The Boats I Didn’t Know I Was Burning

From the framing crew to the pulpit, from crown moulding to window sashes, my journey wasn’t marked by clarity—but by obedience. Only now do I see: every step was a burning boat, leading me to a calling I didn’t yet have words for.

The Boats I Didn’t Know I Was Burning

Before I ever burned the boats for Window Craft, I burned them for ministry. But it started earlier than that—when I left my childhood tribe behind. I didn’t know where I was going. I just knew I couldn’t stay.

From Bobby Fisher and foundation repair, to Steve Usrey’s framing crew, to becoming lead carpenter on George Strait’s house, I completed a deeper apprenticeship in carpentry than most people ever dream of. By the time I walked away, there was nothing I couldn’t do with wood.

But I gave it all up.

I had two trucks, a trailer, a boat, a packed storage unit, and a nice apartment. I kept only one truck what I could fit in a toolbox. I was accepted—on academic probation—into Florida College. I thought I was pursuing ministry. And I was. But I was also walking away from the only life I’d ever known.

After graduation, I preached for two years, but the fire stirred again. This time, it came not with a clear call—but with exile. Whether I jumped or was pushed hardly matters. I landed back in Tampa with nothing but my wife, my truck, and a fresh start. I made flyers. Knocked doors. And met Ray.

The Whisper in Home Depot

Ray had thick glasses—nearly blind. He was asking a Home Depot clerk how to install crown moulding, and the guy had no clue. That’s when I heard the whisper: Help that man put up his crown moulding.

So I did. For free. No catch.

Ray was stunned. Who walks up and offers that? But he let me. And when I finished, he asked for business cards. Then he said something that changed my life:

“I work for a place called West Tampa Door. Do you install doors?”

Doors had been my specialty for years. Ray promised to give my card to everyone who bought a door.

The next day, I got a call. The day after that, another. Then another, and another. Ray was true to his word. And because of it, my wife and I were able to move out of our apartment and into a house in a historic neighborhood called Seminole Heights.

The Windows Found Me

That house became a turning point. Across the street lived Roy McDaniels—an elderly man who would become a friend. When Roy passed away, we bought his house as an investment to restore and resell.

That house had old windows.

I didn’t know it then, but the windows were being handed to me as my life’s work. That was 2004.

Still, I wasn’t ready to see it. I vacillated between window work and all kinds of beautiful carpentry. There were weeds of competing interests, and they grew thick. It wasn’t until a near-death accident in 2008 that I finally burned the last boat and stepped fully into the calling.

The Smote Moment

A woman driving a medium sized car, was launched from a big box truck hat hit her from behind, and she slammed the driver’s door of my truck. I was hospitalized. And I wasn’t surprised. I’d felt something coming. I’d been kicking at the goads again, ignoring the quiet push toward obedience.

That accident changed everything. It burned the last fallback plan. I entered windows exclusively after that.

I understand now—sometimes God allows the right kind of tragedy to realign your life. To rescue you from your distractions. To deliver you into your design.

Full Circle

The difference between then and now?

Now I know I’m burning the boats.

Back then, I didn’t have language for it. I just followed the stirring, the exile, the closed doors. I got smote a few times—kicking at the goads until the goads kicked back.

But now? I feel the prodding. And I’m trying to obey before the storm comes. Because I know what delayed obedience costs. And I know what’s waiting on the other side of surrender.

This time, I’m not just burning the boats. I’m watching them burn. Honoring the fire. Embracing the call.

Because this isn’t just about me anymore. It’s about the Artisan Army—the ones being called out right now. The ones who don’t even realize yet that their own boats are starting to smolder.

One Obedience at a Time

And here I am again. The boats behind me, the sea ahead.

Only now, I’m not walking into scarcity—I’m standing in front of an ocean of opportunity. And honestly? That can feel just as disorienting.

When there are so many good directions, how do you choose?

I’m learning… you don’t have to sail the whole ocean today. You just have to take the next step. Follow the next whisper. Say yes to the next obedience.

One obedience at a time is enough.