A Night Without Words

I'm an English major, and tonight I'm all out of words.

I guess that makes sense. English majors can tire of words too, I hope... we are people after all. Confession: I've never been that exceptional student-scholar, who revels in locking herself in dusky libraries with a plate of philosophy and poetry for lunch. I've wanted to be that student at times, but it's just not me. (This is probably the reason I changed my mind about attending Oxford.) I'm the girl who will burst through the glass doors into the sunlight and run through the campus fields with the wind in my hair and an Owl City track on my iPod. Then I'll write that poetry about the experience afterward. During my first year as a Creative Writing emphasis, I definitely felt a little guilty about my non-conformist English major image. I hate depressing literature (even though most of my own artistic attempts, musical or literary, tend to gravitate towards melancholy); I don't read literary journals for fun; and to this day I still don't own a Moleskine. Nothing against any of this. I've just had to reconcile that it's not me-- at least it's not the entirety of my identity. If I were a pie (let's say coconut cream), the writer/English slice would take up about 1/4 of it. And the few shredded pieces of coconut on top are those rare moments of inspiration, when my creative attempts are actually successful.

Tonight I'm not here to talk about anything abstract. No definitions of manhood or eternity. :) I've realized that I set unrealistic expectations for my blog posts. I either want to create a work that is both transformational and original, or I know people like to be known for what they do, what their career is, what their field of specialty is, what their status is, etc. But really, I would much rather be known for being a person than a student, a writer, a pianist, a tutor, an employee or anything else. More important than any of those titles, I am a daughter, a granddaughter, a sister, a friend, and a lover of Jesus Christ. I never want to be so defined by one particular thing I do that I can't connect with people on every other level too.

Post-Grad Bucket List

So, now that I FINALLY have my Bachelor's of Arts degree in English, I actually have *some* time to read and write stuff that's non-academic. I think I'll share some of what I'm excited to get back into this summer and some of what I hope the rest of my life holds. We never know how long we'll be walking these roads, after all, so it's always a good time for real conversation, right?

Piano-playing! I have sorely missed spending hours with my black-and-white friends, the keys. There's a piano key shaped hole in my soul. I'm looking forward to some quality music with my Fisher pals and maybe even a music video. Also, my generous Gramps wants me to take jazz piano lessons from the musician in his swing band. I can love me a little 1940's. :-)

Writing. I don't plan to whip out a novel in the next year, but I do plan to work seriously on writing of all genres when inspiration hits. A memoir is in the works. I believe it's always best if you can write your own memoirs.

Travel! There are many places I'd love to see-- the top three currently being Scotland, Nashville, and New Zealand (which, did you know, form a perfect diagonal line?). These trips are mainly for the purpose of creating story material.

Cooking! It's been a while since I've been in the kitchen. Frozen yogurt is my newest project, although I put too much coconut extract in the last batch (not enough to make you tipsy though). Making a strawberry-covered Bilbo Baggins inspired cake is on the top of my list.

Being a friend. I have empathy for those who fight battles faithfully. Quality, honest conversation and genuine care for those in emotional, spiritual, or physical pain is very important to me.

Enjoying beauty. I love nothing better than a walk on a cool summer's evening somewhere pretty. That's when the best poetry's written.

Celebrating. Life's too short not to celebrate life.

Seeing the Piano Guys live! I got just a tad-bit giddy when they "liked" my Facebook post on their wall this week. I'm seeing them this summer and can't wait to soak in the gorgeous music. 

Curing my body. Don't need to go into much detail, but it's important to take care of your body (which God calls a temple). And you might as well be chic while doing it, by organizing your flax seed and dark chocolate chips in trendy chalkboard-painted jars. 

Community. Super important to me right now. Getting together with people may not look as attractive as in the above pictures, but that shouldn't stop us from making the effort to eat, sing, talk, play games, and do life with the people God's placed in it.

