Will the Real Men Please Stand Up?

Football. Hunting. Cars. Motorcycles. Trucks. Big trucks. And bacon.

These are a few of the things our culture says are inherent in the life of a real man.

Musicals. Chick flicks. Poetry. Quiet walks along the shore. Moonlight. Concerts. Reading.

These are a few of the things our culture says are not to be found in the life of a real man.

But wait a minute, here. Are there men who like some of the things "real men" are supposed to shun? Truth is, there are.

I have to confess that I can relate to the second list more than to the first. Football bores me. Hunting, well, I can’t pull the trigger and take the life of an innocent creature who poses no threat to me. I drive a car. And I do love bacon.

But I also enjoy musicals. I fell in love with the music of Rodgers and Hammerstein while I was in high school, and I still love it, along with the music of Andrew Lloyd-Weber. And others. I do enjoy romantic movies; I like stories of how a man and a woman meet, fall in love and marry. Robert Frost is one of my favorite writers, and moonlight and concerts, well, I remember those fondly from the days of my youth when I was courting my wife. And I love to read.

So, am I not a real man? Must I turn in my man card because my likes and dislikes do not match an arbitrary cataloging of the traits of a real man? Am I supposed to quietly accept the dictates of whoever decided that his own personal traits should determine the manhood of every other male in our society? Sorry, Dude. That just doesn’t work for me.

Besides, as far as I’m concerned, the test of a real man does not have anything to do with the things he likes to do for personal enjoyment. One real man may enjoy watching a football game; another real man might enjoy watching The Sound of Music. One real man may find enjoyment in blasting animals with a rifle. Another real man might prefer stalking animals with a camera. These are the superficial entertainments in life. They are purely a matter of personal taste and choice in the ways different men choose recreational activities. Why should these relatively unimportant things be the criteria for determining who the "real man" is?

The test of a real man has nothing to do with his entertainment choices. It has everything to do with his convictions and his commitments.

A real man is committed to his family. His wife, his children, his grandchildren are important people who occupy an important place in his life, his concerns, his affections, his thoughts. A real man supports his family by working hard, but his commitment to his work never exceeds his commitment to his family. A real man loves one woman until death parts them. He is faithful to her and would never consider breaking his vows to her. Oh, oh. This alone takes quite a few professional athletes out of contention for a real man award.

A real man fixes things. Not just mechanical or tangible things. Some men can fix these things better than others. But a real man fixes situations. If there is conflict he seeks to find a resolution for it. If a situation isn’t working, the real man seeks to find a way to make it work. If he can’t, then he works to replace the non-working situation with one that does work. He does not get a gun and let his frustrations pull the trigger.

The real man values people over things. Men’s toys differ. One man likes the look and feel of a shotgun or rifle; another man finds joy in the lines and lenses of a camera. But both use their "toys" to benefit people. The man with the gun seeks to protect and provide for others with his gun. Legally, of course. He doesn’t aim his gun at the clerk in the convenience store or the teller in the bank because his kid needs new shoes. The man with the camera seeks to bring joy and comfort to others with his photographs. Both use their toys as tools to serve others.

The real man is not spiritual, nor is he religious. Instead the real man loves Jesus. He has a personal relationship with Jesus Christ, by faith, and he commits his life to Jesus and seeks to live for Him and become more like Him. Since the real man is the leader of his home and family, he takes his wife and children to worship with others every week. He shares what God is teaching him with them, and leads them in reading and understanding the Bible. Different men do this in different ways, but a real man leaves a Scriptural mark on his wife, his children, his grandchildren and on all with whom he has contact. Those who are real men follow the one who is the Real Man.

So let us stop evaluating manhood by the things that don’t count, personal preferences for entertainment, toys and tools. Let us instead evaluate manhood by the things that do count, for now and for eternity. Men who are committed to others and to Jesus are the real men who stand up every day and allow themselves to be used by God to the benefit of others.

All other men, please remain seated.

The picture shows myself, who strives to be a real man, reading to my granddaughter, Evelyn, when she was younger.

