The Emotional Headlock

                I belong to this little men’s workout group.  We go out to public parks and schoolyards in the morning and do pushups and jumping jacks in the pre-dawn gloom.  After the workout, we sit in a Circle of Trust, tell each other our names (we have goofy little nicknames) and say a prayer together.  Afterwards, that day’s leader (we trade it off) writes an e-mail listing who was there, describing what we did and making sport of whatever funny thing might have happened.   I have been doing this for about two years.  There are other men in the group who have been doing it for five years.  On Saturdays, some guys bring their teenage sons.  Once in a while, a guy brings his dad. 

                It only takes an hour to do this, but this hour has become a pretty important part of my day and this group an important part of my life.  It’s funny how I could not see that I had a hole in my life until this group filled it for me. It’s like not knowing you were hungry until after you ate dinner.  Maybe, men trick themselves into not seeing how empty some part of their life is because we are afraid that we would be powerless to do anything about it.  We like to solve problems.  Why bother thinking about a problem that we cannot fix?

                We have noticed a  certain pattern of resistance in men that we invite to the workout for the first time.  They say it’s too early in the morning, that they already belong to a gym or just started with a new personal trainer.   And they procrastinate—“hey, I want to do it, but I need to get in shape first.”  To which we respond, “but that’s the point Brother; to get in shape.  Why would you want to get in shape before you come out to get in shape?  Would you take a bath before you took a shower?  Just come out.  Stop stalling.” 

I think the foundation of this resistance is that existential emptiness that we men trick ourselves into ignoring.  If the emptiness does not exist, than there is nothing that needs to be done about it.  So, joining the group is in a sense an attempt to do something about the emptiness and thus a tacit admission that it does exist.  Tough step to take, at least it was for me.  I needed somebody to drag me along, which is sometimes the only way to overcome that new-guy resistance.  We call it the Emotional Headlock.  It’s not complicated.  You just make yourself such a persistent pain in the neck to the guy that he comes out just to shut you up.  We have found that it usually takes multiple headlocking sessions, and that it often takes more than one headlocker.  With me, it took three different guys working on me separately.  What underlies that kind of persistence?  Assurance.  First, that the group works—it fills the hole.  Second, that the guy you are headlocking needs it as much as you did.  Makes you kind of bold.  

Something to Worry About

I read a story once of a man's unsuccessful efforts to housebreak a puppy.  Every time the  puppy peed on the floor, he would spank it with a rolled up newspaper and throw it out the kitchen window.  Eventually, the puppy figured it out.  Right after he peed on the floor he would jump out the kitchen window himself.

That story reminds me of how a lot of men are taught to deal with worry.  That is to say, we are not taught anything but how to jump out of the window before we get hit.  The essence of what we learn is that worrying is for women.  Men do not need to worry, because they are not supposed to be afraid of anything in the first place.  Fear is a woman's emotion and worry is a woman's reaction, so my son you had better keep your worries to yourself lest you be accused of womanliness.  In my childhood, and I sense it still the same, this is the highest insult that a boy can receive.  Interestingly, that is not so in the inverse.  To call a woman low maintenance is to imply that she is like a man in her lack of need for reassurance in the face of fear.  That's great, but maybe she's just a girl who learned how to jump out of the window with her brother before she got hit with that rolled up newspaper.

So Brothers, here's a four point plan for worry control:

1. Admit to yourself that you worry and you need to do something about it beside suppress it as a womanly reaction to a  womanly emotion.

2. Pray.  God does not want us to worry.  Jesus talked about it a lot.  He would not have done that if He did not know our hearts and want to help us.

3. Share your worries with the guys in your Circle of Trust (yes, this assumes you have such a thing, which is the subject of another day).

4. Put others first and act on it.  It is virtually impossible to worry about yourself when in action on behalf of another.  Try it.

How Fred Knows He's Really Onto Something

My buddy Fred comes up with a lot of ideas, some of which are frankly, quite dubious.  I had to talk him out of the Buro-crapper (a combination toilet-desk chair that would allow the busy executive to multi-task in a very basic way).  But I've also tried to talk Fred out of some really good ideas, the genius of which was just beyond me.  On those occasions Fred would just smile and say, "thanks for your input Dredd, but I think we'll just press forward on this."  

I know I'm not the only guy off of whom Fred bounces his ideas.  He believes that a good plan requires many counselors, and has a kind of crazy-quilt board that he runs things by, one director at a  time.  Fred told me that the men on this eclectic board of his come from different and extreme parts of the personal, business and faith aspects of his life, but they all share one thing:  they all mean him well.  Fred has chosen his board members carefully so get can get opinions un-corrupted by self-interest, fear and jealousy.  So, when Fred gets a wide range of feedback from his board he is able to balance it all out without worrying about the externalities of personal animus.  

But a resounding YES from his board is not what convinces Fred that he is onto something.  He is only sure that The Idea is unique (rather than derivative), clearly defined (rather than too murky to execute) and substantive (rather than just another slogan to rally around for a season) when he encounters The Three Amigos of Objection from the people from whom his idea will require change.  He calls these objections "The Amigos" because none of them are directed substantively at The Idea, but rather come at him like a guy sidling out of a dark alley in Tijuana whispering raspingly "hey Amigo, where do you think you're going?"  

AMIGO ONE:  "Gee Fred, we like The Idea but we are not sure we can support it with (whatever)."  This is the logistical objection.  According to Fred, it always comes first, before The Idea is substantively evaluated, and always offers up practical sounding hurdles that do not withstand much real scrutiny--leading to Amigo Two.

