So...where are the sandwiches?

It's April. Well, that's not really true, it's March 30th, but for all intents and purposes it's April because there isn't enough March to really count and I have a paycheck in my pocket that is all about April. So, let me begin again...

It's April.

It's not only April, it's lent. Easter is crazy late in the year this year so really we are right smack in the middle of lent. It's in the middle when we forget that it's actually lent. Ash Wednesday is a big day where we reflect on the things that we picked up in the last year; the things that weighed us down and caused us to miss our finish lines. We partied it all out the night before and now we have given up something for the next forty days.

At least that was the plan.

This is that time in the journey where we start to see less and less travelers on the journey with us. We began with a bang, excited about the miracles ahead. But then there was just a lot of walking and, though the road is full of little graces, the miraculous is harder to see. This is the moment were giving up becomes the most tempting. We are closer to what we have left behind than we are to the glories of what is ahead. The past beacons us to the familiar mediocracy of the unexamined life.

Lent isn't about the miracles. It's about the walk.

I often stumble into my lenten journey. I'm not good at deciding what I'm going to give up or add into my life. I get the concept completely. Lent is about reordering ones life to make room for grace. I fill my life with noise and stimulations and worries to the point that I lose time and resources on accomplishing nothing. The Spirit of God calls us in this season to feel everything; hunger and loneliness and quiet. It mirrors the Master's journey toward the cross.

The cross doesn't come without a long walk. In his first few years of ministry, Jesus' life was marked by the incredible. There were healings, and storm-silencing, and the feeding of thousands. The crowds were massive, but Jesus kept retreating to the lonely places. The last year was focused on a small band of brothers. People would even call out to him to do another trick; a "sign," they called it. Jesus refused. He was not here to be the entertainment. The days leading up to the cross were only noted by the wear and tear on his shoe leather.

And the people who shared the road became less and less.

Sometimes in life it is the quiet times that define us rather than the moments we are in the spotlight. We know our goal lies ahead and we are just putting one foot in front of the other. People who were there at the beginning might start to drift away from us, shaking their heads and talking about the once great person who lived in our skin.

But we know we are on a long walk. We know that our glory is ahead.

We also know that it will get darker before we get there.

But no one will stop us from walking.

stories for boys

It's been a long time brewing. Ideas and one-liners have been floating through my head about what it means to be a man. I have boys of my own, making this project critical. Notebooks are filled with little tips on how to navigate the challenging world of being a truly great man. There are simple tips on things like grooming or manners or how to treat a woman. Some require minor attention to detail while others require a great deal of sweat. The delay hasn't been lack of things to say, but simply where to begin.

Tonight I discovered the beginning.

It's not uncommon for my boys and I to get into conversations about superheroes. It's in our DNA. We could no more restrain a conversation about who would win in a battle than I could become a ham sandwich. Some of the funniest and most revealing conversations have to do with what superpower you would choose if you could choose one. Now, there are rules to this conversation. You can't say "every power"; that's tantamount to wishing for more wishes if you were lucky enough to find a genie. Also, you can't ask to be a wizard. That's not a superpower. This rule came because Jack chose that power and we decided that wasn't fair. It has to be a legit power, and you only get one. Try this game sometime, you wont be let down.

Lately, however, we've been having a different conversation. We've been talking about what makes a hero. Is it just power? It only takes an intuitive school ager to recognize that flight, invisibility, or laser vision is not the true mark of a hero. What makes any man a hero is his heart.

Any conversation about what makes a man has to begin with the heart of a man.

Men, stereotypically, don't spend much time in the area of heart. Many would put heart stuff in the arena of women; much to our loss. From a man's heart springs all that he is. It's what dictates his decisions, his loves, and his passions. If a man's heart is right, much of what is contained in the rest of this project will just be commentary on what will be happening naturally.

Our power is in our heart.

Mine has taken a beating this past season. I'm just starting to become aware of it. If you were able to take it from my chest you would see a worn instrument, filled with holes and marked with the scars of every cut that it has received over the last four decades. However, if injury is all that one sees, you wouldn't really see my heart. There is a beauty and a quiet strength that exists. It's a heart that has known love and has a great capacity to give it away. If I become identified by my wounds then I lose the core of me.

Cowboys fall off of horses. It's part of the deal. Every cowboy that has fallen from a horse is tempted to just stay down. There is a barstool in town that doesn't buck. No one is shooting at you there and there are no cattle to herd or blinding rain to ride through. It's filled with music, women, and poker. He could even get a job there. Sure, for a while he might hear the call of a sunset on the wind that comes in through the swinging doors, but the piano player can just play louder.

That way might be easier, but that isn't the heart of a cowboy.

Life is hard. Storms come. The temptation to box your heart and become what you need to survive will be overwhelming at times, but nothing costs so much as losing who you are.

A man's heart loves deeply and sings with the songs that fill the air as he adds his own. He let's himself feel the loneliness of solitude and doesn't look for something to numb the pain. He is gentle but doesn't back down from a fight when the honor of another is at stake. He trusts his reputation to his own actions and not his fists or his cunning. The heart that shows itself as hero or icon or prince is made strong by how it loves, even if it gets knocked down a time or two. Hitting the ground might require an adjustment, but never a retreat or a compromise. There is too much at stake.

Our power isn't in our clothes or our swagger. There is nothing in our anatomy that is big enough to make us a man. It's not about what we are getting...but in who we are.

So Charming, Clint, and Clark; put away your sword, holster your pistol, and keep your cape at bay. I want to see your soul. It's what makes us men.

So, our first lesson: Guard your heart. Be the man that beats in your chest. Don't be afraid and never compromise who you are made to be and who you will become.

It makes the equipment matter.