That Fierce Fearlessness
Little boys fascinate me.
I mean really, truly fascinate me.
They are fearless.
Anything seems possible.
Anything is worth trying.
They are born with an implicit understanding that it’s easier to ask forgiveness than permission.
If it’s fun, let’s make it dangerous.
Loud is good.
Big is better.
And if you can turn something small and meaningless into something big and loud and powerful?
Well, that is really the ultimate victory.
We’ve taken a lot away from them in our “sit still, behave, stay inside, talk nicely, inside voices, please don’t try that, what did I tell you, be safe” culture.
(I’m not saying this because I am ready to relinquish any of those things we’ve taken away.)
I’ve been thinking of David, the man after God’s own heart.
Boys are fascinating. God made them that way.
And when I imagine the fortitude,
blind courage,
fierce fearlessness,
personal confidence,
and total abandonment
he needed to take on Goliath,
to turn those small stones into something big and powerful,
well,
it makes the pretend warfare that’s happening in my basement come alive to me.
Boys are fascinating. God made them that way.
Kim A. says:
Thank you for this post! My nine year old son came home from school with an “orange slip” yesterday for “misbehavior” at recess—making belching noises as he ran past the girls!!
~~We’ve taken a lot away from them in our “sit still, behave, stay inside, talk nicely, inside voices, please don’t try that, what did I tell you, be safe” culture.~~ So true!
And I so appreciate Deanna’s comment, too!
With you in this journey to raise the next generation of godly men, giving them permission to be ALL that God created them to be,
Kim
deanna says:
They smell. They have kick fights. They build tree forts. They whisper about how to successfully jump off the garage roof without getting caught by mom. They rip their jeans (sometimes on accident, sometimes on purpose) and muddy their shoes and roll their eyes at the call for mud boots. They leave LEGO Star Wars minifigs in their pants pockets and light up when you call them over to claim Lord Vader. They make terrible messes and terrible noises and tell bathroom jokes at the table…
And they destroy to learn how to build, they protect and defend and shout and rage and triumph. And as a mom, I cringe when I think of the laundry, and the squealing, and the dirt… and then a little voice in my head whispers, ‘Let them be. Don’t stifle them. Help them up, don’t crush their spirits. Revel in their boyhood, praise them for it, find joy in it.’
Thanks for the reminder. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go figure out how a small pile of seed starter ended up in the corner of the living room with army men on top.
tricialottwilliford says:
Absolutely beautifully said, Deanna. 🙂
t