Three Little Kittens

Three little kittens they lost their mittens,
And they began to cry,
Oh, mother dear, we sadly fear
Our mittens we have lost.
What! lost your mittens, you naughty kittens!
Then you shall have no pie.
Mee-ow, mee-ow, mee-ow.
No, you shall have no pie.

– Eliza Lee Cabot Follen

I don’t know exactly where or exactly when they were born. What I do know is where and when they were found.

My wife and I arrived home from leading a Bible Study at the home of some friends on a rainy Sunday evening. My wife went to the basement to put a load of laundry in the washer. That was not something she normally did on a Sunday evening, but two of our grandchildren had stayed with us for three nights and had generated some extra laundry.

"Hey, Hon," she said as she came back up from the basement. "We’ve got a problem."

Visions of water two or three inches deep from the rain filled my mind. Then I saw a washer that had exploded all its broken parts all over the basement. Then I saw the parts floating in two or three inches of dirty water. I figured the visions would just get worse, so I said, "What’s that?"

She beckoned me to come to the basement with her, and I did, even though the visions told me I didn’t want to go.

As soon as I arrived at the bottom of the stairs, I heard them. Crying. Pitifully. But where were they?

We went back upstairs and grabbed an umbrella and went out into the dark, rainy night. We quickly discovered them clinging to each other under a bush in a basement window well. Three little kittens. Three little newborn kittens. And it wasn’t lost mittens that were on their minds. It was the rain that was dripping through the branches of the bush and falling on their little heads that gave them alarm.

We assumed that Mama Cat was somewhere nearby, so we did not want to remove the kittens. But we did want to protect them from the rain. We retrieved an appropriate-sized piece of plywood from the garage and angled it over the well to keep out the rain. We left an opening for Mama Cat to go in. We did not touch the kittens, or disturb them. Our purpose was solely to keep the rain from falling on them.

The next morning, we checked and the kittens were all still in place, warm and dry beneath the temporary shelter we had built for them. But we did not see Mama Cat. We watched for her for the better part of the day. The area is visible from a window in our family room, and from our back patio. We did not see Mama Cat at any time during the day. Nor did we see any evidence of her presence.

By late afternoon, with a cold front predicted to arrive, we made a decision. Linda put on her gardening gloves and reached into the well to pull out, one-by-one, three apparently abandoned kittens and place them into a plastic storage container she found in the garage. An old but clean towel was folded on the bottom of the container to make a soft blanket. There was a lot of meowing and crying and struggling, but she managed to get them all out of the cold and onto the blanket. We carried the container, kittens and all, into the warmth of our family room.

Now what? We had rescued three little kittens, but we had little knowledge of how to care for them. The sun came out and we decided to place the kittens in their container on the patio in the sun, near the window well where we had discovered them. We were still hoping Mama Cat would come snooping around. But she never did.

Linda called the local animal shelter, but they said they would have no choice but to euthanize the kittens. They did not have the manpower to provide the intensive care newborn kittens require. They gave us names of other shelters to contact, which we did. We heard the same thing over and over.　We really would like to help, but we are already overcrowded.

We brought the kittens back inside and went on the Internet looking for advice on what to do. We learned about round-the-clock feedings every two hours for at least two weeks. We learned about stimulating the kittens to go to the bathroom. We learned about keeping them warm. These are all things Mama Cat does for her offspring. But there was no Mama Cat. We would have to do these things if these kittens were ever to get old enough to wear mittens that they could lose. None of the articles we read suggested we give the kittens pie. We had to give them milk, cat’s milk, at just the right temperature.

We went to a pet store and purchased a can of cat’s milk along with small bottles and nipples to feed the kittens. Linda did most of the work, feeding them every two or three hours, day and night, stimulating the business end of the kittens to do what they needed to do to stay healthy. Mama Cat would use her tongue for this chore; Linda decided to use an old wash cloth dipped in warm water instead. Can’t say that I blame her for that choice.

I told her not to name them because we couldn’t keep them. There are allergies in our children and grandchildren, and three little kittens would eventually become three adult cats, and, well, it just wasn’t going to happen that three cats would be permanent residents in our home.

