The one constant about having a bad week, is that you either drop everything you are doing to change the scenery. The other is you bury yourself in what you believe to be non-harmful activities. No need to change the routine--change the person, change the attitude. I think both worked.
After the storm of conferences, we dropped every commitment--well, I did. I skipped out on Life Group, share group on Saturday. I had nothing positive to say and nothing to give. I needed to think of "What did I need to hear?" but hindsight is always 20/20. Sunday, the kids were sick and I didn't teach Sunday school. I spent the day napping and doing odd jobs, threw away piles of ungraded papers and seriously was hoping to eat my way into oblivion (that didn't happen, at least).
The week started much the same way it had previously began. Monday's lessons seemed to drag, staff meetings droned on and suddenly I found myself that one person with the sarcastic attitude that I dread sitting beside. Upon entering home, I threw myself in reading. I have 3 books that are warranting my attention, sometimes 4. I have been reading "Bringing Up Boys" by Dr. Dobson which helps dads like me figure out what to do with their boys with a Christian perspective. Every chapter makes me think of my son in a different light. The tantrums and shouting are now understood. The silliness and adventurous nature of him was explained as well. He asked us tonight, "Why don't you let me jump on the trampoline without the screen?" My answer was a laundry list of dangerous activities he's tried on more than one occasion.
The other book I have upstairs is "The Bee Eater" about Michelle Rhee. My teacher friends are probably cringing reading this. Most teachers hate her. She stands for everything wrong with education--high-stakes testing, teacher evaluations and accountability and failing inner-city schools. She was featured in the movie, "Waiting for Superman," as this scowling menace that was ready to fire a teacher that was unwilling to change. For me, however, Rhee is more an opportunist than the anti-Christ. Surely she didn't introduce No Child Left Behind and all the legislation and failed policies that have come along since its implementation. She didn't create a testing company. And she surely didn't make charter schools. Another reason I'm reading about her (maybe it's my secret wish to go against the grain, and I get that too) is I'd like to form my own opinion. Commercials tells me what to eat, unions suggest who to vote for, and politicians create enthusiasm for waving into crowds and nothing more.
Another book I'm digging into is "Wild at Heart." It's a book about how to find that adventurous heart that is lacking in Christian men. I am being asked to lead a men's study with this book in the spring and delved right into its pages. I love it. It begins by asking you what do you see when you envision a Christian man? And undoubtedly, we see meek men, passive men. Nice guys. I haven't always been a nice guy. And part of my reawakening is to bring myself closer to that nice guy persona--or so I thought. The world bombards men with its image of some metro-sexual, somewhat effeminate momma's boy. Half of children's programming on Nickelodeon or the Disney Channel and even the ironically named ABC Family make dads invisible, non-existent or buffoons. And when a man is assertive, he's a punch line, a neanderthal, a bigot.
My fifth graders are reading "To Kill a Mockingbird," and in some way I am reliving my freshman year in high school. Atticus Finch was the manly man, and he never fought in a boxing ring or mauled a lion with his bare hands. The men in my Life Group are men like Atticus. Men of respect. Although I don't have aspirations to hunt, like many of them do, I love that they are bold fighters for Christ and declare their love of Jesus. They are the leaders of their households. Pansies they aren't.
This past Sunday I had a bad day at basketball. Turnovers, no defense. I had two shots blocked so bad I drew a laugh from the resident jerk. There was a moment running down the court that I was ready to intentionally foul the bastard. I quit instead. I played one more game before calling an end to my night. No more embarrassment. My thoughts ranged from that feeling I had back in fourth grade, never getting picked for kickball. I spent my entire summer kicking a ball on the side of my house. I envisioned putting a dent in that brick wall. I had my red-haired friend Kevin Hebert launch that red rubber ball high into the air to prove I could catch it. I wanted to be picked first by any means necessary. And when fifth grade started, and my time finally came, I launched that ball into the outfield. I wasn't picked last again.
I have no desire to be the jerk. As I read about testosterone and humility, I am at the same time blanketing fires within my heart that sometimes go unchecked. The one too many looks at the cute student teacher. The scenario where I'm chocking some poor bastard who laughed at me. Others too. The only way I am to make it as a Christian man is to allow the most many of men--Jesus--in a little more. And that vision is changing too. In all the pictures of Jesus, you see some timid holy man surrounded by children. But I've read Revelation, and I know that he was a carpenter. Jesus isn't a timid man to me. He's a warrior. A man's man.
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