Noticing WONDER. My creative writing professor Alice Mills told us that we can't be good writers (or very fulfilled human beings for that matter) without a sense of awe and wonder at this story we're living in. Reading a couple of books on this topic right now.

Investing in people I love. That means writing hand-made letters, cooking meals, throwing birthday parties, praying for their well-being, telling them they're awesome. It shouldn't be a secret (unless it should?).

Marrying a man with a Scottish brogue. Did I just say that out loud?...

Hearing that John Mayer finally came to know Jesus and stopped dating high-profile celebrities. Maybe then I could sing his lyrics out loud without feeling dirty.

Move to The Shire. Or if that doesn't work out, I can just go to the movies the next two winters and watch the Hobbit installments. 

This should say "peace" too. I don't think there's anything more important than joy and peace (love is comprised of both, I'm pretty sure). Funny how they're not always within our control though. They tend to be gifts-- good gifts our Father loves to give. (Matt 7:11)

Meet Andrew Peterson and attend his Hutchmoot writer's conference in Nashville, TN. Next year? :-)

Babies! Playing with them, not having them that is. Little Maddie & Owen Bartels are the most adorable things with great personalities. Plus, they belong to one of my best friends. I plan to hang around them a lot.

And finally... REST. 

This one is going to take some time, but I'm in dire need of true, healing rest. I look forward to ways that God opens doors for this. I'm going to start by going to bed right now. Thanks for reading. :)

Great Expectations

As the title suggests, I've been doing a lot of reading lately; and with it has come some extensive walks so that the fresh mountain air can counter the thousands of words consumed on page and screen.

My most frequented route winds up a road with a vineyard scenescape to the left and a vast estate to the right. Thanks to Charles Dickens and Beatrix Potter, an idea has recently lodged itself in my mind, and my eyes are set on a beautiful parcel of land a mile from my home. I would love to purchase this estate one day and create a peaceful haven ripe for hospitality-- a place buzzing with community, creativity, spiritual formation, and maybe even some sheep. Most especially, it would be a place quiet enough to hear God. 

 

Imagine a home with huge rooms for entertaining guests and hosting book discussions, collective meal nights, concerts, painting lessons, writing workshops... 

... with generous green hills full of animals (sheep for wool, goats for milk, chickens for eggs, miniature horses for kiddos), along with plenty of acreage for games of croquet, volleyball, Ultimate Frisbee, kite-flying, even weddings (and maybe a hobbit worthy birthday party)

... fresh air and nutrients from a home-grown vegetable garden; an escape for those who are exhausted and lonely. A place to inspire and refresh and invigorate. Theoretically, it would resemble a cross between Jo March's school/orphanage for boys and the unique creative conferences that music artist Andrew Peterson and his band of thieves produce each year. [See Hutchmoot 2013]

There's a second home on this acreage that is used for renting out to families. It would be an ideal place to live, while hosting events and retreats at the larger house during summers. Since my brother astutely pointed out that it was probably "a two million dollar estate, easily," only good networking, vision, prayer, and other enthusiastic individuals will help get this dream off the ground. But it could happen. A steady income would also help-- preferably a very lucrative first novel. This is where Beatrix Potter serves as a great inspiration. 

After publishing The Tale of Peter Rabbit, Beatrix passionately pursued a life of writing and eventual land preservation. She donated over 4,000 acres of England's beautiful Lake District to the National Trust after settling down in her cozy farm, Hilltop. The lakes and green valleys were a place of healing for her (after suffering the immense heartache that followed her first engagement). This land provided her with a haven and the backdrop for the rest of her children's books. It was also the birthplace of new hope and facilitated the renewal of a past friendship that led to her first and only marriage. Miss Potter's legacy started with simple stories and skeptical publishers, who said: "Bunnies with jackets and brass buttons... however do you imagine such a thing?" And now, because of her fortitude, children continue to delight in her books while tourists delight in the breathtaking Lake District landscape. 