At their next feeding, I heard my wife referring to the white kitten as Snowball, to the larger, orange one as Puff and to the smaller, orange one as Tiny.

We continued the feedings. I did some of them. It was an interesting experience to hold a tiny, furry life in my hands and place a bottle to its mouth and see a little jaw start moving as milk was sucked from the bottle. I thought of the greatness of God’s creative abilities, how he fashioned little mouths to work in such a way as to bring nourishment into the body. These kittens were blind, deaf, unable to regulate their body heat and unable to go to the bathroom without stimulation, yet they knew how to suck milk into their mouths and swallow it.

We continued to seek a shelter that would take the kittens and care for them and not kill them. We continued to feed them and do all that we could for them. It was becoming more challenging each day. We had other things to do, responsibilities, ministries, and feeding kittens every two hours was a growing burden. We discussed taking them to the local shelter. We had tried to save them, but it was obviously too much for us. The shelter people would hold the kittens and pet them and soothe them as the poison worked its way through their tiny bodies and stopped their little hearts from beating. It would be humane. And the world really didn’t need three more unwanted cats in it.

But we continued caring for the cats. Finally, on the fifth day, a former student of mine said she had found a place that would take the kittens and raise them until they were of adoptable age. She said she would take them to the facility on Sunday morning, two days hence. Sunday morning at 8:00 sharp, she and her husband were at our front door. They took Snowball, Puff and Tiny in the plastic box they had lived in for a week, and later that day delivered the three little kittens to the Little Orphans Kitten Shelter. Thank you, Lord. We were free from the burden, and the kittens would not be euthanized unless they became so sick they could not be saved. They would be raised until they were about seven or eight weeks old, then they would be advertised for adoption at the age they are the cutest and most difficult to resist. The kittens would be inoculated, spayed or neutered, and delivered to their new families.

As a man trained in Biblical theology, I have two thoughts that our experience with three little kittens who had lost so much more than their mittens brought to my mind.

First, I believe God does care about animals. After all, He created them. The God I worship, the God revealed in the Bible, does not create things just to throw them away. Jesus taught His disciples that God cares for animals. "Are not two sparrows sold for a penny?" He said, referring to the sparrows that were sold as potential sacrifices in the Jewish Temple. "Yet not one of them will fall to the ground outside your Father’s care." (Matthew 10:29-31)

In the context of this teaching, Jesus was reassuring His followers of God’s care for them. Since "you are worth more than many sparrows" Jesus said God would take care of His own people even more than He took care of His other created beings.

In another place, Jesus said that God feeds the birds and clothes the weeds that grow freely in the fields. If He provides for birds and for plants, "are you not much more valuable than they?" (Matthew 6:25-30)

Clearly God uses His creation for His own glory. That sometimes calls for the death of some of His creatures, as in the Temple sacrifices, or animals that are killed in order to feed people or provide them with clothing or shelter. But He is also glorified in the fact that He takes care of His creatures and provides for their needs. Three little kittens are now in the care of people who know what they need and are dedicated to providing it. God is praised, glorified, in this.

The second theological thought is more complex, and more important, and more beautiful. In this second theological thought I had, the three kittens together are an illustration of a deeply vital teaching of the Christian Scriptures. The situation of the kittens in their lostness and in their salvation is an incredibly accurate portrayal of what God has done for me as well as for every other sinner whom Jesus has saved.

Snowball, Puff and Tiny were born into a doomed situation. The one individual who was supposed to feed them, clean them and warm them for those first several weeks of their lives was not present for whatever reasons. Thus there was no one to feed them, clean them and warm them. No one. They were doomed to death. Their situation was hopeless.

Think of the many ways death could have found those kittens. They could have starved to death in that window well with no one to feed them. They could have frozen to death in that well with no one to warm them. Another animal could have found them and killed them and dragged their dead bodies home to feed their own babies. They could have been found by human beings who did not want to be bothered with them and killed them just to be rid of them. The window well could have flooded and drowned them. It was just a matter of time; death for the kittens was inevitable. They had no one to save them.

