You Say Potato

It's easy to feel full of gratitude and happiness on Christmas. Kids playing quietly on the carpet with new toys and games, jolly holiday music humming through the air, delicious smells wafting from the kitchen, and close friends at hand all lend to warm feelings and holiday memories. My heart is overflowing with love and joy.

Even now as I sit on the computer, my boy is contentedly singing Christmas music as he works on a Lego set. Unaware that anyone is listening or paying attention to him, he is content; his soft voice reminds me of the innocence and joy of childhood that Christmas should celebrate. And even though each of us may observe Christmas for different reasons, it still should be a day to observe peace and give thanks for our many blessings.

I am intrigued by some Facebook posts from friends who continue to visit the controversial topic of "Happy Holidays" versus "Merry Christmas", and how Jesus is offended if we don't actually say, "Merry Christmas". Interesting to me, I guess, because while I love Jesus, it absolutely makes no sense whatsoever to me to wish a "Merry Christmas" to someone who observes Jewish tradition. Or, why would I offer a "Merry Christmas" to a person who doesn't recognize the holiday at all? Am I worried about offending these people? Perhaps, but moreover, it just doesn't add up. It would be like offering a steak to a vegetarian. It wouldn't be well received; he has no use for that ribeye.

Maybe I am being controversial here, but in my mind, Jesus still represents what He came to earth to share: love. Who are we to create divisions and complications that need not be (and in His name, no less)? Would Jesus really want us to argue over politically correct statements? I still maintain that no one is going to "win another over for Jesus" by spewing hatred and self-righteous statements. You don't need to accept my code of ethics and faith anymore than I do yours. I might misunderstand or lack appreciation for what you believe, but I certainly hope I always respect your position. In my humble opinion, there is a whole awful lot of disrespect and lost love to argue about the difference between us.

Can't we all just agree to love each other and be grateful for what we each bring to the table?

Listen, I may hear something really fabulous in church on Sunday (the pastor is hip and hilarious). I may really want to share a piece of what he taught because it was clever or spoke to my heart and has the potential to provoke profound conversation. I may even refer you to the church's website to check out the teaching because I think the words could be interesting or applicable to you.

I know you may not know (or care to know) Jesus, and I don't care to force Him on you. But, I hope you know His love by my compassion for you, because there are things about you that I really can't stand. I show you love because there is something bigger in me that dictates that kindness. I'm really grateful I have that glowing furnace inside, because some days, I am really not likable (let alone lovable), but you just might be able to tolerate me if there is even a dim hue of kindling light. That's God's radiance in my life that isn't easily smoldered- even when I'm ugly and ungrateful.

I can't really explain it. When I find something I like, I recognize it instantly and need to make it mine. I know what I want and I relentless pursue it. I have been called "detrimentally determined", but sometimes when something--some feeling--gets ahold of me, I can't easily shake it. I want it with me always. I didn't even really have to pursue this little light of mine. It found me. God got ahold of me and has never let go.

Regardless, I am not upset if you wish me, "Happy Holidays" because that is what you genuinely feel from your heart. I'll take your version of "Merry Christmas" (or lack thereof) if it means we are continuing to encourage love and generate peace. I feel gratitude for even the distance and differences between us because this is how we learn more about ourselves and continue to stretch and grow. How else might we actually fully experience life--and ultimately love--otherwise? Teach me, stretch me, and love me, already!

"Everything that irritates us about others can lead us to a better understanding of ourselves." -Carl Jung

The Modern Man

How do we define "The Modern Man"? I have had countless conversations with girlfriends about what constitutes a man of the times. Of course, he is handsome, hardworking, successful, and stylish. He understands the latest trends and fashions, but he is seemingly unconcerned with the clothes he wears. He keeps up to speed with current events, and his reading list reflects his intellect. By today's standards, however, The Modern Man must embody qualities that extend beyond himself and that of his workplace. He is expected to do more than merely provide financially for his family.

It's complicated for The Modern Man. He must be helpful to a fault without looking for a pat on the back. He knows when to offer assistance, and when to abstain from offering his opinion. He still opens doors for the woman in his life, but doesn't open his mouth when she just wants to emote. He knows how to fix a running toilet, but understands he can't "fix" his sad spouse by telling her to "suck it up". He is debonair and gracious, but self-assured and can command a car in rush hour traffic.

Every woman wants a Boy Scout. Whether or not we readily admit it is entirely a different story, but we all want a man who can tie a taut-line hitch knot, pitch a tent in the wild wilderness, wrestle an alligator, or essentially MacGyver his way out of just about any unexpected and perilous situation. It doesn't hurt if he looks good in a uniform, either. Women want a Marlboro Man.

Why?

At the heart of it all, we still want to feel protected. We love a rugged man who isn't afraid to get down and dirty and use his hands. Today's Modern Man needs to be both a provider and a protector, just in case we wrangle any trouble in suburbia. It's in our DNA. It's innate. Evolutionarily speaking, women have always been the "weaker" gender in need of protection from saber tooth tigers. As fiercely independent and autonomous as we like to think we are, women are still extremely delicate and desire to be handled as such. It makes us feel feminine. We want to be cared for and assisted (when we ask for it).

