Building an Ark in the Desert
If your neighbor started building a cruise ship in their front yard with no water in sight, you'd probably call the HOA. Or at least peek through the blinds while whispering, “Okay, Greg’s officially lost it.” That’s the energy Noah was working with. God told him to build a floating zoo in the middle of dry land. No rain in sight. No instructions except “trust Me.” No team. Just some lumber, a lot of time, and one extremely inconvenient calling. And he just… started.
He didn’t wait for thunder. He didn’t form a committee or pitch a business case. He didn’t even ask for a five-year forecast. He just picked up a hammer and went full Home Depot, like a guy who watched one apocalyptic documentary and took it personally.
That’s the part of obedience we don’t like talking about, the part where it looks completely unhinged. Because real faith doesn’t always feel spiritual. Sometimes it feels like sweat, splinters, and your neighbors filing noise complaints because you’re sawing gopher wood in the cul-de-sac.
Noah wasn’t a boat guy. He wasn’t some maritime expert with a flood insurance background. He was just wildly obedient. And obedience, especially in the early stages, often looks a lot like failure wearing overalls.
Which brings me to you. Maybe you’re building something (a business, a dream, a mission) and it feels like you’re doing it in the middle of nowhere. No audience. No traction. Just a quiet conviction that God told you to start, even though you’re not entirely sure what you’re building or why it’s taking so long.
Everyone else seems to be “thriving,” whatever that means. They’ve got the platforms, the partnerships, the overnight glow-ups. And you? You’re over here choosing between paying for Wi-Fi or refilling your printer inks and wondering whether obedience comes with a loyalty program.
But here’s what we forget: the ark took years. No sign of rain. No angelic affirmations. Just long, slow, faithful building while people pointed and laughed. Every nail Noah drove into the side of that boat was a statement: “I still believe Him.”
And then the rain came.
Suddenly, the guy with the backyard barge wasn’t crazy. He was covered. The storm didn’t validate his genius; it revealed his obedience.
That’s the thing about following God. It almost never makes sense on the front end. Obedience looks foolish until it’s the only thing that floats.
Which brings me to this newsletter…
Brightide is my ark.
It’s the thing God nudged me to build when I wasn’t sure anyone needed it. It doesn’t make a ton of sense on paper. It’s not the flashiest or fastest path to success. It’s quiet. It’s weirdly niche. It’s not going viral. But I know I’m supposed to build it. And some days, that’s harder than I’d like to admit.
I believe there are people like you, people quietly trying to be faithful in boardrooms, classrooms, side hustles, small teams, and big visions. People who are tired of separating strategy from Spirit. People who want to do excellent work without watering down their faith or their intelligence.
If that’s you, then you’re not alone. I’m building this for you (and with you).
Because no one should have to ark alone. Not in this kind of wilderness.
This is your invitation to be part of something deeper. A small but growing tribe of faithful builders… people who are quietly hammering away on things that don’t make sense yet, trusting God anyway.
Brightide is our place to breathe.
To laugh, to learn, to get a little wisdom, and remember that you’re not the only one out here trying to be obedient and excellent in a world that often rewards neither.
So if this hit something in you, come be part of it. Subscribe below. Forward it to someone else with sawdust in their hair and purpose in their gut. Bring your hammer.
We’re building together.
And your presence?
It’s the rain that makes this thing float.
No animals. Just wisdom, grit, and a weekly reminder that your faith and your calling actually belong in the same boat.
