Man Up!

I took a group of guys backpacking in the Linville Gorge a couple of months ago. It was a great trip. We spent two nights in the woods by the beautiful Linville River, and I think we all hoped it would never end. There were all kinds of stories that came out of that trip. The guy who fell in the frigid water while trying to cross the river on the rocks. Too many beans and too little space in the tent. Disrupted constitutions. The lost trail after the sun went down. The near-lethal flaming stove. You know...the normal stuff that happens in the woods when it's just a group of men. But one night as we began talking around the campfire, things got a little serious. We talked about how there's just something about the wilderness that speaks to us as men. Something about being connected to the land. No showers. No sports shows on widescreen TV's. No icemaker. No traffic jams. Just the land, the stars, the fire, the pack on your back, and the guys beside you.

The imperative statement of the trip was "Man up!" Now I have heard this used in quite a few different ways, as in:

"Man up and go change your panties!" (Translation: "Quit acting like a girl.")

"Just man up and do it." (Translation: "Quit being so indecisive.")

"Man up and take it." (Translation: "Don't wimp out.")

I know that some of that can be offensive. After all, we are living in a culture that values an egalitarian gender perspective. But I wonder where that kind of thinking has led us. I certainly think it has led us to a world of men living in passivity. Men don't know what it means to lead. They don't make decisions. They don't protect their women. They know nothing of honor. They are passive.

As we were talking about this very thing around that campfire that night, one of the guys asked, "But if no one was passive, wouldn't that leave us with a bunch of egomaniacs who can't agree on anything?"

And that is precisely where we have lost the meaning of the word. Passivity is not about being kind and cooperative. Passivity has nothing to do with things like loyalty and honor. Passivity is about laziness. Doing nothing. And that is precisely what our culture of passive men has fostered. We do nothing.

The key here is responsibility. Except for denying it, we just don't know what it is:

"You were hammered; you had way too much to drink."
"Well, I'm addicted to alcohol and none of my friends tried to stop me."

"Man, your family is falling apart. Your kids are out of control."
"What am I supposed to do? My work demands too much of me."

"Dude, you are obese; you better start eating better and exercising."
"I can't help it; I don't have time."

"I can't believe you cheated on your wife and went to bed with that woman."
"I couldn't help it; she seduced me."

We have become a generation of guys who refuse to take responsibility for anything: our performance, our health, our families, our decisions, our work, our finances, our morals and values. You name it; we pass the buck. That's passivity. And it's the self-embraced disease of masculinity.

If you're a man out there, it's time to man up and take some responsibility. Do that, and you won't have to worry about changing your panties.

Shut Up and Let Me Drink My Smoothie!

Just a few days ago, I went to a coffee shop that I visit when my favorite shop is closed. Not great coffee, but since it was hot I wanted a smoothie anyway. I was working on a project past deadline, and I absolutely had to complete it. It was about 8:00; my was putting my daughter to bed, and since my presence in the house can sometimes get my daughter worked up at bedtime, I decided to work in the coffee shop. The atmosphere of this particular coffee shop is pretty decent. There is a mixture of incandescent and dim fluorescent lighting. They have several cafe tables with comfortable chairs. Local art hangs on the walls, and there is a large seating area at the center of the shop with two large chairs, a coffee table, magazines, and a sofa. It's a nice place with the fragrance of coffee beans hanging in the air.

I ordered my smoothie, grabbed a seat at one of the tables, opened my Powerbook, and sat down to start writing. My smoothie was up, so I stopped writing, grabbed the drink and headed back to my seat. Upon returning to my seat, my attention was drawn to a boisterous voice coming through the door. I looked up to see that the woman's frame matched her voice. I don't mean she was obese. I mean she was a large-framed woman. She was dressed like some sort of glammed-up hippie with knee-high high-heeled boots. She was a presence that demanded one's attention. I tried to ignore her. But then two other women came in and joined her. When the other two ladies arrived, they were carrying a sound system and a large keyboard. The conversation that ensued was even louder than the first woman's pronouncements. It became obvious that this was some sort of music group.

Now music groups in coffee shops are normal. Just two days before, I was leading a Bible study in this same coffee shop to the tune of a really spacey yet jazzy instrumental three-piece. But this act was nothing like that. While I am sitting there attempting to block out their obnoxious conversation, this woman starts making demands. She asks for the tables in the back to be moved to the front near the music (in her words) "so that we can have more seating." She asks for the lights to be changed - the light I was using! Then she had the audacity to crank up the keyboard and ask, "Hey...can you in the back hear this keyboard?"

Here's the thing: she assumed that everyone in the shop was there to hear her. How is it that we can be so egotistical? How could this woman actually think that her music is desirable to everyone at any given time. I'm sure her music was fine, but I was not there in that coffee shop to listen to a concert. I was there to work. Coffee shops are for working, talking, sipping, reading, and sometimes doing all of that to a soundtrack provided by a band somewhere in the background. This egotistical woman somehow got it in her head that her presence changed all that. This coffee shop suddenly had no seats away from the band. The lighting was being changed. And the background music was being moved to the forefront. The coffee shop was no longer a coffee shop. It was now a music venue.

