father in this strange, soft age. I see you because I was you, not so long ago, bleary-eyed and hopeful, wanting to raise my kids right. But here’s what I’ve learned, looking back: the world we’re handing our boys is padded with comfort, and that’s a problem. It’s a problem because comfort isn’t the soil where strong men grow. And as a Christian, I’ve come to believe that raising boys today demands something different—a theology of risk.
Let me tell you what I mean.
The Bible Doesn’t Promise Wisdom Through Ease
The other day, I was flipping through my old, dog-eared Bible, the one I’ve carried since my own 20s, and I stumbled across David’s story again. You know it—shepherd kid, sling in hand, staring down Goliath. That wasn’t a comfortable moment. He wasn’t sipping a latte, scrolling X, waiting for life to hand him a trophy. He was thrust in to a showdown, risking everything, because that’s where faith took him.
And it wasn’t just David. Think about Paul, shipwrecked and beaten, writing from a prison cell: “We also glory in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope” (Romans 5:3-4).
The Bible doesn’t mess around here. It’s not a self-help book promising a cushy life. It’s a call to step into the hard places, because that’s where wisdom and maturity are forged.
Looking back, I see how my own boyhood leaned hard into comfort. I’d spend hours lost in video games, those pixelated worlds where I could win without sweating. Or I’d bury myself in books, safe in their pages, or cheer for Macho Man Randy Savage on TV, his larger-than-life bravado a thrill that asked nothing of me.
That was my standard—ease, escape, the path of least resistance. And I wonder now: what if I’d been pushed more, out into the cold, to wrestle with real challenges? The shape of my life might’ve trended differently—quieter, maybe, or humbler. I’m not saying I’d trade my story, but I know this: chasing comfort didn’t make me wiser. It just made me softer.
I used to think raising my boys meant keeping them safe, happy, fed. But Scripture kept nudging me otherwise. Jesus himself said, “In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world” (John 16:33). Trouble, not ease, is the promise—and the path. If we want our sons to grow into men of depth, men who can stand tall in a storm, we can’t shield them from every gust of wind. The Bible doesn’t let us.
What We are Being Sold
But then there’s the world we live in, and man, it’s a different story. Turn on the TV, scroll your phone, walk through a mall—it’s all screaming one thing: life should be easy. Success is a big house, a full fridge, a screen in every hand. We’ve got apps to order dinner, thermostats we control with our voices, and a culture that’s obsessed with keeping our kids “safe” at all costs. I get it—it’s tempting. Who doesn’t want their boys to have it better than we did? But better how? More stuff? Less struggle?
I see it in my own life. My boys could spend hours zoned out on Minecraft or watching some YouTube guy. And honestly, some days I let them, because it’s easier and I like it, too. But then I catch myself. This world we’ve built—it’s a velvet trap. It tells our sons that happiness is comfort, that luxury is the goal, that entertainment is king. And it’s lying to them. Because when the real storms come—loss, failure, heartbreak—no amount of Netflix is going to teach them how to stand up and face it.
Take it from me: I’ve had my share of nights where, after a long day, all I wanted was to zone out in front of the TV, letting the laugh track drown out my worries. But I won’t be growing; I’ll just be existing. And I don’t want that for my boys. I don’t want them to think that life’s about numbing out or chasing the next high. Because, as Christians, we’re called to something richer—to a life of purpose, even when it’s uncomfortable.
That’s the paradox I want my sons to grasp—that real joy often comes through the hard stuff.
Raising Boys Through Risk
So what do we do? How do we raise boys who don’t just survive this age of comfort but thrive beyond it? I’ve got some thoughts—not as an expert, but as a dad who’s stumbled through it and found a few things that work. Here’s where I’d start.
First, get them moving. Boys need to feel their bodies work, to sweat, to ache a little. Sign them up for soccer or wrestling, sure, but don’t stop there. Take them outside—hiking, fishing, building something with their hands. Let them scrape a knee, get muddy, figure out how to climb a tree. It’s not about danger; it’s about effort. This summer I bought a hatchet, a machete, and a rake—and I pointed to the woods behind my house and said, “Go tame Mirkwood.” I don’t see them for hours at a time.
Second, make them think. Comfort dulls the mind, but struggle sharpens it. Give them puzzles, books, questions they can’t Google the answers to. When my middle boy asked why God lets bad things happen, I didn’t hand him a pat answer—I asked what he thought. We wrestled with it together. Proverbs 4:7 says, “The beginning of wisdom is this: Get wisdom. Though it cost all you have, get understanding.” Let them wrestle. Let them fail. They’ll grow stronger for it.
Third, teach them to feel. This one’s tough, because we’ve all heard “boys don’t cry.” But real men do—they just know why. Take your sons to serve—help at a food bank, rake leaves for a neighbor, sit with someone who’s hurting. It’s uncomfortable, seeing the world’s broken edges, but it builds compassion. Jesus said, “The Son of Man did not come to be served, but to serve” (Mark 10:45). Show them that strength isn’t hiding pain—it’s facing it for someone else’s sake.
