Ancient Path
Your Story
Tell your story. Offer your testimony. Be known in community.
Only you can read it.
before it goes up.
Other men can read it now.
Want to walk all nine as one path? The Story Path →
In Your Own Words
Write your story
Six paths, one life. Two poems, a prayer, a conversation, a stone, and the piece you write at the end of a course. Each finds something the others miss, and what you write is yours to keep.
Courses
Your story, written at the end
Every course ends with a story piece. Here I Am closes Known by Jesus. The Man Who Crossed closes Do Hard Things. The Road I Walked runs through Walk With Me, one chapter a part. Run Your Race is coming.
Twenty-five questions at the end, or ten chapters as you go · yours to keep on your page
See the courses→Poetry
Where I Am From
I am from the brutal Saturday night and the goodness of Sunday morning…
Find out what you are made of — the good and the hard, in your own words.
Twenty-six questions · ten minutes · you already know all the answers
Write it→Prayer
A Lament
How long…
Say the thing to God you have been carrying alone, in a form old enough to hold it.
Nine steps · twenty minutes · you will not finish it as the same man
Write it→Poetry
Asked of Me
Where have you come from and where are you going?
One question God asked. You answer it as your story moves — where you came from, the names you lived under, the turn, who He is to you, and where you are going.
Twenty-two lines · your own words
Write it→Poetry
What Kind of Light
…what is my light offering you?
Jesus is the light of the world, and He said His followers are too. Ask what His light looks like coming through you. Then write the question to one person in your life, near, far or gone.
Nine lines · one sitting · a question for one person
Write it→The map
Where Are You?
But the LORD God called to the man and said to him, “Where are you?”
The first question God ever asked a man, asked to you, today. Say what you are walking away from, put your own X on Walk With Me’s map, and choose one step. Nobody places the X for you, and nobody grades it.
Six steps · fifteen minutes · an X with a name and one sentence
Place it→Remembrance Stones
Set a Stone
Till now the LORD has helped us.
Samuel set a stone and named it. Set yours: who it is for, what the LORD has done, and the name you give it. Three months on, it asks you to look again: what has the LORD done since?
Three lines · five minutes · set where you will find it again
Set it→In Their Own Words
Read their stories
When a man writes his story all the way through, it stops being his alone. When he is ready, he can offer it — and it becomes testimony: what one man hands to another when he needs it, out of his own life and experience.
We ask the men here to share their testimony — each one accepted the challenge, did the work, and offered his story. Some came to us from friends of Ancient Path, people we know and trust, whose stories belong beside these. Read them. You are not the first to walk this.
Known by Jesus John Sherrod
Here I Am
I built a career on a faulty foundation and protected titles. It was meant to prove I was more than enough … And when He asks where I am, I say: “I am here Lord.”Read it→
Where I’m From John Sherrod
I Am From
I am from the hills of east Tennessee, the streets of New York, the big skies of Texas, and the beaches of southern California. … I’m from fear to freedom, from addiction to recovery, from isolation to community.Read it→
Where I’m From Jason Posey
Where I’m From
My heart is the summer wind; unstoppable, unknowable, and free. … I am just a man…saved by the most Powerful Being to ever exist.Read it→
Where I’m From Josiah Choiniere
Where I’m From
I am from Glass Figurines and Lladros, from Diet Pepsi and Mountain Dew. … memories and people who are always more important than things.Read it→
What Kind of Light John Sherrod
What Kind of Light Am I?
Am I the fireflies at our first home, among the pecan trees, the pine forest and the open fields, swarms of light, dancing, and we ran to them? … What kind of light are you?Read it→
Write your story. Keep it. When you are ready, offer it — and other men benefit from your work.
Ancient Path Biblical Coaching. Formation work with men in the seasons that ask the most of them. These pages are free and they are not a counseling service.
If any of this brings up more than you can carry tonight: call or text 988, any hour. Or text HOME to 741741. If someone is in immediate danger, call 911.
In Their Own Words
Finding the story…
One moment.
This story isn’t here. It may have been taken down — every man can take his own down whenever he wants. The rest are on the Your Story page.
Known by Jesus
Here I Am
I built a career on a faulty foundation and protected titles.
It was meant to prove I was more than enough, better than generations before.
It was for me, my pride and ego, maybe a little for my children.
Then, I found the end of myself in a lonely yard, tired and confused, where the shape of surrender formed,
and a voice asked, “Where are you?”
I was hiding in the make believe world that addiction supported, hazy, formless and void.