Now I wish I could tell you that I stood up, grabbed one of the tables and moved it to the back of the room. I wish I could tell you that I turned the lights back on. I really wish I could tell you that I walked up to the woman, told her I was not there to hear her, and asked her to turn it down. But I didn't. I got up, closed my computer, took the rest of my smoothie, and walked out the door.

Why do we allow people this kind of social irresponsibility?

Still Here...

My wife and I were away from home this past weekend. I guess you could call it a long weekend. We were gone Friday through Tuesday. Anyway, we touched down at an airport two hours away from home right on time, found our car in the long-term parking lot, and began the two-hour drive home. Ninety minutes into the drive my phone rang. It was a pastor friend of mine. He is a friend, but he's not one of the friends I talk to on a daily, weekly, or even monthly basis. So when his name and number popped up on my caller ID, I wondered what was going on. I answered the phone by calling his name and adding something like, "How's it going?" He replied, "Hello, Jonathan. Have you received any phone calls about your health?"

Now I must admit, that seemed a strange question.

"No I haven't. Why do you ask?"

"Well, it appears that a radio station has reported the murder of someone named Jonathan Yarboro. One of our college students heard it, knew who you were (Do you like the past tense there?), called me, and asked if I knew anything about it. I told him I didn't but that I would call you and see if I could find anything out."

I laughed. "No, I have not been murdered. Everything is fine."

He replied, "Well, I'm glad to hear your voice."

My response: "I'm glad you're hearing my voice too!"

At first, it was funny. Then it got a little creepy. Then I wondered what would have happened had I not answered my phone when my friend called. Would he have left a message? What would it have said?

Oh well. I guess that's one of those questions I'll never know for sure. But it could be fun to comment on here? What do you think is the proper etiquette for leaving a message for someone you think could possibly be dead?

Okay...I'm getting angry again...

You know, it's been quite a while since I last posted on Hear the Yawp. I guess that's for a couple of reasons. I have fallen prey to my own enemy - busy-ness. Yeah. I hate it. You don't get time to think. You don't get time to process things. You don't get time to spend with all the people you want to hang out with. And in the case of Hear the Yawp, there is just not a whole lot of "yawp-sounding." It's like the bumper sticker says, "If you're not irate, you're not paying attention. I suppose I haven't been paying enough attention!

So here's to paying more attention...

I will rant. Soon. And very soon.

Small Hammers Can Be Useful Too!

I've recently received quite a bit of flack for not updating this thing, and just to satisfy the people-pleaser in me, I have decided to write this post. Who knows what might happen! I might just start updating regularly again.

Yesterday my church Intaglio helped this family out in our town. The lady has terminal cancer of some sort, and she recently got a powered wheelchair (yea, the kind that takes you to see things like the Grand Canyon and the Statue of Liberty in TV commercials). The problem is that she couldn't get the thing out of her house. Someone had come and attempted to build her a ramp, but some work needed to be done to it so that she could actually use it. I'll get to those details later.

The plan was to meet at 9:00 AM and drive to the family's house together in order to be there by 9:30.

9:00. I arrive. Puck was there waiting on me. He had no tools. We went inside to get the address of the house and wait on everyone to arrive.

9:05. Kate, one of the girls in our church, showed up next. Now I should mention two things here: 1) I was expecting all guys because of the nature of the work (old-fashioned but true) and 2) Of all the girls in our church (next to my wife), Kate would be the last person I would expect to show up to help build a wheelchair ramp.

We waited.

9:25. Drake drives up. He had a hammer, level, tape measure, Skill saw, and drop cord.

Just to sum it up so far. We have a construction job, four people, and two hammers.

9:35. Coy drives up. No tools.

Just to sum it up again: construction job, five people, two hammers.

We arrive at the house at 9:45. Five people. Three cars. Two hammers.

The existing structure was a 4'x4' deck with an unrailed bridge suspended above the sidewalk from the deck to the top of the concrete steps at the driveway. Our mission, should we choose to accept it, was to pull off the existing railing on the deck, extend it three feet out, put up a new railing on the deck and add a railing on both sides of the ramp/bridge. All to code. All to match the existing structure. All with four men, one lady, and two hammers. We chose to accept.

10:30. Railing deconstructed. Posts erected. Dickson calls: "I'm running a little late, but I'm on my way. Do you need anything?"

Yeah. Hammers.

10:35. Kate leaves to go get us coffee, muffins, and the hammer she has at her house.

10:45. Dickson arrives. Hammers are distributed. And then Dickson puts on his brand new tool belt with brand new shiny tools. Drake starts mocking the yuppie tool belt, and Dickson gives some excuse about his old tools being moldy and how he had to get new ones.

