Man / Up
Man:
An adult male human being.
Ardy, I hope this encourages you.
How simple that definition is—yet being a man is anything but simple. The process of becoming a man is layered with complexities that are hard to put into words. I’m halfway through my life, and I still wonder if I’ve truly become a full man.
I’d love to speak from a place of authority, but I know that authority is earned through experience. And when it comes to being a man, experience is the only real training. There’s no “Man 101” course. If there was, many of us would line up just to get a glimpse of who we are—or who we’re supposed to be.
Let me offer a bit of background so you know where these thoughts come from.
I was born in Nova Scotia, Canada. My parents were hippies who built a home from the trees on my grandfather’s land. I grew up using an outhouse and eating meals cooked on an old black stove. My job was to fill the wood box and clean out the soot trap. Life wasn’t easy, especially for my parents. My mom came from a family of 14. My dad’s family was African American from Nashville, Tennessee. They met during the Jesus People movement, got married, and started walking out their radical faith together.
Being an interracial couple living in a white Catholic community wasn’t easy. I remember school starting with “O Canada” and the Lord’s Prayer, and then me being sent outside while the rest of the class recited their Hail Marys. Very early on, I was introduced to the battle—racial oppression from peers, and rejection through religion. I experienced bullying, shame, early exposure to sex and substance use, and an enemy I didn’t yet understand.
When I was in grade 6, my mom got a teaching job in La Crete, Alberta—a deeply Mennonite community. It was a cultural shock. The language, the customs, everything was different. But when you’re in a battle long enough, you learn how to defend yourself—mentally, physically, spiritually. Thankfully, amid the religion, there were people who knew Jesus for real, and in their friendships I found rest.
We didn’t stay long. My family moved to Rainbow Lake, a booming oil town in the far northwest. It was a place full of money, machines, and professionals. That’s where I began growing into a young man.
Later, we moved to Dawson Creek and Fairview in the Peace River region. As a young adult, I started to understand the value of work. But I also struggled to leave behind the party lifestyle and embrace the faith my parents carried. My identity was forming—but only after God broke me, healed me, and filled me.
Within a year, I lost my lucrative oil rig job, wrecked my truck, broke my hand, and lost the girl I was pursuing. I was deep in addiction and chasing ego and pleasure. But God reset my life.
I was radically changed. In the same town where I used to party and overdose on the world, I became the full-time youth pastor. It was like going from defense to all-out offense. With God’s help, my addictions were broken, I got married, became a father, and led in the church.
We moved to Edmonton for Bible school, then back to my hometown to pastor for five years. With four kids, we moved again to Fort St. John, BC, where I became an Emerging Generation Pastor. It was exciting—until halfway through the first year, everything shifted. Over a strong cup of coffee (the only kind that counts), my senior pastor and close friend helped me see it was time to move on.
I left ministry and took a job in town. That transition was hard—my identity felt shaken. Around that time, Ardy, I saw you in a hard place too. I watched God walk you through the valley of the shadow of death and bring you back.
Even though I left full-time ministry, our church embraced me. I kept the keys. I was actually more effective in ministry without the position. I worked under a godly man teaching safety, then moved into management and HSE (Health, Safety, and Environment) in oil and gas. Eventually, we relocated to the Edmonton region where I became a consultant—a “pipeline pastor” or “cultural coach.”
Over the years, I’ve walked with men in all kinds of places. I’ve ministered to their hearts as a pastor—youth, young adults, and men’s ministry. I’ve worked to keep their minds and bodies safe and to help them make it home from work. I’ve met men from Eastern Europe to Africa—young and old, strong and broken.
I’ve wrestled with them in church MMA clubs, shot them in paintball games, sat with them as they buried loved ones, and built houses alongside them in poverty-stricken places. I’ve fought them, prayed for them, and been challenged by them. I’ve seen men lose their families, battle addiction, pornography, demonic oppression, and the crushing search for identity. I’ve seen young men die too early, and old men cling to life. I’ve met champions and called the best of them friend and brother.
And through all this, I’ve learned that every man—every boy—is an image bearer. No matter their struggle, their value is immeasurable. So as I write this, I’m writing from the lessons and truths I’ve gained. If you know me, chances are you’ve been part of the journey. Thank you.
Man—
Not a course.
Not a title.
Not a destination.
But a becoming.
Let’s keep becoming.
Gabe Voorhees