A few days ago, I had the opportunity to watch a little blonde-headed boy conquer the world in his mind. I was at the beach and someone had built a makeshift teepee out of long pieces of driftwood. It was big enough for a small kid to walk into and transplant himself into another space and time.
When I first arrived at the beach and was setting up my chair, I glanced up as he walked by with a piece of driftwood in his hand. Our eyes met and for a moment he appeared sheepish as reality clashed with imagination. It was almost as if he wanted to let me know that he was aware he wasn't carrying a sword. He couldn't have been more than 6 years old, yet old enough to feel slightly embarrassed at having been "caught." In that instant, he was no longer the warrior, but a boy probably going back to his parents to see if there was something to eat. The 'boy mom' in me thought, 'No, NO, that is one dangerous sharp sword and the people need your kind of bravery! Keep fighting!'
To my delight, he came back a while later and that is when I got to watch in full frame this little dude slay imaginary bad guys and all sorts of terrible beasts. He was talking to himself, throwing pieces of driftwood at the teepee, slamming the teepee with pieces of long driftwood, trying to crack long sticks against a nearby log, and the best was when he would suddenly crouch down and yell out a war cry. He was absolutely oblivious to anything else but the world he had created where he was the brave conqueror of all.
It was fascinating. I don't know what came over me but I got choked up and silent tears fell down my cheeks as I continued to watch. For one, he reminded me of my oldest son who used to play in a similar way. He could be in his own world for hours and I always thought how healthy that was. And, I had an ache in my heart as I missed him as a little boy. Time goes by too quickly for a mom.
I also had a pang in my heart for this little warrior and all the other little boy warriors. For this drive, need, and innate sense of self would eventually do battle with a lying thief. The earlier flash of embarrassment this boy showed when our eyes met, I knew would eventually become genuine insecurity and fear about his role as a man. He would wrestle with whether or not he could still step into adventure, be the beast slayer, and the conqueror people looked up to. I wanted to go up to this little invincible warrior, look him in the eyes, hand him his sword, place my hand on his heart, and say, "Don't lose this. You are mighty. You are brave. You will fall and fall hard, many times. You will be bloody and busted up. You will be parched in every sense. The fight will ooze out of you. You will question your capability. It will be then, as you look at the ground - the mud and dust, and feel the pressure on your chest and the onslaught of arrows to your mind, that the mighty will come alive again; that the slayer will rise and your feet will feel the ground. You will stand. It will be in those moments between utter defeat and victorious knowing, where your real warrior self will be made and realized. You are a son of God and created in His image. Take your rightful place." That would probably be about the time he would look at me like I lost my mind, go back to his parents, eat his peanut butter and jelly, and wonder about the weird woman who called him a warrior. But, so be it.
That little guy gave me immense delight as I sat on the beach and watched him. And wouldn't you know, the next night I was sitting on a different beach watching a group of about twelve (maybe) 18 year old guys play football. At first I inwardly cringed as I was in the mood for peace and a good sunset as I sipped my wine and read my book. But, I soon began to watch them in a way I hoped went unnoticed. (Hey, it's the weird woman again).
I quickly could see who the leader was. He had longer hair, was more muscular than the other guys, and was calling the shots. With the exception of one smaller kid sitting on the sidelines, they all had their shirts off. I have to say, what played out before me surprised and kind of warmed my heart. I guess I thought I would see a sort of king of the mountain, underhanded roughness, and a lot of leveling. But, the longer I watched the more I sensed that these were a group of guys who knew each other well. They were a team.
The boy on the sidelines seemed content. He smiled and laughed as the game progressed and from time to time different guys would call out to him and conversation would be exchanged. There were more F bombs dropped during that hour than what I've heard in the last month as loud proclamations were made with pride of how various body parts were hurting. At one point I heard one of the guys say that he needed to call his mom because she probably didn't know he was at the beach. Another guy said how he didn't want to go home because his dad was an alcoholic and I couldn't hear what he said about his mom. Another chimed in about his own home situation. This was between plays as a bunch of them sat in the water out of breath. This is how guys seem to do it. Not much eye contact and while playing - there for each other but not too obvious about it. Bonding, nonetheless.
I spend a lot of time with women and girls. I grew up with two sisters and I work in a field that is probably 85% female. Our residents are female as well as most of my coworkers. I understand women. I love women. I am very pro women.
But, I also have a heart for men and appreciate the strength they offer and the unique struggles they face. My experience with the little boy and the young men on the beach inspired me to write, today. I suppose this could take off into a whole other topic and a new blog, but that's not my purpose this morning. I am certainly no expert but I do believe the heart of a boy is to be a hero and the heart of a man is to be one as well. And, females? They long for that hero whether it be a friend, brother, dad, uncle, grandpa, or especially spouse. Never mind that it is 2020. The heart of things DOESN'T change though the appearance of it might. Don't let any sort of women's movement fool you. Girls want and need a male hero(s).
But, before I lose my focus and get off topic, I want to get back to boys and heroes. Satan, the lying thief, coward, and deceiver of the world has intentionally slapped that word around so it has either become unattainable so why bother or it's cheapened into fast cars, power and money - whoever can shove the hardest. In it's purest form, go back to the blonde headed boy with the driftwood sword. He was born for the moment. He used what he had. He protected and saved. When he couldn't break the stick against the log, he beat it over and over until it cracked. But, and get this, when he couldn't get it to break he threw it to the side and found another one. He knew when to let go and felt no defeat in it. Heroes let go. They don't always win. They just find another stick.
The young guys on the makeshift football field knew teamwork and camaraderie. The skinny boy on the sidelines mattered as much as their muscular leader. One boy's heartache about his home life became all their heartache. One team's touchdown didn't diminish the other team's lack of one. Hard wrestling in the sand only gave excuse to show affection under the guise of ass kicking. An enemy wouldn't have stood a chance walking on to that field. Opposing teams would have become one team in a heartbeat.
Heroes.
I was overwhelmed pondering those different scenes on the beach. Both touched me deeply. The ways of God are usually contrary to the ways of the world. The ways of God don't demean, belittle, and steal life. He doesn't hit below the belt. Our enemy does.
God defines us. Period.
Heroes are made in the heart and mind when the face smacks the dirt and a helping hand is extended by another with mud on his face. But, this making works best with the knowing and experiencing first hand the ABBA FATHER'S love; for His love has the power to make every man a hero.
Written by,
Dee M. Kostelyk
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