AMIGO TWO:  "Gee Fred, I guess we can support The Idea after all, but we've been kicking it around up here and think you need to consider (watering it down so drastically that it is just like everything we have always been doing around here already)."  Fred compares this effort to co-opt The Idea by burrowing out its essence to the way pop culture embraces and guts everything at the edge.  Like how rap was fresh and scary until it started turning up in commercial jingles.  Fred says that nothing can remain scary (or useful) after it obtains a commercial sponsor.  But what if Fred is not willing to sell out The Idea to Amigo Two?  Then he grits his teeth for Amigo Three.

AMIGO THREE:  "Gee Fred, I guess we can support The Idea, and we get it that you aren't willing to make these small changes we shared with you, so we got to kicking The Idea around up here and realized that you are kind of a (racist, homophobic, pedophile hypocrite--or whatever other personal attack that seems like it might crush Fred's emotional windpipe)."  Fred told me that he was only shocked by Amigo Three the first 50 or so times he heard it.  Now, it's sweet music baby, because it means his idea has elements so unique and valuable that those affected have pulled out the last stop to try to stop it from being fully formed.  

Now Fred is not crushed, dissuaded or even distracted when something about The Idea is so confrontational that the Three Amigos of Objection are sent out to divert it. In fact, it is only then that Fred Knows He's Really Onto Something.

Spin Class and a Bag of Stale Doritos

   My friend got me to go to a spin class at the YMCA a couple of times.  I was intrigued that many of the women in the class would drape a towel over a particular bike to save it while they finished their pre-class preparations in the locker room downstairs--intrigued enough to ask one of them about it.  She told me that was "her" bike, and that she always used it.  In fact, she was so attached to it that she might skip the class if someone else got it first.  She also told me that she was similarly attached to that particular class with that particular instructor.  I guess she liked spin class, but could skip it if conditions were not ideal.  I feel that way about exercise to some extent. It's necessary, but I'm willing to put it off.

   But I do not feel the same way about eating.  While I prefer steak, I will eat a stale bag of Doritos if I'm hungry enough.  This is also the way I think most married men feel about sex.  While we would prefer to make love to our wives in a beach bungalow with the sea breeze blowing the candlelight around, if we have to, we are more than willing to do it at home with the kids banging on the bedroom door and our mother-in-law calling on the phone.  When it comes to sex, the fact that a man might have to settle for a bag of stale Doritos is no more an obstruction than a single ant is an obstruction to a picnic.  

   Wives, on the other hand, seem to see marital sex differently.  It's more like spin class to them.  They like it, and they are happy about it afterward, but sometimes it is just too hard to get there. They are willing to put it off until tomorrow if they can't get to the YMCA in time to get their usual bike. For wives, the screaming kids and calling mothers-in-law ARE practical obstructions, like thunderstorms at a picnic. They can wait for a sunny day.

   Given the thin tangent existing between hungry husbands and spinning wives, it's a wonder we have kids at all.  But we do, and I contend the reason is love.  It would be a funny joke God played on men and women by designing their libidos so differently if He had not also thrown in love.  With love, men are able to wait for dinner even though they are hungry, and women still go to spin class even though they might not get their favorite bike.  I know it seems trite, but if it isn't love, what else could it be that gets us both to the picnic?


   

Space Junk

 "In your love you have kept me from the pit of destruction.  You have put all my sins behind your back."  (Isaiah 38-17).

On TV, My father and I were watching the astronauts maneuver the lunar module towards the surface of the moon.  As interesting as that was to a boy of 12, I couldn't focus on it.  Looking at the frail little module, I kept thinking about how big the spacecraft had been as it sat upright on the launching pad, and the giant booster rockets that had hurled it toward the moon in stages and then fallen away.

"Dad, what happens to the rockets?" I asked.

"Nothing happens to them son.  The astronauts don't need them anymore."

"But where do they go?  Does somebody come get them?  Won't the astronauts need them for next time?"

"No, as far as these astronauts go, there won't be a next time.  This it."  Dad answered.  "They aren't worried about those rockets son.  They are concentrating on landing on the moon."

"But where do the rockets go?  Won't they fall on somebody here?  Maybe us."  I asked, still not completely satisfied.

My father laughed with that mixture of exasperation and pride I recognize in myself when one of my querulous children won't leave something alone.  "Stop worrying about the rockets son.  Their job is done.  They are just space junk now.  All that matters is the landing."

I believe that one of the great things we do for our children in  teaching them about Christ as early as possible is to give them the chance to accept Him now, rather than later.  The choice is theirs, but the chance is ours.

It is not that salvation at 40 rather than 12 is any less sweet.  But with late-life repentance can come abundant regret for the dissolution of a life led outside His grace.  At 12, I had perhaps a wallet full of childish deeds to regret.  By 40, that baggage far exceeded the capacity of the overhead compartment--I was not just walking on the plane with it.  It was going to have to be checked at the gate.

As a result, despite a burgeoning faith, I found myself grinding on those things done and left un-done before I was saved, and it was inhibiting my growth in Christ.  It was as if the acid of regret was corroding my connection to the Lord.  Finally, and with the counsel of men who had trod that same path, I realized that I was like an astronaut who was worrying about the discarded rocket stages rather than the moon landing.  Those things that had propelled me to the place I found myself in Jesus had fallen away and were now simply Space Junk out in the infinite blackness.  I didn't need them anymore and I didn't need to worry about what had happened to them.  Like the  lunar module, I was light and small, with only the prospect of a moon landing to consider.  Freed of the Space Junk, I did not look a thing like the man I had been on the launching pad.  Not a thing.