Today my men are on my mind. How much I love them and how grateful I am for them. The Daddy who worked 18-hour days to fill my lunchbox, who laboured side by side with my powerful and gracious mother to mold and correct and scold and protect me. My two brothers – one by blood and two in love. The men who have come alongside me, offered humour, power, hugs, and friendship as pure as the driven snow. The mentors who have given me chances and helped me grow in my career and in my life.
My Godfather let me out in traffic this morning. He didn’t see that it was me but the loving power of his presence hung in the air of the morning. Another friend squeezed my hand and winked at me with a shared understanding as I walked to the breakfast table. Text messages, hugs, words of encouragement, scoldings, and advice from the men that are in my life have been little building blocks of a supporting fortress of testosterone and muscle that only a man can create. And I am grateful.
I am convinced that every little girl should have the love of good men. Every little girl needs a good father to worship and to set her standards by and her expectations high for her life. Every little girl needs a brother to fight with, to tell on, to fight to the death for, and to be protected and loved by. Every little girl needs to be taught the dangers of relationships with men but to be balanced with the knowledge of how to dig through the negatives and get to the core of the amazing people walking around in male form. She should be encouraged to remember that there are pillars of masculinity that reflect a part of God’s own image even as there are those who are evil.
This weekend we buried one such pillar. An uncle I visited awhile back in this blog. This morning I pause in his honour and in honour of the others like him who have been the hand of God in the lives of the little girls and big girls around them.