Biblical Manhood in the Era of Emasculation

It's been said that the best way to detect a forgery is to be well acquainted with the real deal.  That is true when appraising art, classic automobiles, currency and men.  Museums employ specialists to study the masters with an eye towards detecting fakes.  High end car collectors will check serial numbers and historical records when verifying the vintage of a machine.  The government trains agents to know the markings of currency to detect and isolate impostors.  Knock-off's abound.  Forgeries flood the market, driving down the value of the original articles, attracting the eyes of unsuspecting and uninformed admirers.  This is never more costly than in the market place of masculinity.  

While museums have insurance policies to protect against loss, car collectors may have legal recourse against fraud and governments can simply destroy counterfeit bills; when it comes to deficient men, the
long tail on those losses can leave a scorched earth impacting generations.  It is no understatement to say that nations rise and fall on the character of the men that round out the roles.  Similarly, the evidence for the need of correct masculinity could not be more clear today.  Quite literally, the impostors of today are wading through the ashes of the looted, charred remains of the hard work of those they reject.  

In modern society, especially those with deep veins of media saturation, the centuries old method of passing the torch from grandfather to father to son to grandson has been eroded by a steady drip of external influence.  With the cultural and educational revolutions of the last 70 years in America and the dramatic proliferation of competing messages via mainstream media and, more recently, social media, the chorus of dissenting voices would drown out the voice of consistent, steady masculinity if left unchecked.  Fortunately, there are men left to toe the line.  As the chorus of voices shouting about the failures of men to lead crescendos into a frenzy, there are growing numbers of men that are opting to tune out the noise and focus on the task at hand.  

If you are still reading, perhaps a spoiler alert is in order.  This is likely not going to be a popular message.  It is unlikely to win you friends of help you influence people.  It will be counter cultural, but isn't that all the rage these days?  The rub will be that, instead of inciting folks to burn, loot and murder, the call of Biblical Manhood is a call away from those foolish acts and towards acts of personal responsibility.  Just as the need transcends race, so too does the solution.  Our problems as a nation have their roots in inferior cultures, not inferior races.  Any man can learn to do good, but not all men will.  Any man can incline his heart to wisdom, but not all men will.  The offer to come and learn to live is made by One that transcends race but cannot be separated from culture.  Whereas one man may choose to mate with an eye towards selfish pleasure, another will see the act of sex as a means of building his heritage.  While one man may see the accumulation of wealth as a personal quest to assert his prestige, another will rightly understand that finances are a tool that can either build for the future or cast shackles in this life and the next.  While one man may proudly assert his own sovereignty and declare that he will do what he wants because he is 'the man', another will learn to check his own desires against the established moral code that has wrestled societies over 5,000 years of recorded history.  

Biblical manhood kicks against the inherent tendencies to exalt self, instead choosing to prefer God's glory and then the good of others.  

Biblical manhood is like a restraining bridle in the mouth of a wild beast, constraining passions and bringing them under control of the Spirit of God.  

Biblical manhood defies the tendency to tear down others in a quest to promote self, correctly understanding that a man need only be right with his Creator in order to be free to love and serve.

Biblical manhood understands that a man is dust, temporarily endued with breath, but that his life will pass like a thin mist over the water on a summer's sunrise.  Mists do not waste their time building personal castles, for they know their time is short and their grip is loose.  

Biblical manhood pumps the brakes on consumerism, knowing that Godliness with contentment is great gain.  Instead of wandering away in the pursuit of excessive wealth, they opt to forgo the piercing of many sorrows to focus on building legacies that last.  After all, you don't hear about kids turning to drugs because there was too much contentment in their homes.

Biblical manhood understands that a faithful wife is a helper, not a whore.  She is the mother of his children to be respected, cherished and prized not because she is weak, but because she is precious, valuable and the guarantee that culture, indeed humanity, may endure.  By showing love and respect, a man ensures that his children grow up with a proper understanding of the value of women.  I dare say, all of the corruption and confusion plaguing our streets and our schools today stem from not seeing this lived out in the homes.