When anyone got close I reached for the make believe room where I was protected with the vows from childhood.
I was afraid of being known, even to know myself, because I’m not sure a true identity existed.
I put down being coach, boss, leader, pretender and the other non-sense that formed the make-believe version of who I was.
I knew all about God being good and the enemy being evil, taught that in church as a child.
The first one I let know me was God...even though I know He was with me all along.
Then came the men who stood in the gap, ready to walk with me through the hard parts I ignored so long.
Where I tried hardest was in recovering communities that needed men with testimony,
and what was driving me was fear of failure as much as being known, loved and accepted.
The measure I used on myself was “You can do more, your status is built on what you achieve.”
What came off was pretender, the pride and all that striving for empty promises and false hope.
And grace came as an understanding nod, a reassuring glance and words that were true and lasting.
Where I used to rush was in conversations because my time was so valuable.
When I slowed down, I heard a voice that mattered and lived life with the good people in my community.
Under my feet was green grass where the dogs played, the nice sidewalk where we took long walks and gym floor where the sweat gathered.
The line that became ground was “Blessed are the peacemakers.”
Into an ordinary day I carried the tension between the emerging believer and the struggle to surrender the shame, to live in the blessing of each.
Around my table now are family, a community of believers, surprising me with their depth and capacity to love.
I pulled out a chair for my brother, my friends, and for the man I didn’t know.
Some stayed; some moved on to a seat somewhere I couldn’t follow.
I no longer pretend to be right or wrong, richer still, or better than. Yes is yes, no is no.
I am gentle, kind, patient and true.
And when He asks where I am, I say: “I am here Lord.”
Here I am.
John Sherrod wrote this at the end of Known by Jesus, where every man writes his own. Write yours →
Where I’m From
I Am From
I am from the hills of east Tennessee, the streets of New York, the big skies of Texas, and the beaches of southern California. Equal parts each. I am a Jew and Gentile, from Scotland, Ireland, England, Germany, Sweden, Denmark, and the Cherokee Nation. I am an American, through and through, a citizen of the world who migrated to the United States. I’m a junkyard dog and prized shepherd. I am from Village Green, Concord, and Farragut; the same place in East Tennessee. I am from the streets of Knoxville, the farms of Lawnville, the rice paddies of Viet Nam, and battlefields of wars gone by, from spiritual, mental, and physical places my generations of family know too well.
I am from a place that wants to hear you and desperately seeks to connect – yet I’m still battling to leave a place that haunts me, disconnects me, and leaves me isolated and lonely. Trust is so fragile for us – in this place we so desire. I’m from a place that sees you, even if through corrective lenses or at times, you’re still a little blurry. I can make out your shape and sense your goodness as I discard the contempt for the story of me I’ve hidden for so long.
I am part of the wannabees, pretenders, and the people in-the-middle-of-it-all part of our country. I’m from the lower middle class trying not to be poor again, working to be more than before. I am Mountain Dew and Little Debbie. I am a dogwood and a bluebonnet, a rose and a rose by any other name, a weeping willow and forgotten tulip poplar. I am from football on Thanksgiving Day and gifts on Christmas morning, from strawberry pie and chicken and dumplings, from a family that sings Amazing Grace, the National Anthem, Just as I Am and I Surrender All, each with conviction and a sense of “this is who we are”.
I am hard work, long hours, and going all-in. When you fail, go all-in again. I am from Dana, Ryan and Madi, from Spot, Nicholas, Rex, Hagrid, Joker, Ren, and B. I’m from fear to freedom, from addiction to recovery, from isolation to community. I am from heaven to hell then back to heaven again. I am from the kingdom here on earth. I am from the place where every circumstance offers its blessing if you’re willing to see it in light of the good it wants to be. I’m from the promise of what this breath offers me.
John Sherrod wrote this in the Where I Am From space, the same one you can use. Write yours →
Where I’m From
Where I’m From
I am the evening breeze whispering through summer warmed branches and leaves, as the cicadas sing their song of a brief life above the dirt.
I am the click and the clack of playing cards in the spokes of a bike wheel, fun at first but then pulled in irritation.
I am the smack of a bat sending a tennis ball towards the clouds, arcing down onto a neighbor’s windshield.
I am the scent of bubblegum and dollar store lip glaze smeared on my cheek, a kiss from a girl, teasing compliments from beyond my shyness.
My heart is the summer wind; unstoppable, unknowable, and free.
My soul is the setting summer sun, climbing down from the heights of the day, easing into the cooler night and its adventures offered in the dark.
