“I believe in dragons, good men, and other fantasy creatures.”
Ugh. Believe what you want about dragons and fantasy creatures, but good men? My heart dropped along with my foot- I sped up to glance at the driver. But really her story mattered more than her face. Tinted windows and the fact we were driving at 70 miles per hour kept me from judging her and her story. But I wondered nonetheless: What harm has come to her by the hands and/or heart of men? And what might she be feeling as Father’s Day approaches?
Unless she stumbles upon this blog and makes an appointment, I will never know her story. Beyond my curiosity, though, I sadly agree with her on one thing: Good men are rare.
Most of us men are lost, searching for validation from work, women, and any other person or thing that moves, speaks and carries the ability to tell us we matter and belong. We’ll go to some pretty terrible lengths to answer those questions in our heart. And other men, women, and children suffer when men seek these questions out poorly; then the wounded limp off to print bumper stickers.
As she lost hope over a decade, a single woman asked, “What am I supposed to do when all the decent guys seem to be married by now? Are there any good men left at 40?”
A sacred silence followed her question.
I don’t know…Yes, I think…I hope.
Her fear compounded in the fact that first impressions cannot distinguish a good man. The true character of a man takes years to unfold, and often it’s the rough and difficult stories that create context for character to shine through.
Good men are revealed over time by the stories people tell about them. Never do they knowingly tell the stories themselves. Character finds its way into stories, and stories follow a man.
It was The Muppets who sang, “If you need to know the measure of a man you simply count his friends.” Another way to say it might be: If you want to know a man, listen to the tales people tell about him.
There are good men out there. I’ve heard stories about them.
I watched a video of a guy I went to school with. His wife, also a musician, was telling the story of how they met. He strummed his guitar nearby while she talked on stage. Early in their relationship, she in her deep desire for security attempted to make him out to be the dashing hero who would rescue her from her pain.
“I’m just a man,” he replied.
Four simple, quiet words spoken with humility and power. He knew he wasn’t enough to heal her wounds and save her life. He wasn’t God. He was just him. Strong, trustworthy, broken, and limited.
He’s decently famous now, but back when I barely knew him, I could tell he was a good man. His presence carried weight and invited respect.
Another story comes to mind about a good man who went all in. It’s possible to get married, commit your heart and life to a woman, and still keep one foot out the door. Not this guy. He told his wife, Even if you cheat on me and lock me out of your life to sit in your shame, I will sit on the front steps of our house and wait for you to invite me back in.
We need stories like these. Heck, we need men like this.
To you women and children in search of good men: As best you can, find ways to invite us to be good men. I know, we’ve hurt you. Find ways to transform your pain, longing, and loss into a vision for whom we could be.
Then tell the truth with grace and care. If you see any goodness deep inside of us, tell us. Please. Trust that we men are doing the best we can with what our Ma and Pa gave us. Then invite us to more. To feel more. To know more. To give more. To be more.
To men in the process of becoming: What stories do people tell about you? And what is your next move in the process of living a better story?
And to the woman with the bumper sticker, may your heart and story one day reflect the hope of Lucilla at the end of the movie Gladiator: I believed in good men once. Help me believe in them again.