Biblical manhood rejects instant gratification, preferring the long term harvest that comes only by doing the hard work of cultivation.

Biblical manhood chooses to turn its eyes away from sin, understanding that regardless of how many years may have been lost to lust, the future belongs to those that move forward.  Much more to come on this at another time.

Biblical manhood sees his children as a heritage from the Lord, not a hindrance.  They are the letter he is writing to the future.  He would do well to choose his words carefully.  Truly, a man cannot be a success without a successor.  

Biblical manhood understands that much of what is prized in the culture is antithetical to his well being.  Noah, Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, Joseph, Moses...those men turned their eyes and set their gazes upon a different prize.  When those men were at their best, their moved towards holiness and, as a result, appeared to be disconnected from the mass of men doing desperate things to live empty lives.  

For all the things that Biblical Manhood is, we must be clear about what it is not.  Biblical manhood is not 'trying harder'.  Biblical Manhood is not being stoic for the sake of stoicism.  It is not merely giving away all your possessions or attaining peak physical health.  It is not in achieved by perfectly following a set of rules.  Biblical Manhood comes only when a man realizes his inability to do all the things outlined above.  Knowledge of his inability, acquaintance with his failures will drive the wise man to the cross and empty tomb of Man named Jesus Christ.  

In surrender to Christ, a man admits his weakness and find sufficient strength in Christ.  He exchanges his dead heart for one made alive, endued with grace and mercy.  In surrender to Christ, he finds the humility to lay down his selfish pride and learn to love.  In surrender to Christ, he finds the grace to forgive as he understands what it means to be forgiven.  A man finds the living water to wash his filth, quench his thirst and clear his eyes.  He finds the tenderness to love his wife and give himself for her, to wash her and nurture her.  A man finds the ability to turn his heart back to his children.  He finds the compassion to see his brother as a fellow image bearer of God and the wisdom to understand that all men are his brother.  

In Christ, man is reconciled back to God.  He is restored to his original role as one created to enjoy and reflect the goodness of his Creator.  In so doing, he admits that he will be hated and, simultaneously, finds the strength to endure.  He not only endures, however, but rather understands that he has overcome and, as a result, can turn to run back into the fire to pull others out with him.  In learning how to be a man, he learns how to lay down his life.  Thus, society endures.  Children thrive.  Families prosper.  On the backs of men ride the fortunes of society.  

One question remains, then.  Which men will we be?

 

I Love Science - World View Matters

 “I Love Science” - World View Matters

There is a theme today whereby one will exclaim, “I believe in science…” with the implication that they do not have time to believe in God because of their advanced understanding.  It is often accompanied with a dismissive tone of voice or other apparatus of condescension.  

Mankind has accomplished some pretty amazing things.  The recorded history of civilization’s advancement is breathtaking.  From the advent of the written language, with as many variations are there are people and geographic groups, to the instantaneous full-duplex communications between any places on this planet, or others, our accomplishments are staggering.  From the first nomads and their mud caked bare feet to our pressurized, autonomous suits that allow us to work in space (after strapping ourselves to rockets that blast us into orbit), the complexity to our modes of transport and the accompanying level of accomplishment cannot be understated.  It is almost understandable how one could be enamored, perhaps even intoxicated, with our accomplishments.  After all, we are the top of the food chain.  We are the alpha dogs.  We have opposable thumbs and have used them to harness silicon and electrons, putting massive amounts of technology into the hands of our people, allowing us to execute complex computer modeling, peering behind the curtain of some of the greatest mysteries of the known world.  What’s not to be impressed with?