This inspiration motivates me to write out of passion. And Dickens' Great Expectations reminds me that, like Pip, it's alright to have ambitions... if they're for the right reasons. I would love to make this retreat dream a reality, but my focus must be on my calling and the stories that naturally spill out of myself, rather than the sum of money it would take to purchase such a piece of property (whether that's in Greenwood, England, or Rocklin). And this home's current resident may never move out anyway. But if you have any ideas for naming, creating, or finding resourceful ways to fund this long-term project, I wouldn't be the least bit deterrent. :) Seriously though, if you have any ideas for how this type of place/community could be transforming for people, pass along your insight. And thanks for reading!

Pure Originality

One thing I think about a lot is the issue of originality. Even though there’s never anything new under the sun (thank you Solomon!), there's still this expectation for original thought, creativity, and work. A bit of a paradox, perhaps.

Since being in college, I've not only learned to read large amounts of written material speedily-- I’ve also developed this voracious desire to read the same way on my own free time. In other words, after finishing my most challenging semester yet with three book-heavy lit classes and 19 units, I’ve spent much of my Christmas break… reading. Yes, I too find it odd and sometimes metaphorically slap myself for using my eyes instead of engaging in other activities. But, keeping it real, wintertime doesn’t afford a lot of other opportunities. Rain and snow aren’t ideal elements to walk in, even though the bike has reared its head from the shed half a dozen times. So I read. And read. Non-fiction is most easily devoured, so I find myself speed-reading blogs, articles, books, online community discussion boards, and even one author’s recent Oxford essay. Just a little light reading, right? As an English major, I’m thankful that it has finally become easier to skim material for important nuggets and, in general, consume the written word with less effort than I first thought possible. This isn’t necessarily a good thing since, as with any passion or hobby, it can become an all-consuming pastime. I’ve considered not only how much time I’m spending reading and the content of what I’m reading, but also the value in the ideas I’m absorbing and, finally, the balance of consuming vs. creating. I’m all about gaining knowledge in order to better understand a wide range of philosophies. Broadening my perspective has been one of the most valuable things about my university experience. But I can’t help thinking that, as with all things, there comes a point…

Now I’m going to say something really shocking: I’m getting weary of C. S. Lewis.       

It's two-fold. 1) Ever since it became en vogue to quote him extensively within Christianity (an explosion since the age of social media), I can’t help thinking we treat him a little like God—or at least the Apostle Paul. Now, there’s good reason for this. He’s a literary and apologetic genius and has contributed much to the faith. He’s probably even more articulate and poetic than Paul, but… he’s not the same person. What I’m saying is Lewis’ words shouldn’t be revered as much as Scripture (though we could easily segue here into discussing why the biblical canon should or should not be closed). He experienced spiritual conversion, yes. But he didn’t have the revelation Paul had, and he definitely didn’t die for the sins of the world. In fact, he believed and proposed some things that would surprise much of evangelical Christianity. So, let’s just ease up on quoting him if we can. Now and then is fine; but backing up every single argument with a Lewis analogy… I just feel it lacks creativity and doesn’t produce the same authority as Scripture. 2) Because I do admire C. S. Lewis greatly, I find it easy to hunt down every word he penned and eat it for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Possibly even dessert. Trust me, the temptation to glean insight from this man’s brain through some kind of literary osmosis is a difficult one. But after an entire course on Lewis in 2012 and “just-for-fun” readings of his novels since AND commentaries on his novels by other scholars, I’ve grown tired. It’s nearly idolatry, which is why I’ve decided to ease up. After all, he is human, and he had sinful shortcomings like the next guy, and he had a terrible radio voice. To quote my brother: QED.

Now to the heart of all this. Originality.