My spirit is too wild for indoors, refusing to go home until absolutely left with no other choice, answering the call of my father.
I am an adult, looking back longingly and sadly.
I am a question; where did it all go?
I am a man capable of terrific force and action, but longing for peace.
I am a heart stripped of innocence, longing for purity and nobility of purpose.
I am a husband to a royal queen, born of a bloodline that tickles my conscience with its ancientness.
I am a father to children that deserved so much more than I gave.
I am a grandfather, amazed at how these little faces can cause my heart to so greatly swell.
I am just a man…saved by the most Powerful Being to ever exist.
Jason wrote this in the Where I’m From space and asked us to share it, in his own words. If this is your story and you want it taken down, write to us and it comes down.
Where I’m From
Where I’m From
I am from Glass Figurines and Lladros, from Diet Pepsi and Mountain Dew. I am from the beaches of Florida with white sand and crystal clear blue water, and from the beaches of California with brown sand and icy dark blue waters. I am from the Zugspitze and snow, whose mountain peak was above the clouds. I’m from the Patton Hotel and a love of surprises, from Jim and Kathy. I’m from it’s time to move and it’s time to laugh. From Keep that lip out and a little birdie will come poop on it and lying is an abomination. I’m from a multitude of churches across 2 continents and 6 states. I’m from Abilene TX and the military. I am from Family movie night and twister dinners, from my first love Kelly and my best friend Sergio. I am from Salzburg and Legoland and the best family trips of my childhood. I am from pipe tobacco and Werther’s candy, from seafood enchiladas, breakfast at the 50’s café with eggs, bacon, biscuits with strawberry jelly and 50’s music. From the grandfather that got shot on the beaches of Anguar that actually saved his life, from the grandmother that was disowned for loving my grandfather. I am from pictures on the wall or on shelves to share with anyone that visits, with an understanding that these items lead to memories and people who are always more important than things.
Josiah wrote this in the Where I’m From space and asked us to share it, in his own words. If this is your story and you want it taken down, write to us and it comes down.
What Kind of Light
What Kind of Light Am I?
Am I the fireflies at our first home,
among the pecan trees, the pine forest and the open fields,
swarms of light, dancing,
and we ran to them?
Am I a light on a hill, steady and true,
easy to see, easy to walk toward?
What kind of light am I?
Am I the bulb above the table in our childhood home,
flickering over my brothers, my mom, my dad,
the fight simmering, waiting for ignition,
then the plates rattling, the pictures falling,
the silence after, and the repairs?
To my wife and my children, am I the desk light in the house we built,
that held me those long hours the way a drink holds another man?
Did you wait for a while,
then accept my loss to this world of dimmer lights?
Am I a candle in the dark room,
desire, dancing so slightly,
a lost love, distant and fleeting?
Am I sunlight on a clear day,
showing every edge and the shadow behind it?
Or moonlight, enough to walk by
and not enough to be sure?
What kind of light am I?
Am I hiding my light
in the room where addiction held the night,
until the sunlight came with the justice of the day,
a reckoning of sorts?
Am I the red light in the window,
promising what it cannot give?
A friend called me into the space they said was mine,
welcoming, filled with goodness and wanting.
Why did I hear it and want to flee?
Did my body retreat from the light of hope
until grace gathered me at a moment of surrender?
Am I a rainbow, a covenant blessing and a warning?
The promise that I will not destroy you today,
that claims the faithfulness of a family
to rebuild the generations ahead?
Am I the light that is ending,
the last red coal of the fire,
still warm for the easy few in the circle,
the ones we chose today?
What is my light offering you?
Do you see it once, then darkness again,
left alone in the pit, behind the bars, in the dirt and the mud?
Is it so unforgiving that the dark is a comfort?
Is it a beacon, so the details of the path are true?
Is it shining in your eyes, so that you cover and hide?
Or does it rest on one place,
leaving shadow to explore and shade to relish?
To my family from story work:
when I told you my story, the truth of who I was,
you set a lamp beside me to find the light in my story,
you held me with your eyes and stayed in the moment,
reassuring and true.
What kind of light are you?
John Sherrod wrote this for What Kind of Light. A man reads it there before he writes nine lines of his own. Write yours →
Write your story. Keep it. When you are ready, offer it — and other men benefit from your work.←Write yours
Ancient Path Biblical Coaching. Formation work with men in the seasons that ask the most of them. These pages are free and they are not a counseling service.
If any of this brings up more than you can carry tonight: call or text 988, any hour. Or text HOME to 741741. If someone is in immediate danger, call 911.