Here's the rub.  With all our advances, all our discoveries and all our breakthroughs we are still just trying to figure out what has been known, in full, by the Creator since long before any Bangs, Big or otherwise, were popping off in history.  Our brightest minds, using the most powerful tools in the history of mankind, are still just pulling on the end of a piece of yarn that was designed, implemented and woven into the tapestry of all that is around us, both seen and unseen, from the beginning.  The haughty proclamations “I believe in science” to the exclusion of admitting God’s supremacy in all of it remind me, in some woefully inadequate way, of my son declaring that he is ‘the greatest ever’ after successfully putting 2 pieces together on a puzzle.  I am proud of him but am not ready to crown him king of all.  See, he found a pair of related pieces and was able to put them together.  But he only found what was already there.  And while not diminishing his role in pushing back the limits of our understanding; he is still very much just playing catch up to One that knows the end before the beginning began.  Should he continue to assemble the puzzle he would find more of the picture coming into view, more profound, more intricate and more beautiful that anything previously known.  Each new piece, each fresh view of the big picture, would lead him to a further appreciation for and realization of the beauty and complexity in the created world.  If he were truly wise, that appreciation would cause him to proclaim his adoration for the One who has been so many steps ahead of him and Who did works so far surpassing anything he could do.  

So, I love Science, but not simply for the sake of putting puzzle pieces together or pulling on strands of yarn.  I love science because it allows us to see more clearly those mysteries that were hidden in the beginning and are just now being made clear.  We have so far to go because, despite our advancements, we are still looking up and into an Intellect that far surpasses our own.  We are trying to push back the darkness of our own understanding.  We are chasing The Light, The Truth, The Life and we are doing it from the vantage point of dust and clay.  I do love science.  I have great hopes for the future as we piece it together.  My greatest hope is that, in doing that, we ‘accidentally’ touch the hand of the Creator as He slides another piece onto the table. 

A Day on the Illinois River

The View From Up Here

The canoe made a dull scraping sound as we pushed it into the current.  The girls had tested their life jackets and approved with large, delighted smiles as they floated effortlessly across the surface of the water.  As we prepared to shove off we were met with our first obstacle, a large downed tree about 100 feet from our launching point.  A few moments later we were blasting around it, the girls nervously crying out ‘daddy?!’ as I told them to keep their paddles up to cover their eyes.  Then it was behind us and the river opened up into miles and miles of memories.  Over the next 11 miles I watched my daughters grow from timid and fearful to relaxed and experienced.  That’s what the river does, you see.  It’s relentless push, it’s consistent power, it’s methodical, mechanical movement – all the while alive – changes everything that it touches.

My eyes drifted from the daughters in front of me, young and free, to the deeply cut valley through which we paddled with it’s rock steps and towering tree lining and I could not escape the immensity of the scene as it unfolded before me.  This same river that carved the valley now shaped my girls.  With each passing mile their smiles became more relaxed.  Like the rocks that we raced over, worn smooth by the steady hands of the river, so my girls were being changed.  Did they realize it?  Of course not, they were just having fun.  But the change was happening to them, unbeknownst to them, as they paddled along the river.  Before long they were picking lines to aim for in the water, sensing where to point the boat by the color of the water or the presence of obstructions protruding.  A few times we were spun around in the canoe to where my eldest daughter, no longer on point in the front was in the rear, facing backwards.  I called out commands, ‘spin in your seat’ or ‘paddle hard on the left’ and each time we would right the vessel and resume our march down the river. 

What these girls don’t understand, what I barely do, is that these days we spend playing on the river are sweet memories for me to cling to as we both grow older.  But they are more.  They are also solid granite foundations upon which these girls will grow, climb and reach higher than they realize today.  I love my little girls.  I must accept, however, that just like the water must push the canoe and the rocks must be smoothed by the current, they too must grow.  So I look to this partner which has flowed since long before I was born to help me raise them right.  Days on the river will turn to nights under the stars.  Time spent learning and marveling over God’s creation will turn to a deep love and appreciation for His goodness and love for us.  Those lessons, carved out together and indelibly as the river valley under the pressure of the water, will press their marks deeply into my daughters’ character.  It will shape who they are and who they become. 