After all this reading and internalizing ideas, I came to the conclusion that I want to create and contribute as much as I consume. More if possible. But I know there’s a balance. We should be learning our entire lives, and much of that will come from reading. The internet offers us more good resources than we will ever be able to take advantage of. And that’s my point. There comes a time when I want to place the book down, exit the forum, and live my life. The only way someone can be original is if they absorb knowledge and then run with it. Uniquely. As a creative writing student, if I’ve heard one thing, it’s that the only way to become a good writer is— to write. You can spend your entire life reading self-help books on techniques and tried-and-true advice, but until you actually sit your rear down to write, you’ll never grow proficient. The same goes with anything. I don’t want to be known as just a Lewis scholar, or an expert on Dallas Willard, or any great impersonator of someone I admire. I want to be Bailey Gillespie (insert your name here), influenced and molded and shaped by this or that person, but ultimately just Bailey Gillespie. My burning desire is to know the Christ's truth (not only the ultimate truth of the gospel but the little every day truths that require discernment) directly from Him. And that’s what can be equally as frustrating; because, although I would rather run straight to my Father and have his audible voice downloaded to me, God tends to use people to communicate his truths. He used the authors of the Bible, after all. But I want to be searching for his heart on all things instead of the quick go-to of a particular author—even one I greatly respect. 

One issue I have with writing is its detachment from the flesh and blood of the bodies around me. Even the best writing in the world, the kind that uses images and concrete descriptive language to pierce your soul, is not the same as having a face-to-face conversation with someone precious. I love that... and hate it. So often when I write, I feel lost in the void because everyone now has a voice on every topic. When it comes down to it, the only purely original thing I can offer is myself. More and more of late, I have had this odd desire to simply meet with people— talk with them, hear their stories, cook with them, laugh with them, play music together, pray, go on walks. Maybe it's just "senioritus," but maybe it's more. Those are the times I feel most unique since the context we find ourselves in is by its very nature unique, based on who we’re talking to and where and when and why. The online archives of information will grow and grow until they're antiquated and supplanted by new material, just like a lovely musty library. They'll always be around. But the fleeting moment of conversation between two uniquely-designed human beings—that will never come again. This is why it’s so important to me. In that moment of truth, I may have been fashioned by the philosophy of C. S. Lewis or Dallas Willard or Elisabeth Eliot (or Mark Moore!), but who I am in that moment determines what I truly believe, what I am truly made of.

So, let’s keep learning, friends. Let’s keep hunting for truth and seeking understanding. Let’s be inspired by authors and artists and pastors and entrepreneurs. But let’s not let our own voices drown. Let’s not forget to make the time to talk with our own friends and family… and Jesus. This is our only chance to create a legacy and to invest in something vital that transcends this life into eternity: relationships. Okay, I’m off to eat and most likely read some more tonight (but hey, I created a blog post, right?). However, I no longer want to compare myself with Oxford professors and then beat myself up for not being as smart. I’m going to be content with my own identity and make what I can with it. I’m going to live out life myself and see if I can find out whether what I’ve learned is actually true. How about you?     

Life Lessons from a Pack of Rice (Who Knew, Right?)

For those of you who don't know, I own a pack of rice. 

Okay, that's already a lie. My dad actually owns it, but I've since claimed it for my own. Last Christmas I grabbed a large olive green t-shirt, white rice, and some thread and made one of those hot rice packs that you microwave and keep in your bed during winter. It wasn't fancy-- like something you'd probably find on Pinterest-- but it was very practical. After all, I assumed it would spend most of its life relaxing on the cab seat of a Dodge Ram; but that was before I stole it and began putting it to better use. This green pack was an improvement from the last, which was filled with yellow corn and never failed to evoke a response from my apartment roommates. "Do we own chickens?" was a common one, as well as, "Ugh... something's burning in the microwave. It must be Bailey's." I loved it, even if they didn't. Though these heating packs are generally intended to reside in your bed and ward off frostbite, they are also handy in a pinch anywhere else you might become cold. It's became sort of a fifth limb of mine this past year, or a self-inflicted tumor that molded to the shape of my belly (that's where it feels comfiest). I am forever dragging it all over the house, out to the car, up to bed, etc. like Linus and his beloved blanket. Six minutes and 30 seconds gets it just the right temperature, and there's a perpetual beep, beep, beep that comes from the kitchen at all hours of the day. This drives my dad nuts since every time he opens the microwave door to heat up dinner, there's a steaming empty piece of Fiesta ware inside (which means that there is a warm, contented daughter somewhere in the next room, hugging this bag of rice in the fetal position). 

