So, the last few blogs have been a little mushy. A little less than "guyish". A little limp-wristed for us hairy knuckled, jerky-eating, sunflower seed spitting menly men. If you agree, give a "harumph" and belly bob your neighbor.
I think it is okay for a guy to be a guy. It's okay to like a good cage match, and let your testosterone push you to cut down a tree. If you wanna change your oil, then by golly roll up those sleeves, grab a ratchet and get to it. If the call of the wild is getting the best of you; a tent, a fishing pole and a can of beans is a good cure.
Afterall, Jesus was a man's man right? He didn't suggest the money changers "might wanna close up shop at the end of the day, if they wanna" NO. He kicked righteous bootie. He flipped a few tables, smacked a few folks around. When it came time to give his life, He didn't wimp out. He did the impossible. He looked death in the eye, gritted his teeth. and did what he chose to do. That's inspiring. That's Passion-perfect. That's extactly and emphatically the kinda guy that even Clint Eastwood would want to be. That's the kinda guy we all wanna be. But how many times have I seen my own sin, and ran away? How many times have I seen the chance to grit my teeth, and instead chattered with fear?
So, are we men or mice. Do we fart and growl by day, then cower and wimper by night? Do we talk a good game around the Jesus boys at work, then go out with the crowd at night?
May the words of my mouth and the mediation of my heart by pleasing in your sight, Oh Lord. And help me tip a few tables in your name.