manmail

I love seeing all of the Dad and Husband blogs out there. The Moms have had the corner on this market for quite a while and it is refreshing to see so many men finally talking to each other about man stuff. Any manly related subject is just a fingerclick away, and if you can’t find what you are looking for there is probably a forum somewhere that can steer you right. No subject goes blogless.

Except one.

Have YOU noticed the elephant in the room?

I must admit I am the new guy on the blog (get it…blog-block?), so I can’t claim omniscience here, but I scan the tag clouds and do subject searches, too. Maybe I just don’t know the super secret man handshake to unlock the door to the goodies.

Maybe you guys are just scared to talk about it: Which is rather funny because we think about it ALL THE TIME. Before you got married you talked about it ALL THE TIME, didn’t you? Admit it- you prayed that, from your honeymoon forward, you two would be doing it ALL THE TIME. How’s it working out for you?

How come us married guys can’t discuss sex?

On one hand I am overjoyed to see a little decorum among our gender considering how porn-saturated we are. Nothing like taking the beautiful intimate bond between a man and woman and reducing it to some sort of carnival side show. We don’t need to talk about that kind of sexual expression. It is just bad for us, plain and simple. If we (collectively) just ignored it, it would go away. <End rant>

On the other hand, most men are fairly disappointed with their sex life. I won’t bore you with the backup statistics; just ask your buddies their opinion. My wife and I talk to enough young married couples to say this with confidence. Especially after the children start arriving. Can anyone say dry spell? And don’t misunderstand- there are plenty of wives out there who are feeling short changed in this department, too. But this is manmail. MANmail. The gals have their own place to kvetch.

I will occasionally poke my head into some of the men’s forums and see that a few of the brave ones are asking questions like :”We haven’t done it since her fifth month of pregnancy and now the baby is in school… how do I get our groove back?” OR ” My wife says to just take care of myself, ’cause she’s too tired… what gives?” OR “Junior is getting more ta-ta time than I ever did … and I’m jealous. When do I get ‘em back?“. And usually the responses go something like, ” Dude, I’m having the same problem. Let me know if you figure anything out. I hear we are supposed to talk nice and do the dishes.”

So what’s a husband to do if he feels his wife is uninterested in intimacy? How do we deal with not getting enough sex? This is a very common complaint of parents with young children. You are certainly not alone. And if you spread out having kids over many years, the lack of intimacy over time can crush your spirit.

Let me put a disclaimer out there first. I am not a psychologist or therapist and have not written any books. I haven’t even read many about the subject. I work in the construction industry. I write only from personal experience, and my only hope in writing about this sensitive subject is to offer someone the tools to avoid some of the traps the wife and I fell into. Also, you will note my christian worldview. But I bet most of you will be surprised how practical the bible is. I refer to it as authority, but I promise not to use it as a club. If we are on different pages spiritually, fine. I don’t mind if you tune out the specific scripture references, but I do hope you will grasp the underlying wisdom. <End disclaimer>

NO WAY can we hope to cover this subject in one blog post. So let’s start off real slow with a little survey . . . Put the kids to bed early and allow at least 90 minutes to write down your answers and discuss them. Print off 2 copies of the survey, by the way.

IMPORTANT: Only those questions that are answered in writing may be discussed. This prevents one spouse from changing or modifying their responses to accommodate the other. The goal is honest and uncomplicated discussion. Do not discuss what you haven’t first written down.

Next installment of ummmm Sex? part 2 :”I don’t mean what I thought I did.”

INTIMACY SURVEY

1– List three things that I do that bothers you the most (such as leaving the toothpaste uncapped)?

8– Is there a place we’ve never been to or a place where we have never been intimate that you would like to share with me?

9– If I could give you anything in this world and money was no object what would it be other than me (because you already have me)?

10– If you could give me anything in this world and money was no object what would it be other than yourself (because I already have you)?

11– If we could take a vacation to any place on this earth and again money was no object where would it be and why?

Blessings

Technorati Tags: communication, marriage, sex, survey

I am not angry, but I want to rant about anger, if that’s okay with you.

We love our anger. Hold it close, nurture it, feed it, justify it, defend it. I have even seen people get angry because I dare to bring it up in conversation.  Though we keep it well hidden beneath our shirt, anger is precious. (If you are a Lord of the Rings fan, think Gollum here).

