Real Men Don't Kiss?

I kiss all my boys. My boys don't hesitate to kiss me--well, Nathan not so much now. I guess that is OK. But I've never been ashamed to show affection to them.

I grew up with a dad who didn't show affection. He never kissed us, that I can remember (although he did kiss my mom a lot--at least before they were divorced). I can't remember him ever hugging us. My brother is divorced and is not affectionate.

I chose not to be. I don't blame my dad. It wasn't because he was an athiest--he got beat as a kid and did well for how his parents mistreated him. My brother has done the best he could for how he was raised. My dad told him he had hated him since he was 5 (he said this when Geoff was 14). My only fist fight with my dad was when he hit my brother with a rake. I told him I was going to kick his *** and I just about did.

So I started this fatherhood thing with some baggage--and I still struggle with it. However, I always said I wouldn't be afraid to show affection. Jesus brought forgiveness and healing to my life and my father wound. God has been my role model as a father (and sometimes mother). Seems to be working so far. I think our kids can easily forgive us if they know they can hug us safely.

Led By God Under a Bridge Part 2

So we went to lunch together at Louie's Chinese Restaurant in Chinatown. We had a good meal and it was hot.

He had been in and out of rehab and was now 9 days clean from heroin and crack. He was wanting to get off the streets and we talked about options. I feel that it is better to give options and empower people to choose, rather than choose for them and tell them what to do. It was obvious that something was bothering him. As he talked about his past and how he self medicated, I kept probing as to why he chose the path he had. He kept stating that he had pain and it was hard to accept himself. I understood.

"So, you really believe that God led you to me," he said.
"Sure," I said, "I have learned that God works that way."
"What if I would not have been there?" he asked.

I shared with him that I would be sitting with someone else, somewhere else, eating lunch. However, I suggested to him that there are so many people (I used the term so many you can shake a stick at) like him that God sends us to who we meet. Unfortunately there are not many who will go so there are plenty who need but few who will go. Therefore, I would have met someone.

He was silent. "But," I mentioned, "I listened to God and that is why I met you. God has always tried to reach you--sometimes you closed your eyes, other times people God sent bailed before they got to you."

"So people make choices," he said.
"Yes," I replied, "sometimes people make good choices, other times they make bad choices. God offers the choice, people either choose to do or choose to ignore. Yet most of the times God chooses not to intervene."

He understood. "But there have been times when I thought God was leading, but it ended in disaster. I have lived the last few years believing that God punished me and did that to me. I have been angry with him."

I understood. I mentioned that people make choices. If I had walked to him, as God had led me, and some guys met me, robbed me, and beat me up (before I got to him) would God have still been to blame? It was clear that God had led me to the bridge, but did God put the guys in my way to hurt me?

He shook his head.

Led By God Under a Bridge

Thursday morning I was making my usual trek downtown to see who God would put in my path. Pioneer Square was covered due to the Ale Festival. As usuall most of the people I usually see are gone from the square. I have found that searching the bridges, riverfront, and Saturday Market area gives more people to meet. This day I got off the MAX and headed to the river. Something kept urging me left to the steel bridge.

"Not interested," I kept saying. "It's rainy, 11am, and everyone's left." I don't know--I used to be pretty logical about everything but since last year I have started listening to those urges, prompting, feelings--whatever you want to call it--however I think God's Spirit is the author of what is happening. I've stopped questioning this--because God always is glorified when I tend to listen.

I walked a ways, confirming my suspicions that it was too wet, too cold, and too late. Bridge folks usually head to town before the police come and fine them for trespassing.

There he was. A young kid (although I found out later he was 28) sitting, huddled under the steel bridge. He was cold, shaking, and had his head down. I walked straight to him and he watched me with his eyes. "Hey, how are you," I said. He justed shook his head. "How would you like a hot meal, say--lunch is on me?" I asked.

"You're kidding," he said. He looked as if I was up to something. Maybe he thought I was one of those guys who hangs out downtown wanting to sexually abuse or prostitute young boys. I could understand his skepticism.

"Nope, just a hot meal and you can be on your way."

"Sure," he said.

More tomorrow. But for now--God was right...I was wrong.