Prone to Wander

There’s a song I keep returning to—not because it’s catchy, but because I feel like it knows me. Every time I hear it, something stirs deep in my chest.

The song is Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing.

There’s a line in the final verse that gets me every single time:

“Prone to wander, Lord I feel it,
Prone to leave the God I love.
Here’s my heart, Lord, take and seal it—

Seal it for Thy courts above.”

Something about that part wrecks me.

Not in an overdramatic way—but in that quiet, lump-in-the-throat, soul-level kind of way.

I’m not an overly emotional guy. Most days, I take pride in being steady. Disciplined. Focused. I like being the strong one. The protector. The one with a plan.

But something about those words unlocks a part of me I don’t always know how to access.

Prone to wander. Lord, I feel it.
Same.

There have been seasons when I felt so aligned—spiritually, mentally, emotionally—that wandering felt impossible.

But then life happens.

Work piles up. Kids get loud. Deadlines stack. Priorities blur. And I convince myself I’m just “in a season.”

Before I know it, I’m on autopilot—present in body, but not always in spirit.

Truth is, I stopped listening to Come Thou Fount for a while. Not because I didn’t love it—but because it hit too close. It exposed the part of me that prefers performance over presence. Strength over surrender.

But recently, I stumbled across an old playlist I’d titled “All-Time Favorites”. Right there at the top was that song. Against my better judgment, I hit play.

And just like that, the tears came.
Right on cue.

Here’s the thing I’m learning:
a tender heart isn’t a liability. It’s a gift.

For years, I’ve trained myself to be strong—physically, mentally, emotionally. I run. I lift. I lead. I like knowing I can protect my family and provide for them.

But more and more, I’m realizing: my kids don’t just need a dad who’s strong. They need a dad who feels.

A Dad who tears up in worship. Who pauses in the chaos. Who apologizes without defensiveness. Who says, “I was wrong.” “I’m still learning.” “Let’s figure this out together.”

I’ve said before—I don’t want to be remembered as a man who had all the answers.

I want to be remembered as a man who kept asking better questions.

A man who kept coming back.

That line—“prone to wander”—it doesn’t shame me anymore.

It reminds me I’m human. That I need reminders. And that even when I drift, there’s still a place for me at the table.

That’s the heart of legacy, I think.
It’s not about perfection.
It’s about direction.

It’s about the posture of our hearts—even when our steps falter.

So if you’ve wandered a bit lately…
If you’ve stopped listening to the songs that used to move you…
If your faith feels a little numb, or your heart feels like it’s been on lockdown—

Maybe today’s the day you hit play again.

Maybe it’s time to stop pushing past the lump in your throat and start paying attention to it.

Not because you’re weak.

But because you’re strong enough to know that strength alone won’t carry you through.

You were made to feel. To worship. To wrestle. To return.

To come back again and again and say:
“Here’s my heart, Lord. Take and seal it.”

That’s all for today.

Godspeed.

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