This subject came up yesterday as we were studying Genesis chapter 4 in our Sunday Bible class. We noted that God was unimpressed with Cain’s offering. Not that God wanted Cain to give more or differently- It seems that God was distressed at the condition of the heart of this man. So the Lord mentioned His concern to Cain much like a parent would inquire of a sour-faced child. Cain’s response was to become very angry (or was he already very angry and God just called him on it?).

Now here is the money verse: “If you do what is right you will be accepted. If you do not do what is right, sin is crouching at your door; it desires to have you, but you must master it.”

What artistry of words. I can just picture sin as a 400 pound lion pacing at Cain’s door, hungry and completely equipped to knock out his prey with one swipe of the paw and break Cain’s neck with one easy bite. The lion doesn’t even need to expend any energy breaking down Cain’s door. It just waited patiently for his meal to step out to use the outhouse or go to the market. Or visit his brother.

If you have listened to many sermons at all you have likely heard about anger. The standard line goes something like this: “Anger is an emotion that needs to be channelled for good. Don’t let it get the best of you and try to get rid of it as soon as possible. But anger can accomplish great good if you let it . . . You can affect (fill in the blank here) social justice, world hunger, AIDS, poverty, whatever, if you will just allow God to morph your anger into Good.”  Some  preachers will even add, “Besides, Jesus was angry sometimes, too. Remember when he got mad at the moneychangers in the Temple courtyard?” <Insert scripture HERE about Jesus cleansing the temple. Only there is NO indication that Jesus was angry or expressed anger. But why let facts change our minds?.> 

Really. Look it up. Look in Luke 19:45 or Mark 11:15 or Matthew 21:12 or John 2:14. Go ahead and do it now; I can wait. . . Surprising, isn’t it? No mention of anger. A cross reference over to Psalms 69:9 mentions zeal, but that hardly means anger.  Sure, I would have been angry given the circumstances. But was Jesus?  One can only make a case for Jesus’ anger if they overlay a depraved (Cainlike) spirit upon Him. I am unwilling to do that. Otherwise scripture is silent on this one.

Is your blood pressure rising yet?

Cain was at a crossroads with God. There is no doubt that his life was going to be radically different based upon the choice he would make about what to do with his anger. We know how Cain chose and the lion was satisfied. But what if Cain had believed God? What if he would have said simply, “You are right, Father”? I can’t guess at the outcome, other than to interject my own experience. I just know that the lion flees every time I confess my anger.  By letting loose of my anger I give God room to work in and through my life.

Good christians have said to me, “But the Bible says God gets angry. Can’t I have a righteous anger, too?” Yes and NO. Yes God has a right to his righteous anger. No, I don’t have any sort of claim on His right to righteous anger. Sorry, but anger is not in our inheritance, therefore we don’t get to spend it early. We can all search for scripture passages that speak of human anger and, basically, the consensus is that we must play hot potato with it. Anger burns if held too long.

If you still want to believe a Christian has a right to anger then let’s play a substitution game; shall we? It seems to me that Paul, in Ephesians 4 and 5 lumped together anger, greed, lust, bitterness and slander as feelings we should play hot potato with. Are you with me? Do we agree that this is a partial list of “bad” human qualities? So let’s play . . .

•  ”I am going to use this greed I’m feeling right now for the betterment of God’s kingdom. After the more I get the more I give. “
• “I don’t need to stop lusting. After all, God put it in me. I just need to not let it run my life. But a little is okay.”
• “I am gonna take my bitterness and pray that God would use it. Then after I have committed it to prayer I am going to implant it into everyone I meet! Praise Jesus!”
• “Slander is not so bad. It’s not like I killed someone or something. People just have to understand not to say mean stuff to me or else I will just have to slander them back. If people weren’t so mean my slanderous side wouldn’t come out so much.”

Playing the substitution game helps give me clarity about words and ideas. It helps open my mind to my own preconceived notions and expose my double-mindedness. I have to admit to myself that if nursing a little anger is acceptable, then I am okay to do a little lusting over the new secretary. And if a healthy dose of rage is an acceptable motivator for “good”, then the same amount of bitterness must be good for my soul, too.

I challenge you to search the scriptures to find where a man’s anger has ever worked out well. I think you will find that it never does. In fact every time we see man’s anger vented this pattern emerges: A disaster of colossal proportions ensues and then God steps in gracefully to cover the mess. Even the “big guys” like Moses and Samson let their anger get the best of them sometimes. Those are some lessons that I’d rather avoid, thank you.