Then it happened. I lost it and about needed therapy. I don't know how you can grow addicted to a shirt full of white rice, but it was legitimate: after tearing my room apart looking for it, I found myself craving that warmth on my core all throughout the day and especially at night. When the rain and snow and hail and wind did its thing outside the windows, I shivered extra shivers remembering the steamy rice that once was mine. I couldn't even resort to the corn-filled pack as an alternative because it had been lost for months already. It was the depths of despair. For two weeks I suffered, as my knees knocked and teeth chattered in the brutal winter air (believe me, 66 degrees inside is brutal when you're used to walking around with a personal heating device). Then, after one more encouragement from my mom, I checked the cracks around my bed again for at least the third time. My rice pack had not been there before... but it was now. YES! It was Christmas all over again, but not only did I find it but also found another surprise: my yellow corn one. They were both sleeping dormant in my bed, and I didn't even know it. Instantly, the microwave plate started to circle around, as if spinning for joy at my discovery. Six and a half minutes later, the rice was hot, and we were back in business. 

There's one more thing you should know about this pack. A few months back, it somehow got a small hole in the fabric. Normally, it would be too tiny to notice, were the olive green fabric still functioning as a shirt. However, it's not... and the hole is the exact size of two rice kernels. This means that every time I lift up the pack, it sheds a few. I now leave a trail wherever I go in the house. I find this extremely amusing, but the rest of the family (after picking up pieces of white flecks from the furniture) does not. It's like a miracle of Jesus: no matter how many kernels my rice pack loses, it's still as full as ever. :)

Now for the awful reality: this rice pack has revealed some startling truths about its owner.

1) I can be a procrastinator. This is evident in how I have yet to fix the hole in the fabric, despite the fact that it's been leaking rice for two months now. I would rather apologize for the white trail I'm leaving than fix a simple problem.

2) I don't dress weather-appropriate. (Certain family members might say this could also be classified as 'I don't listen to motherly wisdom', but we'll just let that lay low.) It's obvious, even to me, that if I actually wore warm clothing, I wouldn't have to drag around a hot pack of rice. But I'd rather wear one layer plus the rice's added warmth than wear three layers and be without it. I am going to have to take a vacuum to my car soon though...  

3) I lack thoroughness. This could also be classified as 'I don't listen to motherly wisdom,' except that I did indeed search my bed high and low for the rice before finding it. But there are many other aspects of my life that affirm the reality that I could up the ante in the thoroughness department. 

4) I'm cheap. It's not a surprise; I've known this for a while. Even though I have the extra shirt fabric in my dresser drawer and other options at the store, I will most likely be using this one faded green pack for years to come. Yes, it will still be leaking rice, and yes it will still get lost from time to time. But just like Linus' blankie or that one stuffed animal we've all had since childbirth-- the rice is here to stay. You can't just throw away family. 

Well, folks... the end. I hope you've enjoyed these helpful life lessons derived from a handy-dandy shirt of rice. This post was intended to show that, even in its most mundane moments, life is always winking at you and trying to get you to notice and maybe even laugh if you're up for it. Plus, I just hung out with two of the cutest babies in the world, and their smiles were enough to dash any hopes I had of any melancholy, meaningful post on abstract concepts of eternity for my blogosphere. Sometimes we all just need to smile more. And I didn't even check the grammar because it's not fun to proofread at 12:36am. So, take care my friends and have a be-au-tiful day. :)

Owen-Man

Maddie-kins

Everywhere People

I've always wanted to be an extrovert-- the type who can captivate an audience, make anyone laugh, garner a wide group of friends. But I've had to realize that I'm not one, much I as would like to be. That doesn't mean that I don't have my moments of extrovertness. I do! But they're rare.