It is clear to me from my knowledge of the Bible that I was born into a similar situation. I was born with a propensity to fail. There was nothing I could do to change that; in fact, because I was born to fail, the only thing I could do in my life was fail. Sooner or later my inability to make the correct choices and follow through on them would lead to my death. It was just a matter of time.

The Bible calls this propensity to failure sin. That doesn’t necessarily mean I would wind up committing murder, or adultery or stealing what belonged to others. I might do these things because of my sin nature, but I more likely would do other things that are opposed to what God wants me to do. That is all sin is, after all. It is doing what I want to do without finding out what God wants me to do. I personally have never shed anyone’s blood. But I have sinned. I personally have never had an intimate physical relationship with anyone other than my wife. But I have sinned. I personally have always tried to be scrupulously honest in my dealings with others, including when filing income taxes. But I have sinned. Pride. Lust. Hatred. Laziness. Selfishness. Greed. There are endless numbers of ways a person can sin without shedding blood, sleeping with someone to whom they are not married, or breaking into someone’s house and stealing all their good stuff. These are sins as well, of course, but not all sinners do these particular things. All have sinned and come short of the glory of God, Paul wrote to the Christians in Rome (Romans 3:23). All. You. Me. All of us. We were born into just as hopeless a situation as Snowball, Puff and Tiny were. It was just a matter of time before it all caught up with us and ended our physical life, and cast us into an eternity separated from God.

At a critical moment, a hand, that of my wife, reached down into the well of hopelessness and raised three little kittens out of despair and fear. Soon they were warm. Soon they were fed. Soon they were clean. And they slept. Soundly. Peacefully. Without a care.

It was amazing to watch. There was meowing and crying until three little bellies were full, then all sounds ceased and three little kittens wrapped themselves in each other and fell fast asleep. No threats from other animals finding them. No rain falling on their heads. No coldness creeping into their bodies. No empty bellies or full bladders to disrupt their contentment. Someone else was taking care of everything for them. Someone else who cared about them cared for their needs.

When I came to faith in Jesus as a seventeen-year-old high school student, I had many fears and frustrations in my heart because of my inability to order my life properly and please God. I was weary from trying to take care of myself, from trying to figure out what was right and what was wrong, from wondering if I could ever be good enough to wind up in Heaven, from wondering even if there was a Heaven. Or a Hell.

Jesus took all those burdens from me. He took over caring for me, making decisions for me, providing for me, ordering my life for me, leading me where He wanted me to go, to what He wanted me to think, and to what He wanted me to do. Someone else was taking care of everything for me. Someone else Who cared about me cared for me. And Jesus gave me the assurance that because of what He did on the cross and the faith He gave me to trust Him, I would see Heaven and live there forever. He delivered me forever from Hell.

I don’t know the future of Snowball, Puff and Tiny. I may never know what happened to them after they arrived at the shelter. They could die. They could survive. They could wind up in a home with a cruel person who mistreats them. They could wind up in a home where someone who cares about them cares for them for the rest of their lives. But they were rescued from a hopeless situation in a basement window well, and presented with the possibility of a bright and pleasant future, something they would never have if someone, in fact if several someones had not interceded on their behalf. They needed someone who cared about them to care for them.

As it turns out, I needed the same thing. And so do you. I don’t know just where or when you were born in sin. But I do know where and when you can be found. It is where and when you come to Jesus in faith trusting Him to lift you out of your window well of sin, frustration and loss to the wonderful salvation He provided for you in dying for you on the cross. Jesus cares about you, and because He cares about you, He can care for you. Come to Him in faith today.
　

Life's Hairpin Turns

Arizona Highway 89A twists and turns through some very beautiful mountain scenery as it makes its way to the city of Sedona. My family and I traveled this highway several years ago on a trip to the Grand Canyon. Even our three young children were impressed with the scenery.

Huge sandstone formations rose on either side of the two-lane highway, displaying a constantly changing range of orange and red rock broken by blotches of green-gray vegetation. Our eyes were constantly shifting as one outstanding feature or another caught our attention.