I challenge myself to recognize anger for what it really is (besides sin): It is an invitation to life change that cannot be denied. Specifically, change that causes me to look either more or less Christlike. The choice before me is what to do with it. I can try my best to use anger for good, but there is the issue of that lion outside the door.  Or I can do what Cain did not, and simply confess my anger to God. Isn’t anger really just a disagreement with God? When I admit to my anger, I admit that He and I are not seeing eye to eye. This a good start: one which God honors with grace.

“If you do what is right you will be accepted.”  I sure want to be accepted, so I suppose I need to do what is right. What is right ? I think we can rule out that right is doing better. God didn’t seek a better or bigger offering from Cain and He doesn’t ask it of us either. He wanted Cain’s heart, his attitude, his spirit. He wanted Cain to make an offering of his precious anger. Give ownership of it to God to do with as He sees fit. Simple? Try it.

In the end, I guess it is fair to say that anger is a little like pornography. I can’t deny its pervasiveness, but I can deny it access into my head. I just don’t need the heartache it brings. We all know how it ruins relationships. Ask your wife how much pornography would be acceptable to her, then ask God how much anger would be acceptable to Him. Bet you get the same answer.  

Blessings

Technorati Tags: bible, communication

Be forewarned if you ever come to dinner at the Postmaster house you are likely to get schooled. At the very least entertained. Possibly shocked. The following took place  recently at the dinner table:

Our 17 year old son was filling us all in about his plans to go play ice soccer with the high school youth group. He plays AYSO soccer on a grass field, so I wondered aloud what ice had to do with soccer. “We will be playing indoors at the ice rink” he mentioned casually. Pass the bread please. “Will there be girls there?”,I query. “Yea Dad, everyone in the church group is invited, girls too”.

“Girls are going to get out on the ice and crash into boys on purpose ?”

No further explanation is apparently coming from my usually tight-lipped son. Friendly he is, but sparse of words. “Butter?”

I press on:”I have played broom-hockey at the rink, but never ice-soccer: Are you sure about what’s going on?”

“Sure I’m sure. Actually, some girl broke her wrist last time we played. It’s fun.”   Nice.

By now the mother hen antennae are focused tightly on our conversation. She seems to be flashing THE LOOK my direction. THE LOOK can mean many things depending on the situation, but it is sure to evoke the flight-or-flight response in me.  After a brief mental Chinese fire drill I (rightly) guess that the Mom has done a quick sum: testosterone+girl sweaters+feats of athletic stupidity+broken bones=Dad you better do something about this. Now. “Uhhhhhhhhh . . .”

Did I mention that the antennae double as a death ray?

“Maybe you ought to wear some really thick clothes to protect yourself. Try my hunting jacket. And see if you can put a pillow in your pants to protect your butt.”  I knew it was totally not the advice the mother was expecting from me but, hey, it did sound like fun and she knows that THE LOOK addles my brain . . .

I hear the unmistakable sound of the death-ray warmup.

His older brother, ever alert to an instigation opportunity pipes in (saving his dad’s butt); “Maybe you ought to put that pillow in the front of your pants. To protect your package”.

Howls of  laughter spew from Ryan, our 7 year old. Just saying the word package brings joy to his life. “Package!!! BwaHaaHaaaaa Haaaaaaa!” Bright eyes await whatever comment will follow. He knows boy-instinctively that this conversation is going in the toilet and he’s ready to jump in.

“Your brother is right about the pillow in front. Might want to see if it would wrap all the way underneath to protect the jewels in case you do the splits on the ice”, I add.

The daughter, poor thing, just smiles demurely but takes it all in. Having 3 brothers has got to be a warping factor in her life. We pray for her.

Putting her death ray away and hoping to somehow mitigate the onslaught of genitalia jokes that is visibly building up around the table, the Mom chimes in with, “Michael maybe you could borrow one of dad’s jockstraps from when he had his vasectomy. Wouldn’t that help protect things?” 

Silence fell upon the dinner table at that moment. Not because Mom spoke of my fixin’. No, my package has been the topic of conversation ever since the fix got done earlier this year. Nothing hidden here- everyone knows what was done and why. (Still, months later, the boys will inquire, “How’s it healin’, Dad?”). Silence fell because mom said jockstrap. It is a funny word of itself, but misused it caused pause.

“Perhaps you mean cup ?”  “Besides, men wouldn’t share a strap. That’s just wrong. Would you borrow a bra  from another lady?“  “More iced tea?”

