If you’ve ever been on a call with me from my home office, you might have noticed the sign behind me that simply says Obey. A great client asked about it last week and had a humorous point, "Seems kinda jarring to be on a call with Andy and have this sign literally telling you to comply."
That particular piece was commissioned by my middle son, a fine arts major in his final semester of studies. I asked him to reimagine the word Obey. He set it against the skyline of St. Louis, the city where we raised our family. That detail matters to me more than I can fully explain.
I love the word Obey for two reasons—reasons that sit in tension with each other. And honestly, that tension is the point.
Obey as Interruption
The first reason traces back to an artist named Shepard Fairey.
In the late 1990s, Fairey began what would become the now-iconic Obey campaign. His early work featured a stylized depiction of Andre the Giant’s face embedded in the word itself. The project, by Fairey’s own description, was an experiment in phenomenology—designed to interrupt people mid-stride, to make them stop, notice something unexpected, and question the assumptions and messages surrounding them every day. It worked on many of us.
The word Obey, stripped of context, is unsettling. It forces a reaction. Who is asking me to obey? Why? What messages have I accepted without realizing it? What norms have quietly shaped my thinking?
That single word became a mirror. It made me more aware of how often we’re being nudged, sold to, categorized, and conditioned—by culture, by media, by institutions, by systems that benefit from our unexamined compliance. It's a wake up call.
Obey as Surrender
But that’s only half the story.
The second reason I love the word Obey has nothing to do with street art—and everything to do with faith. For me, Obey is also a reminder to humble myself.
The same instinct that questions authority and resists conformity needs a governor. Without one, skepticism becomes arrogance. Independence becomes isolation. Critique becomes self-worship.
My faith reminds me that I am not the final authority. I am a Child of God. Following Him requires submission, humility, and trust—and thankfully, offers grace. Not blind obedience, but relational obedience. The kind that says, I don’t see the whole picture, but I trust the One who does.
That’s not easy. It runs against every cultural message telling us to curate ourselves, promote ourselves, and define truth entirely on our own terms. And yet—this kind of obedience doesn’t diminish me, it steadies me.
The Tension I Choose to Live In
So there it is, sitting on the back wall of my office. A single word that tells me two things at once:
- Resist conformity.
- Submit to God.
Fight the systems that dehumanize.
Surrender to the Lord who restores.
Life is complex like that, isn’t it? You can’t just be one way all the time. Wisdom lives in tension. Growth lives in paradox. Faith doesn’t erase questions—it orders them.
That’s why the sign stays right where it is, forcing me to look at the world and myself in a mirror everyday and wonder if I am getting better through the tension and by grace. Hit me up if you can relate. [email protected]
Obey.