But I, as the driver and captain of our "ship" had a constant struggle to stay in my lane on the sharp turns that twisted right, then left, than right again, then in a 180 degree narrow curve. I was thankful for power steering and good tires and brakes as I negotiated those hairpin turns, especially since many of them involved impressive drop offs had I not stayed on the road.

Life is like that. We are cruising along enjoying the scenery when right smack in front of us is a sharp turn that needs to be negotiated. Now. There is no time to think it through; turning now is the only option.

I was confronted with such a sharp turn on a Saturday night a few years ago. I had attended our monthly deacons’ meeting at church that morning, and prepared the first lesson of the new quarter for my Adult Bible Class for the next day. I had just enjoyed a good dinner my wife had cooked, and I, as an appreciative husband had just put the dishes in the dishwasher and pressed the buttons to make it go. I walked into our home office and sat down at the computer.

Suddenly my left hand went numb. It was like I had been given a shot of novacaine. Then I noticed that the numbness was also in my whole left arm, and my left leg and foot. I put my right hand to the left side of my face, and that was numb as well. The feeling lasted about five minutes and then my left side returned to normal.

Needless to say, I wound up in the hospital that night, something which I had not put on my schedule for the weekend. After numerous tests over the weekend and into Monday, the doctors said I had untreated hypertension and had experienced a mini-stroke that had resolved itself quickly. They said it was a warning. They put me on an aspirin regiment, and gave me two prescriptions to control my blood pressure and my heart rhythm, which they determined was too fast and sometimes irregular.

More than four years have passed since that sharp turn in the road of my life was successfully negotiated. But here’s the thing. On Arizona Highway 89A I was thankful for good tires and brakes to negotiate the sharp turns. On the highway of my life, I am thankful for faith in Jesus Christ and His plan for my life. When a sharp turn put me in the hospital, His strength and presence helped me negotiate a hairpin turn that certainly did include an impressive drop off.

Divine Persuasion

When a young lady and I were about five months into our relationship forty plus years ago, and beginning to think the Lord was leading us to marriage, we knew we had to resolve a serious impediment that had been in our relationship all along, but now became a roadblock we could not get around.

I had years earlier committed my life to serve the Lord as a pastor. I felt this call while in college, and had come to Grand Rapids, Michigan to attend seminary in preparation for a pastoral ministry. I was firmly convinced this was God’s will for my life.

The young lady in question had also come to Grand Rapids, to attend college in preparation for what she believed to be God’s calling in her life, which was to the mission field, specifically, to Bangladesh. She was firmly convinced this was God’s will for her life.

Marriage between a pastor in the United States and a missionary in Bangladesh would be, to say the least, difficult.

"Hi, Hon, it’s time for our regular monthly phone call. How are you?"

"Oh, fine. Busy. It’s the rainy season here and there is a lot of illness, especially among the children."

"Sorry to hear that. We are in the midst of a building program here. I never knew there were so many details that had to be cared for."

"I’m praying for you, every day. Oh, I have to cut our call short, I’m afraid. A village mother just brought her really sick baby in. I have to help the mission doctor care for her. I miss you. I love you. Bye."

"Me, too. Bye."

No. That did not appeal to either of us at all. So, we had to make a decision. We had several options, each of them challenging. We could part company. End the relationship. She go her way and I go mine. That would resolve the ministry issues. But we each had a growing conviction that God was leading us to share our lives together.

I could change my ministry commitment. Give up the pastorate. Go to the mission field. Even go to Bangladesh. That didn’t seem what the Lord had been directing, but I could do it.

She could change her ministry commitment. Give up the mission field. Stay in the States. Serve as a pastor’s wife. That didn’t seem what the Lord had been directing, but she could do it.

We agreed we would not discuss the issue any more than we had. We would not put pressure on each other for a decision. Instead we would each spend time alone with God, seeking His will for us as individuals and as a couple. We would let Him do whatever persuading was necessary for us to do His will. We decided we would discuss His leading with each other on an agreed-upon date.

I prayed. Hard. Frequently. I told the Lord I did not want to mess up His plan for my life or for this young lady’s life. I told Him I would go to the mission field, even Bangladesh, if He would reveal it as His will. I knew the young lady was praying as well.