But before then, there is another downed tree to navigate around.  There are more smiles to light up their faces and warm my heart.  There is more laughter to join with the singing birds and babbling water over the rocks.  There are more moments where I look at them when they don’t realize it and I thank my God that they are mine, there with me, floating down God’s river.  These moments slip away  like the water through my outstretched hands over the edge of the canoe.  I know I can’t hold that water any more than I could stop these moments.  So I cherish them, allowing them to bring joy and hope for the future while being a refreshing blessing for today.

I look ahead to see Zoe fast asleep in the middle of the boat.  Rori is back on point helping me to guide and steer.  My mind drifts back over the generations that have used this river.  It has a written history during the Civil War in America and, no doubt, generations before that in the unknown Indian histories.  How many fathers have hunted, trapped and fished these waters with their daughters?  How many families have beached their boats and laughed over lunch?  How many men have watched as their daughters became women, right before their eyes over the weeks and years spend here?  Each time I set foot in the river I am confronted anew with how overwhelmingly blessed we are to have this land.  I feel like a king as my family splashes and jumps and plays.  Only a truly rich man can take his children each week to a place like this to enjoy life together as a family like we do.  The sight of another stretch of rapids pulls my thoughts back to the task at hand.

Zoe wakes up and helps to steer us towards the center of the rapids as the canoe bounces and accelerates.  I hear one of them say “This is the best day ever, I don’t want it to end”.  Me either, I think, me either.  And again, I am richer than a man like me deserves.  In just a few days we will be on the river again.  And the week after that we plan to take the boys and mom too.  We are blessed.  We are rich.  We are doing it.  And, for that, I am eternally grateful.  I came to this river for the first time about 15 years ago.  It left it’s mark on me then.  Here’s to many, many more years enjoyed first with our children and then with theirs.  

A Homestead Birthday, Part 2 of 2

As the sunset on Friday night and I settled into my chair to rest from the work we had done I knew that folks were en route to the first family and friend camping night at our homestead.  The weather was forecast to be unseasonably warm and what had started as a guys only trip had happily grown to include no less than 4 families with 10 kids and 3 dogs.  The remoteness of our location mandates that folks meet at a prominent landmark and then caravan out to our place.  I stayed to make sure the fire was ready (and safe) and to ensure that our chairs (especially mine) were not absconded with by a band of rabbits on the run or a bear in need of home decor.  Basically, I was exhausted and needed a break.

About 7 pm I saw headlight coming up the road and the festivities officially commenced.
A good buddy and his family showed up and promptly pitched 6 hammocks for his crew plus 2 more for my older daughters. Another family arrived with their new tent.  A team effort got that baby up.  My girls set up camp for my wife and youngest son. Another buddy opted to sleep under the stars with my elder son and me, but more on that later.

With camp set the whole crew settled in around the fire.  There were burgers, steaks with peppers and onions and shrooms, hot dogs, marshmallow, chip, soft drinks and harder ones.  Kids laughed, dogs barked, adults adulted and I enjoyed what can probably be described as one of the top 10 nights of my life.  When the eating was done a guitar and harmonica kicked off some gospel singing complete with multi-part harmony.  At one point I even heard a Bon Jovi guitar riff and think a cowboy on a steel horse rode by.  The kids headed off to their respective tents or hammocks about 9 pm.  The conversation ran the gamut from classic rock bands to whether or not we would see the eclipse that night.  Cigars were passed around.  The laughter and conversation completely ignored the fact that most of these folks had never met each other.  While they were all buddies of ours they had never, in fact, met each other.