I also really love people. But I've realized how you can only befriend so many. You can only touch so many lives, make time for so many coffee dates, remember so many birthdays, tell the same story so many times. You can only stretch yourself so thin. So, as much as I would love to have that wide group of friends, I've found that I actually can't. And there's a reason. Someone once told me that the average human being can only maintain around 10 close friendships. It made sense logically, but (even though it was one of my best friends who told me), I did my research to make sure it was a credible statement. It was. :) The sources I read discussed how, despite the fact that nowadays we have hundreds of acquaintances due to sites like Facebook, this hasn't changed our number of real meaningful friendships. We're actually lonelier than ever, and that's because the more we branch out, the thinner we spread ourselves.

This statistic bothers me though. Ten close relationships? Only 10? Whether it's actually five for most people or 15, that's still such a modest number when you recognize how massive the world is and how Jesus did charge us with the great commission. However, I have to remind myself that the number is only representative of our most intimate relationships.

I think what bothers me about this statistic is the fact that those 10 people will probably change. Multiple times. See, I don't let go of people easily. I assume most people don't. But because it takes me such a long time to bond, once I do, I have real trouble letting go. And having gone through so many phases even in only 24 years, it's been clear that moving on is inevitable. I had this conversation with a friend recently, and we talked about how the idea of holding people loosely is so unattractive because it sounds careless and bitter. Would I rather avoid making friendships for fear of getting hurt? Or do I risk the loss in hopes of experiencing a possibly temporary friendship? If it's true that we are called to love all people, and "to love is to be vulnerable," then the reality is we have the responsibility to take that risk. As Christians, we are basically guaranteed to experience relational pain again and again. Encouraging, huh?

Think about your three closest friends. When did you meet them? How? I was thinking about this recently and was surprised to realize that my three closest friends have been my three closest friends most of my life. In other words, I haven't made close friends that have stuck since I was little. Hmm. I'm not sure if that's natural or not, but it made me think. For the last decade or so, I've been investing in relationships that have either been put on hold, faded, or entirely disappeared. Okay, they haven't ALL gone that route-- I have made lots of amazing friends that I would like to stay connected with-- but time will determine that. (Sorry if this is a downer so far, but I'm trying to make a point.:)) My question is: what has been the purpose of investing in these friendships? The answer: I honestly don't know. I don't know why certain people you absolutely loved spending time with fade into a memory. Why are there so many seasons to this short lifetime we've been given? Why do those seemingly divine appointments not develop into fruit we can see? I wish many of them have continued growing. I hope many of them were mutually beneficial. I am heartbroken that some of them disappeared. But, more often than not, it's not because I became lackadaisical and didn't hold tight enough. Only God knows the inner-workings of those details; and my lack of peace is only evidence of my lack of trust.

In the end, I guess I'm content to be an introvert. Most of my favorite things are done best alone: walks, runs, piano playing, writing, reading, praying. But human beings are meant to be in relationship with each other, and the purpose of this post was to tell you how much you mean to me. If I haven't seemed to reach out enough, it isn't because I don't care. It's because I'm trying to learn how to juggle all of life's elements (just like you are, I'm sure), including people. Well, especially people. And lately sometimes all I can do is just hang on and breathe. But I'm trying to trust Jesus the best I can.

I love you, friends. I hope I don't lose you. But at least I know I will see you forever in heaven one day. What a party that'll be!

Men: Academic, Artist, or Athlete?

Girls, what comes to mind when you hear the word "man?"