11:00. Kate arrives and promptly gives out coffee and muffins. Then she produces the hammer. It was small. The kind of tapping hammer one uses to hang pictures. It reminded me of the rock hammer Tim Robbins used in The Shawshank Redemption. Needless to say, everyone laughed. Kate's response is valid: "At least I have a hammer." But it doesn't stop the remarks! I think the highlight comes from Coy as Kate is tapping in a four inch long galvanized nail: "Give it hell, Kate! Give it hell!" It was hilarious.

But when 2:00 finally rolled around and we were packing up our tools and admiring our work, I noticed something: Kate's contribution. Kate bought everyone coffee and muffins. Kate was the one to mark the placement of each picket. Kate was the one to hold each picket in place as we nailed it to the rail. Kate was the one to get us all laughing. Kate was the one that made the day memorable.

When it was all over, it was the college girl and her tiny hammer that made the day.

Regurgitated Perspective

2:00 AM. From the peace, darkness, and silence of a wonderful night's sleep, she cries. My eyes slowly open. My brain tries to interpret what my ears are hearing. My wife, much more attune than I, is already out of the bed and walking down the hall. My daughter is clearly distressed. I sit up in the bed. My wife walks back in the room. "She threw up in the bed." I walked into my daughter's dark room, turned on the light, dimmed it, and sat down beside her to assess the situation. Were we going to need to change her clothes? Were we going to need to change the sheets? The comforter? Her pillow? What about her blankie? Her doll Kiki? I saw a little on the sheets, so I picked her up, still crying, and carried her to our bedroom. I laid her in our bed, and wouldn't you know it? She rolled over in our bed. I hoped she didn't have any vomit on her. I quickly walked back to the room and met my wife there. We both saw vomit on the sheets only. My wife changed the sheets while I sat with my daughter. It's amazing how fast she can change sheets on a bed. By the time I got back in our room, sat down with our daughter, and started consoling her, my wife was already joining me to assess our daughter's clothes. Yep. Vomit. But only on the shirt! Off the shirt came, and the new one went on just as quickly. "Let's go get back in bed, sweetie," I said to my daughter. She started crying louder. My wife noticed a clump of vomit in our daughter's hair. I asked, "Would you like us to wash your hair before you go back to bed?" She shook her head and cried out a clear "Yes." Over the next ten minutes, we washed her hair, dried her off, and dressed her in clean pajamas. She was back in the bed - sheets changed, pillow changed, hair washed, pajamas changed, everything cleaned up - in thirty-five minutes. I was amazed at our timely prowess in such moments of regurgitation!

As we crawled back into our own bed, I was moved to prayer, not for our won daughter, but for other children. It suddenly struck me that there are millions of children in the world who, when they wake up in vomit, have no running water to wash their hair, have no pajamas (much less a second or third pair), have no bed sheets (much less a second set). And there are millions of children, orphaned or not, that have no parents to wash their hair, change their pajamas, and change their sheets at 2:00 in the morning when they throw up in the bed. There are millions of children who, when they throw up in the middle of the night, are faced with three choices: stay awake, clean it up, or sleep in it. It struck me that many children that same night were sleeping in their own vomit. It broke my heart. And what breaks my heart more is that to a child sleeping in their own vomit, a clean night's sleep is the least of their worries.

Celebration of Negativity

"I've been having some pain in my lungs."

"My mom just found out she has cancer."

"I have a friend in ICU because of a car accident."

"My job is really stressing me out."

"My sister is back on the brownstone again."

"We're behind on our mortgage."

Get in a group of people, ask them if they have anything you can pray for, and these are the kinds of answers you will hear. There are two things I have noticed when it comes to these queries for prayer. First, when you ask someone to tell you their prayer needs, you will be surprised by how bad their lives suck. Someone can have a beautiful family, a great job, good health, and a truly blessed life; but ask them about their prayer needs and all of it goes away. There's nothing quite like times of sharing prayer requests to turn a joyful person to the most pessimistic person you have ever met. For some reason we can only see the negativity surrounding us. The second thing I have noticed is how contagious this negativity is. Ask for the prayer requests, and it may get quiet. Look around the room and watch the wheels of negativity start to turn. After a while, someone will speak up. Wait a few seconds and someone else will speak up. Wait a few more seconds and a couple more people will speak up. The next thing you know the room will erupt is prayer petitions of hopeless negativity. And if you pay very close attention, you may notice that there is a competition going on. You may notice that people begin to one-up each other: My dad is having a stint placed in an artery following his heart-attack last week. A pause and then: Well my dad just had a quadruple bypass after three heart attacks.

Why are we not taking note of what God is doing and bringing our prayer life into cooperation with what God is already doing? Why are we not offering praise for the blessings in our lives? Do we take that much for granted, or is it something more? Could it be that our values have changed?

It seems there is something in our culture that thrives on the negativity in our lives. It's almost like we think it's wrong to be blessed or wrong to be joyful. The norm is pain. Contentment is abnormal. I don't know why American culture has slipped into this expectation of negativity, but I think there must be something wrong when we make our painful circumstances into a competition of who is worse off.

Any thoughts on figuring this one out?