Let me stop here to tell what will go down as one of the highlight of my life.  Friday, February 10th, 2017 I slept on the floor of what will become my house.  My son and I camped out under the stars on the floor that we build a few weeks before.  I laid there listening to him softly snore and watched the moon move across the sky.  There was an eclipse scheduled but someone forgot to tell that to the moon.  It blazed all night long and provided ample illumination for my imagination.  I laid there thinking that this floor may support me until my confident, strong strides are replaced by the shuffling of elderly feet.  The 5 year old boy who slept next to me may very well walk through the door we have not yet framed and stand on this very floor to tell me that he has met 'that girl'.  It could be that my daughters' children learn to walk on that floor.  It was a moment I hope to not soon forget.  Granted, it's just a small cabin in the woods.  But I am building a family and a heritage much more than I am building a cabin.  As I drifted to sleep I was wrapped in a cloak of contentment that I am enjoying more in the last year than I even imagined possible.


The kids were up for keeps by 6 am and I could see from my position on the cabin floor that they were doing their best to eradicate the remaining marshmallows for breakfast.  We fired up the cast iron one more time and cooked up eggs, steak, sausage and tortillas.  The conversation picked up right were it left off the night before.  We covered various views on political topics including healthcare, constitutional freedom and how expectations varied based on where folks grew up.  We covered the various interpretations of the sin of Noah's son, the pros and cons of compulsory military service and the varying degrees of freedom from and dependence upon a government and how that impacts the lives of people.  Cigars returned and it was determined that 930 am is absolutely not too early for hard cider when one is camping.

I couldn't help but marvel how far the folks had traveled to find their place around our fire.  The feet gathered that day in the foothills of the Ozarks had walked in South Korea, the Philippines, Mexico, Virginia, California, Vermont, Saudi Arabia, and Germany.  We laughed and learned and bantered until 1230 when we couldn't put it off any longer.  The real world was calling and, if we were to answer her, we would have to break camp and get cleaned up.

I find myself saying this a lot now but I am richer today that I was before that camping trip.  New friendships were kindled.  Older ones put down deeper roots.  My children hosted their new friends in our woods.  When we all said our goodbyes and headed back into town I was simultaneously thrilled and exhausted.  I noted that night that our whole crew was in bed by 8 pm.  It was a full, rich
weekend spent enjoying God's creation and one of His greatest gifts of friends and family.  Monday I head back into the office to tackle computers and end users that really have no business saying they know how to use them.  But I'll do it knowing that I'm never more than an hour or so away from peace and quiet.  And if all goes well inside of the next 7 months we will be living there full-time.

Here's to hope that gives men courage to dream great things and the resolve to make those things happen.

Had to Walk the Rocks to See the Mountain View

15 Years of Roads Leading to our Cabin in the Woods

Tonight finds me hundreds of miles away from all that I hold dear.  She and they are safe and warm back home.  Tonight marks one more business trip.  It's the same as so many before and very different at the same time.  You see, for the past 15 years I've been tilling the soil of this garden plot called responsibility.  It's been an honor.  Over the years I've covered a lot of miles, cleared more airline security checkpoints that I care to recall and blown through more than a few turnpike toll booths than I paid for.  Over the past several years I've noticed that leaving is less exciting and the longing to return starts much, much sooner.  I'm reaching for the phone to call within an hour of pulling out now.  It's harder to leave the kids because I know painfully and honestly that I will miss moments that I can never recover.

I am by no means complaining.  I'm very grateful to have these opportunities to provide for those entrusted to me.  I am also thankful that appreciation and longing has grown in my heart and tamped down some of that wild recklessness that so characterized my early 20's.  This trip is also different because the payoff is much more immediate.  This weekend I will be back home with my crew and we will be heading to our homestead to continue the progress towards living there full time.  I have no less than 6 trees down that need to be processed.  Those will keep us warm next year in what aims to be our first winter living in the cabin!  I've got about 20 final cinder blocks to set.  And, as soon as the rain cooperates, we will finish our floor joists and decking.  In addition to that splitting maul I rehung two weeks back that needs to be tested, there are children to be molded and a bride to pull close.