The date came, and we found a place where we could talk privately, not always easy on a campus of several hundred students. I shared my conviction with her, that I was convinced of two things. First, I felt with all my heart that God wanted me to marry her. I was certain of that. And, two, God wanted me to serve Him as a pastor in the United States. I was certain of that.

I waited, certain that she was going to reveal that God had led her to end the relationship because He wanted her on the mission field. However, I was not troubled. I had firm convictions based on spending time with the Lord, and felt that whatever her answer was, it would be okay because God would take care of it.

She expressed her total agreement with both my statements. God had led her to understand that He wanted her to serve Him as a pastor’s wife.

Forty plus years later, we look back on a life of ministry together. Now retired, we still are actively involved in ministry. I am so glad we were both willing to let God lead us with His own divine persuasion.

Correction and Comfort

Pastor Mitchell sat in the chair across the hospital bed from Janet, whose eyes were red with tears and whose face reflected deep sorrow. She cradled a baby who appeared to be peacefully asleep in his mother’s arms. But this baby would never know the warmth of his mother’s body nor the taste of his mother’s milk. Just twenty-four hours after his birth, this baby went to be with Jesus.

No words were spoken for some time. Pastor prayed silently, uncertain of what to say to the grieving mother, or even if he should remain. Perhaps he should quietly leave the mother with her child.

"Pastor Mitchell," she spoke, hesitantly at first, breaking the silence of the room. "Thank you for coming. I appreciate your prayers and your concern." Tears began to flow afresh. "Please tell me why God did this to me."

Pastor shifted uncomfortably in his chair, praying silently for the right words. Suddenly, a phrase from Psalm 23 flashed in his brain.

"Thy rod and Thy staff," he quoted, "they comfort me."

Janet looked at Pastor through tears, and then back to the face of her child. "What does that mean?" she asked.

"Well, Janet," said Pastor, still praying for wisdom, "David, the Psalmist, was a shepherd for many years before he became the king of ancient Israel. He took care of sheep that belonged to someone else."

Pastor paused for a moment, then continued.

"David knew that sometimes the sheep needed to be corrected, because they had a tendency to wander away and into danger. He used the rod to prod the sheep back into place, and he used the staff, or crook, to rescue the sheep from danger

"You see, Janet, God uses the experiences of our lives like the shepherd used the rod and staff. Both can be unpleasant, even painful. But both are used by the Lord to keep us where He wants us to be. And that, being where the Lord wants us, brings us great comfort."

Janet’s tears continued to flow down her cheeks. "I know. I’ve been out of God’s will since I hooked up with Johnnie."

"Has he come to see you," asked Pastor gently, knowing the answer already.

"No. He says he can’t handle this. I don’t think he is ever coming back. He’s not my husband, and he thinks faith in Jesus is useless. So, why would he come back?

"You know, Janet," Pastor said. "David, who wrote the psalm I quoted a moment ago, also had a baby who died shortly after he was born. The baby was the son of David and another man’s wife, Bathsheba. David had sinned with her, and had ordered her husband, a soldier, to be killed in battle so he could marry her. But when the baby was born, ill and frail, and everyone knew the baby would not live, David felt the rod and staff of the Lord chastening him for his sin and comforting him in his repentance."

"You think God is doing that to me?" she asked.

"I don’t know, Janet," he replied. "That’s something you will have to figure out as you read God’s word and ask Him for help. I just know that God often does use the hard things in life in the same way David used the rod and staff to keep the sheep where they needed to be for their own good."

"But what about my baby? Is he suffering now for my sin?"

"No. I don’t believe that for a moment. Jesus told His disciples to let the little children come to Him. He said in order to enter His kingdom, a person had to become like a little child. He said that the angels of little children always behold the Father in Heaven. I believe your little boy is safe with Jesus."

"Pastor?" said Janet. "I want to come back to the Lord. Do you think He will let me?"

Now tears filled Pastor’s eyes as he responded with a wide smile. "Of course He will, Janet. You are His sheep whom He has sworn to love and protect until you are safe at home with Him."