The Modern Man must not only be Marlboro in manner and Boy Scout in behavior, but he must also be responsive around the house, as well. What do I mean by this? We really want a guy who can handle himself in and out of doors. We love a man who is rugged enough to fall trees, but sensitive enough to help us bathe the kids and get them ready for bed at night.

The controversy, as I see it, extends beyond the mixed messages we send our men, however.  I have a profound issue with assignment of praise. That is, why do we still think it is a great commodity to find (or have landed) a man who is a "good father" to his own children? Why do we sing the praises of a man who is a "good husband" to his spouse, by virtue of listening to her daycare concerns? Why must we continuously over-inflate the ego of a man who "helps around the house" by picking up his own dirty underwear off the bathroom floor?

In this day and age where most households are dual income families, it seems only fair that a man should lend a hand with the laundry or wash a few dishes, particularly if his wife is working, too. Even women who don't work outside the home cannot honestly be expected to assume all of the household responsibilities while still juggling endless kid stuff. Chauffeuring to ballet classes, organizing the carpool for football practice, baking 700 cupcakes for the school holiday function, and never ending (fill in the blank here: orthodontist/pediatric/optometrist/dental) appointments dominate the calendar. Why do we still think a "good man" who vacuums the floor is hard to find, or that if, indeed, he can handle a Dyson, he is worth his weight in gold?

The problem is not men-- it's women. We have been programmed to believe a contributing man is a commodity. Perhaps it was the poison from our own mothers' lips, but spoken into my generation were words of condemnation and reproach, not for failing to find The Modern Man, but for failing to repeatedly express whole heartedly to him his value. We are expected to write in the sky how utterly fabulous he is for unloading the dishwasher or understanding how to separate the whites from the darks.

How do I know this? My own mother tells me all time how "good" I have it with my spouse. The man I married does, indeed, pull his domestic weight. He isn't fearful of the grocery store and knows his way around the kitchen. He is a very hands-on dad who doesn't "babysit" his kids-- he engages with them because he cares for them. We are a team in the responsibilities of childrearing; I wouldn't have had it any other way. Sure, it has taken a few years of training to get him on board with making the bed in the morning, and he will be the first to tell you he is looking for the star on the chart next to his name for helpfulness. And I will admit, I resent having to constantly tell him what an amazing contributor his is-- shouldn't this just be the case? Am I not contributing, too? I have been told (by several impartial, outside sources) that I would make a miserable 1950s wife. I can't argue with the obvious.

Please don't misunderstand me. People who are closest to me will tell you I am an avid believer in handing out compliments. I firmly believe if you are thinking something kind about someone ("Your eyes look amazing with that color sweater!"), you should share the sentiment. I am the ultimate cheerleader and encourager....but I despise it when people ask for repeated positive reinforcement, particularly when it comes to aiding with the everyday mundane existence.

I happen to know plenty of single fathers who single-handedly do it all. They cook, clean, taxi kids around town, and grind out the evening homework, all while managing to hold down a nine-to-five job to put food on the table. These men do it because they have no other option. The kids are theirs and in their custody. They don't earn extra honors or accolades for sitting up all night with a barfing one, either. It's what they do because they are responsible parents. Is this a Modern Man? Nope. I say it's a loving man.

Ultimately, The Modern Man is the one who can captivate our attention and hold our hearts. He isn't just a Renaissance Man or Jack of All Trades. He is the one you wouldn't trade because he anticipates your needs and fulfills them without provocation. The Modern Man doesn't require acknowledgment for being a responsible, helpful, sensitive man. It's built into the framework of who he is because he knows how to love. Shouldn't that be innate?

Anticipation

My boy has been waking up with great enthusiasm each morning, eager with anticipation to open the day's Advent calendar. At first light, he climbs out of bed and rummages around his dimly lit room, digging through the mountain of Lego pieces on the floor to find (what else?) his Lego Advent Calendar. He holds his breath, tears into the appropriate number, nimble fingers trembling, only to exhale in elation when he discovers the daily treasure. He tears through the plastic wrap and immediately sets to work, constructing the latest vehicle or figure.

At what age is this no longer the norm? When do we stop caring about the little things? When did life get so complicated that a small Lego figure no longer suffices for sheer excitement and utter joy? I still feel anticipation about a great many events and items I am looking forward to, but all too often it seems I am wishing away large portions of my life--weeks, even months-- to get to the next marathon, the next trip, the time spent at home in California. Where is the anticipation in even the smallest happiness of today?

In the return car ride from her big swim meet tonight, Owen said, "Now that this weekend is over, I can't WAIT for next weekend..." (her campout with the IP tribe). I had to laugh to myself. I admit I felt annoyed that we suffered and sacrificed in ways this weekend she won't understand until she is a parent, yet now it all seemed so futile--gone as quickly as it came, and with what seemed like little appreciation.

And yet, I deeply understand her need and desire to attach hope and happiness to the next best thing coming down the pike. Maybe this is just how we are wired, she and I? Maybe we need to attach happiness and hopefulness to things that are to come, tangible things, but just out of reach. Maybe the boy is more like his father and can live in the minuscule merry moments and find contentment there. I think I really envy that and long for a taste of it.

I wish Christmas would hurry up and get here already.