I work this trip with my mind on the task at hand and my heart eagerly looking forward to the tasks on the horizon.  I am a man made rich by God's mercy.  I press on knowing that there are more steps to take, more mistakes to make, more lessons to learn and more life to treasure.  Onward to a heritage and their inheritance.

Proverbs 127

Unless the Lord builds the house,
    those who build it labor in vain.
Unless the Lord watches over the city,
    the watchman stays awake in vain.
2 It is in vain that you rise up early
    and go late to rest,
eating the bread of anxious toil;
    for he gives to his beloved sleep.

3 Behold, children are a heritage from the Lord,
    the fruit of the womb a reward.
4 Like arrows in the hand of a warrior
    are the children[a] of one's youth.
5 Blessed is the man
    who fills his quiver with them!
He shall not be put to shame
    when he speaks with his enemies in the gate.

Contentment: The Roots of Thanksgiving

Contentment: The Roots of Thanksgiving

It’s that time of year again when American’s take a break from their rampant consumerism to pause, reflect on all they have and make plans to line up at midnight on the outside chance that they can get into a fist fight over some imported electronic device at deep, deep discounted prices.  But this season is about more than just black Friday (but #blackfridaysdostillmatter).  It’s also about making sure the credit cards have enough room on them to buy all those things we’ve been conditioned to swear that we can’t live without.  When the holiday sales are long gone we will still have those interest rates to remind us why we need to go to work…on Saturday…for overtime…on the second job.  After all, that’s what it’s all about, right?

Making Jerky - Spicy, Spicy Jerky

In the past decade as our family has grown we have seen some traditions take root in our home, some by design and others simply as organic outcroppings of the way we live.  It’s Tuesday night and already the house smells fantastic.  Pies and other reminders of Natalie’s superior culinary skills are taking shape as I write.  The kids have already picked the duck from the backyard flock that will make her final voyage to the dinner table on Thursday.  They named her ‘Thanksgiving’.  I can’t argue with the efficiency of the choice.  I’m gearing up for several hours of snuggling with the kids, watching family videos and pictures showing how our family has grown and why we are so thankful.  There will be laughing and stories.  There will be eating and napping.  There will be drinking and cuddling.  There will be all of the things that make a man rich and a family strong.  And none of that requires a credit card.  None of that requires interest rates. 

As I get older it would appear that the sweetness of life is getting sweeter.  The scents of a loving home are growing lovelier.  The welcome chill of the fall air is countered by the growing warmth of a contented heart.  I am humbled and grateful that the Lord saw fit to give me the opportunity to love and be loved like this.  I am aware that being a husband and a father is so much more than I could have dreamed of or prepared for.  I am thankful for my bride and all of the blessing that have come into my life since she did.  It’s been said that ‘he who finds a wife finds a good thing and gains favor from the Lord’.  They were right and I am made rich because of her.

As for me, I’m content to let those crazy sales go on without me.  I’ll stick to pulling my kids close and laughing over how far we’ve come together.  I’m content to share a cushion with my bride and dream about what these crazy kids will do next, or 10 years from now.  I’m content…and that is plenty for a man like me to be thankful for.

Being a Home School Dad, Part 1 of Many

Better Than a Man of My Caliber Deserves

This is uncharted territory for me.  I am the product of a .gov school, k-12.  I had never even heard the term 'home schooled' until I met some genius kids in college.  They were 16 years old and tutoring folks several years older than them in calculus, computers and biology.  When I met the young lady that would become my wife I got to know the home school community from a different perspective, as she was raised in it.  Over the years I've seen folks that cover the entire spectrum from 'unschoolers' that value non-conformity above all else to the Classical Conversation Crew whose kids, I presume but cannot confirm, are speaking Latin over the dinner table.  Now as a homeschooling father of four I can say with confidence that, while the territory is uncharted the ships have been burned and we are moving forward with conviction.  Here are a few things that comprise the core of my stance on homeschooling and, more precisely, being a homeschooling dad.