Most likely, when I asked that question, an image came to mind instead of a definition. Whatever image you most associate with a guy is what came to mind. Culture and society (that includes literature, media, perhaps even the church) is good at projecting images of what men ought to look like-- personas. And these are often pretty accurately reflective of what men really do look like. Here, I'll show you what I mean. Come with me on a quick diversion that illustrates this point well... :-)

FRONTIER MAN: the all-American, hunts, fishes, lives off the land, isn't afraid to get dirty

THE SUPER HERO: holds super powers, rescues the ladies, flies, wears tights 

THE MUSICIAN / THE HIPSTER (these two often mingle)

Wears skinny jeans, plays guitar, hibernates in coffee shops, writes, is very exclusive

 THE KNIGHT: noble, suave, heroic, generally rides a steed

THE GEEK: genius, mechanically-minded, often speaks in a foreign language

THE STUD: strong physique, warrior-type, executes strong plan of attack

 

THE JERK: witty, popular, shrewd, irresponsible (sometimes learning a lesson) 

Girls are always out to find "a real man." At least this is what I hear a lot. They've been searching since the days of the ancients, and nothing has changed since. But are they simply searching for an image, a persona, of what we've been told is a man... or should they instead be looking for a definition of what a man ought to be? This summer, and this first week of the new semester, I've been reading and watching (mostly watching) an exorbitant amount of Victorian novels, poetry, and BBC time period dramas. This was partly in order to prepare for my Jane Austen class at WJU and partly because, at the end of the day, it's highly therapeutic to lay down and immerse yourself in three hours of beautiful English countryside-- at least for a girl. And if there's one thing in these stories, it's a plethora of male characters to analyze. We women highly enjoy this. Due to the extensive character development that takes place in these plots, there's much opportunity to examine the various types of men. There's usually the upstanding male lead (whose integrity and affection attract the heroine) and the licentious scalawag (whose passion and charm seduce the side characters). We root for the sympathetic heroine to finally come to terms with the male lead. But this isn't simply because he's a man who adheres to the classic romantic persona; it's because he's a hero at heart.  

Sy Rogers had a more effective way of categorizing these men during a conference I once attended. He said that men typically fall into one of three types: 1) the academic 2) the artist 3) the athlete. Obviously, there is some overlap, and certain people definitely seem to have all three. But, basically, men in each of these categories are known for their strengths, which come in the form of either intellectual capabilities, emotional expression, or physical aptitudes. What was profound to me was... they're ALL men. From a Christian perspective, if we gals are eager to find "real men" (which, from what I hear, translates into leaders who are spiritually mature), we can find them in all three of these categories, despite what culture tells us is admirable or popular. One man may not fit the athletic type-- he isn't muscular at all and tends to stay pretty clean-- but his well-researched scholarly work changes the world of science, politics, psychology, or theology. Another man may be relatively uneducated and simplistic in thought-- but his physical strength provides the ability to work with his hands to create things or participate in sports, where he can give glory to his Creator. Still another may not fit the athletic or academic type, yet his expressive creative abilities allow him to use music, art, or literature to create beauty that speaks powerful truths. They are all equally admirable, and they are all equally masculine.

Ladies, there are many guys out there who need encouragement in what God has created them to be. They're up under a lot of competition and pressure by society to act or look a certain way. If you meet a man who does not fit your preconceived stereotype, but has actions that speak volumes about his character, he is the "real man." I'm thinking of people like Eric Liddell, Peter Marshall, and Jim Elliot, whose faith and integrity dominated their careers, which were Olympic runner, preacher/writer, and evangelist. Don't run after the wrong ones-- the ones who fit the mold but have no substance. Don't fall in love with a persona because, believe me, it's easy to do. Look for the man who is confident in his identity, whether that be academic, artist, athlete, or whatever stamp you might place on him. Ultimately, if he is a Christian, his identity is in Christ, and that must be flagrantly displayed in whatever his hands find to do. Look discerningly for the hero at heart.

... As Elinor Dashwood appropriately put it, he is the one who you must highly esteem. He is the one who is "amiable and worthy."

For a more extensive (and pretty exhaustive) read, I recommend this article. The Marks of Manhood