Little Men

     We are up at the cabin this week!  (Huge, contented sigh)  We look forward to coming up here every year, beginning the day we return home.  But a comment my very dear aunt made to me yesterday got me thinking.  As we were catching up on everybody's everything, she said that one of her grandsons had gone through an awful gun phase. "I hate guns!" she said.  "Guns are bad! I just kept telling him, 'Guns are bad!'"  Now, in her defense, I don't know what kind of gun phase Junior went through at that age; hopefully he wasn't just running around pretending to blow everyone's head off.  But I thought that she was probably missing the understanding that her little grandboys were exercising their God-designed boy-muscles.






     Some families decide that toy guns (or toy weapons of any kind) won't come into their house.  I respect that and have never wanted to offend any of our friends who have made that decision.  My stance has been that little boys are hard-wired to be warriors.  God did that.  What do little boys do when they have no gun or sword to play with?  You know what they do.  They find a stick or a toilet paper tube or their fingers.  Hard-wired.  With that, comes our responsibility to teach them that "shooting" their mother in the head is dishonoring their mother.  And there's the whole gun safety/respect for guns training that can never be over-emphasized, but I really want to address a different issue here.


Grandpa Nelson was a Veteran.


     Little boys are really little men.  And men are powerful creatures, as God designed them to be.  Boys long for the power, the adventure, the heroism that should come with manhood.  But for all of that to happen, boys have to learn  how to attain those things honorably.  Aren't we all sickened by what angry men do with guns?  Don't we cringe when we see men abuse their power by taking advantage of those who are physically or emotionally weaker than they?  Even a child recognizes these things.  So, our knee-jerk reaction is to say that power, and strength, and risk-taking are bad or dangerous things.  What follows is a world, a nation, a society, a church, a family full of men who are... pansies.  They are weak and passive and think that it's wrong to fully be a man.  Ouch.  I know I may step on toes when I say that, but look at the converse of that man.  Have you ever recognized a man who used his power to help someone who was in real need?  Or who heroically laid down his life to save someone else or defend his country?   What part of that power, or strength, or risk-taking would you be willing to strip away from one of those men?  Not one iota!  Our hearts swell with admiration for men like that!  Do we not want our family, our church, our society, our country and our world to be FILLED with those kinds of men?  Of course we do! 




     We live in a fallen world, but God gives us reason to hope that men can indeed become everything God wants them to be.  He gave us Scripture, full of stories of great men of God, proverbs about raising sons, letters about how a young man ought to live, and examples of the life of His perfect Son, Jesus Christ.  Our Maker doesn't want harsh, ruthless, arrogant men; nor does He want effeminate, shut-down, disconnected men. So when we raise our boys, or when we attempt to encourage the boys around us, we want to esteem all of the virtuous character traits we see in them.  We want to teach them what it means to be noble and honorable and forthright.  We want to give them examples of heroic men of virtue.  We can actually help them desire these traits by telling stories of their great-grandfathers, uncles, church elders or great missionary men who were heroes in their families, or churches or countries.  We should teach them to first notice and then defend the "underdogs" they come across. We can find admirable qualities in their fathers (especially if they are our husbands) and point them out in front of our boys.




     Our little men need to be loved strongly and also with gentleness and compassion.  We encourage, we train, we disciple, we mentor our boys.  Then when it's time to unleash them as young men, no one will fear what they hold in their hands, and this world will feel safe being held by them.



White Knuckling

Here it is.  The harder I work, the better person I am.  The more I accomplish, the more approval I'll receive from... whoever cares.  The more I stay on top of the mountains in my life (and there are many), the more worthy of this role of wife-mother-house-keeper-inn-keeper-teacher-church-person-friend-and-all-purpose-getter-doner-etc  I am.  And most of it is unsuccessful attempts to reach for perfection.  So, I grab on harder, stay up longer, get up earlier, and white knuckle my way to what I hope will be success, or utter burn-out.  It's tiring to even write this.



Fake.
Our kitchen in an adoption home-study photo. 
And once I let the children out of the closet, no one has seen it look like that since.

 Real.
 My awesome family, cleverly standing in front of most of the dirty dishes
(which also extended to the other counter on the right, not seen in photo).


Actually, I have to say that God has (successfully) been working on me in this area.  In His goodness He allowed me to reach that nasty burn-out stage several years ago.  It was awful.  Horrible.  Hateful.  Never want to go there again.  And now, strangely, whenever I seem to approach break-neck speed, I get these little physical reminders that a crash is coming, and I back off.  Who'd o' thought?  I actually learned how to notice that I can't handle life in the fast lane.  My nerves have thanked me a number of times.  So has my family.

 

 A happy little baby playing in our laundry room... I mean, bedroom.


But, YIKES!  What does that look like?  It usually looks like a messy house (gasp!).  I've read stacks of books that will organize, systematize and simplify my life in 52 weeks and 1200 easy steps (even with 7 kids? ).  But I'm not wired like those women, and the effort it takes for my disorganized brain to minute-by-minute implement those fail-proof strategies (and they are great strategies), makes me an irritable mother and a resentful wife.  Not such a great trade off.  After 4 decades of life with me, I guess it's time to just accept my brain for what it is.


  
December

February. That's all I have to say.


Don't get me wrong, I am still constantly trying to improve efficiency in our home.  I still want to train my children, to please my husband, to honor my commitments and come across "polished" sometimes.  But only when it works.  And by that, I mean everyone in my home has to survive the process and then come out still loving each other!  That's really how I measure success.  If my husband doesn't even rank on my list of priorities, then I need to completely rearrange my priorities.  If I can't get the house clean without hollering at my kids, then I need to stop and rethink my modus operandi.  If I am so frazzled by trying to plan the perfect curriculum for my childrens' education that I'm not teaching them well, then "second best" is best.  If I'm not living out my everyday life with some grace, and a Fruit or two of the Spirit, who am I living for anyway? 


The face... old family tradition.

Two more birthdays with store-bought
 (rather than homemade) cake. 
It's a silly thing, but it can chisel away at my
Happy Suzy Homemaker Wanna-Be status.

So while I do still battle with those perfectionistic tendencies, they don't control me like they used to. I'm not a slave to impossible standards anymore. I'm not even a slave to all possible standards anymore. Usually.