First, we are not trying to reproduce what the .gov schools are doing.  I have had folks tell me that they home school because they have seen what the .gov schools are doing and think they can't possibly do any worse.  While I understand where they are coming from I cringe a little bit inside every time I hear that.  Like it or not, when a family makes the decision to educate their children in the home they are really saying 'thanks, but we can do this better.'  There is a bit of arrogance in that statement regardless of whether it comes from the crispy, sandal clad hippie with dreads or the 'we put the FU in fundamentalist' Christian.  So, if that is what we are saying then we better back it up.  Our actions and our final product best be in line with our attitude that we can, in fact, do it better.

Second, it's not because we fear that our children will become like the heathens.  Truth be told, we know them pretty well and need no convincing that they are heathen already.  We choose to educate in the home because we are convinced that a complete education must start with a Biblical worldview such as cannot be found in a .gov school.  I know, I know...you live in the mid-west and your kid's teacher is the pianist/drummer/head flag-waver on the synchronized dance and sign language team. But that's just not the same as a father and mother opening the Bible and helping to frame a child's perspective day in and day out.  And I know some folks want their kids to be salt and light.  That's cool.  We do too.  We just want to get them good and salty first.

Finally, and perhaps most importantly, at least according to my peers that choose not to home-school, what about the lack of the second income?  Doesn't your wife need to assert her inner lioness by juggling a career outside the home, daycare drop offs, dry-cleaner pickups and therapy appointments/medication when she realizes that she can't keep up with all of it and just doesn't understand why her little man now wants to use the girls restroom and wears mascara?  In response to that I just say 'nope, we've got different priorities'.  Yes, it does add some pressure on the husband and father to actually, you know, be the husband and father.  And yes, it means that the drive way has a couple of 20 something year old Chevys in various stages of functionality.  But hey, 2 windshield wipers seems like a bit of overkill, right?   And yes, I understand that this doesn't work for every couple.  I'm not saying they are wrong.  It's just how we roll and, apparently, diversity and tolerance are like the new patriotism.  So, you wave your flag and we'll wave ours.  We can still be on the same team.

I know there are some that will point to this and say 'see, it's just like I thought all along, these homeschooling folks just keep their women home barefoot and chained to the stove...these...these folks are a veritable cornucopia of deplorables', or something similar.  I'm certain I can't change any of those folks minds. But in reality things look a lot more like this.

The kids start each morning with a home-cooked meal by a beautiful woman wearing one of my shirts and then I open the Bible and we continue where we left off the day before.  Then I drag myself away from all that matters to me in the world to head off to an office where I do the modern equivalent of slaying the dragon or harvesting the wheat or some such overly romanticized version of trading my days for dollars.  She gives up all of that career chasing and stuff to fritter away her days molding and shaping the future of humanity.  That's all.  Just the trivial task of ensuring that Western Civilization as we know it does not crumble.  No biggie.  Maybe someday she will wish she had spent more time wrestling spreadsheets and less preparing our sons and daughters to carry the torch for humanity.  And maybe not.  My job is to ensure that she can do hers.  Hers is important...like, life and death important.  Mine is too, but only in so much as it allows her to focus on what really matters.  A great night ends up with the whole family snuggled up to watch a TV show produced before the mid 80's or sitting around an assortment of guitars and percussion instruments.  I know, I know, we could be texting them that dinner is ready so they could take it back to their rooms to eat while they play some video game with a 45 year old 'friend' they met online.  But heck, we are old-fashioned like that.

For a homeschooling dad, life is the classroom.  How we live, walk, talk, work and love all come together to mold the hearts and minds of our kids.  So live right, walk humbly, talk gently, work diligently and love with the fire of Christ.  After all, it's just your family name and heritage on the line.  And when we fall short of those ideas, show them all that a man runs to the cross and bows to the King.  That's where they really learn what salty looks like.