To Be A Man

An acrostic on being a man, based on the Westminster Shorter Catechism.

It is Easter weekend, 2017, a time to celebrate the most important event in human history; the death, burial, and resurrection of Jesus Christ. We also consider how the work of Jesus impacts our daily lives. Many of the “powerful” in America in 2017 dislike much of what the Lord taught, and detest who He claimed to be. American Christians, therefore find the Bible at odds with prevailing attitudes in the media, business, government, and entertainment. It can be hard to know what to do, and harder to find strength in tough times. One friend has been unemployed for over a year; another for four months. One is strongly considering leaving his wife. A teenager struggles with what it actually means to be a man, and a recent college graduate faces a wonderful but fearsome task, becoming a husband.  Directly using the word of God, I have described part of what it means to be a man.

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Fatherhood and Ballet

Going to your children’s events to see them is not enough. Dads have to learn to enjoy what their kids enjoy.

Last week I was at a ballet studio watching my daughter dance. It was a fun show, similar to ones that I have seen countless times before. Since my oldest daughter was three, I have attended ballet recitals, shows, and the annual Nutcracker. Over the years, ballet has become an important part of our lives.

It was not always this way. My mother was not a dancer and she had two boys. Our nearest cousins were boys and so were all of our friends. Boys dance, but finding a boy in a typical ballet school can be as hard as finding a Republican in New York City. We played football, joined Boy Scouts, and attended church, but never danced, or knew anyone who did. This all changed when our oldest girl was born.

In the early years, I went to ballet performances to see my daughter, the cutest person in the world to me. From Coppelia to A Midsummer Night’s Dream, I didn’t want to miss seeing her dance or giving her flowers after a performance.

When my little ones started ballet, they began asking me questions after their performances. “Daddy”, one would ask, “What did you think about the Russian dancer?” or “How did you like the Sugar Plum Fairy?” The first time my oldest asked a question like this, the blood drained from my face and I stammered a helpless “They were great, sweetheart, what did you think?” In truth, I didn’t remember the Russian and I couldn’t tell the Sugar Plum Fairy from the Snow Queen. I wasn’t attending dance performances to enjoy dance; I was going there to see my daughters. I thought that this was enough.

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