The dam broke. In less than a minute we had mentioned most of the funnest human body parts.  One thing that ladies need to understand is that boys and men like to talk about our junk. It’s just fun and we never outgrow it. We think it is an endearing trait.

 The boys got on a roll . . .

“A cup????  I need a bowl !!!” “Wouldn’t that be so funny  to show up at the rink with a bucket in the front of your pants !?” “Yea and the girls could wear buckets on their chests to protect those !”

This silliness went on for a bit of time until we had pretty much said all of the “clean” euphamisms for reproductive parts and pieces. Then one of us said “Wouldn’t it be great if we could just take our package off before we did some sport that might damage it?”

“Great idea! Just click it off and put it in a drawer. Go play your baseball or wresting. Click it back on when your done. Might make it easier to keep clean, too.”

“I don’t know how you guys put up with that stuff flopping around when you walk or run. It seems so uncomfortable.”

“What if someone stole it while you were gone?”

“I suppose you could go to the package store and buy a replacement.”

“Would I be able to choose the size?”

“Sure . . . There would be: small, medium, large and extra-large.”

“What guy is going to ask for anything but XXL?”

“Good point. XXL would soon become new small”. “Would breasts be detachable, too?” The wife chimed in.

“Absolutely. When they get a little saggy you could just trade them in for something firmer.”

 ”What size should I trade mine in for? I am a little lower than when we first married . . .” (An obvious test).

“Keep the ones you got. They’ve been good to me.” (Test passed).

“I would go smaller.”

The Mom gets a bright idea: “Maybe you guys could leave your parts at home when you go out on dates. You know, just click ‘em off and hand them over to your parents as you leave. Wouldn’t that make staying out of trouble a lot easier?”

“That might be a bit awkward, Mom. I just can’t see me handing  my johnson to you before I go on a date. That would just be not right.”

“As not right as becoming a dad before you are ready? Seriously, those parts of yours get kids into so much trouble. I wish they really were detachable. I would give them to your spouse as a wedding present right after you “kiss the bride.”

“That would be an interesting ceremony, to say the least.”

“I am liking this idea more and more,” I quip. “ If I were God for a day this is the one thing I would do for humanity. Can’t you see how messed up many of us allow our lives to get just because we can’t maintain control of our urges?”

Anyway, the conversation went on for a bit longer and we did get a chance to throw in another plug for purity. You can’t say it often enough. We might be a little more educated now, too, depending upon how you define it.

I hope this glimpse into the insanity that often prevails at the Postmaster household wasn’t TMI. Truthfully, I am not sure why I shared this, except that it is Friday and I am loosening up for the weekend.

Blessings

Technorati Tags: communication, fatherhood, goofiness

I swear my wife has a Doubt Gene in her.  Sometimes it is dominant, sometimes it is recessive, but always it is there lurking.

During that time of the month  it makes brief appearances, but she knows that it is just her hormones rebelling, so she is able to make a conscious decision to not feel bad about herself. Lord know that if I had eggs popping inside me and bloaty tissues around the middle I would feel a little self-conscious too.

Sometimes I bring out the doubt gene in her. I do it by telling her things like, “Yes your butt does look fat in those jeans” or, “Whew, hon, your cookin’ gives me gas”. Brilliant me.  (I have a dominant stupid gene, but that is way too big  a subject to cover in one blogpost). Seriously, I do say stupid hurtful things sometimes but one of the benefits of being together a long time is that we work it out quickly. She quickly launches cooking implements and I duck. She quickly clams up and I quickly beg for forgiveness. . . You get the picture. Even my thoughtlessness (because it is not chronic) does not bring out her doubt gene for very long.

 Often it is the things we don’t say  that bring out the doubt gene in our wives. For some reason I have to consistently remind my wife that I’m not going anywhere. I thought that when we got married and said those vows she would just remember them. I told her then that I loved her and would care for her through sickness, etc. (I do and I do). I promised to cherish her (I do). Honor her (I do). I promised to do all those other things that I can’t exactly recall just now (And I am probably doing just fine). Why do I have to repeat myself? The doubt gene is why.

The doubt gene is most noticeable when we are getting along poorly. The little guy works especially hard at convincing my wife that I would rather be with someone else. The doubt gene tries to convince her that my life was so much better for me pre-marriage. The doubt gene whispers that my love is fading. It says, “See, he doesn’t love you at all anymore because he doesn’t tell you ‘I love you’ very often”. The doubt gene resides in stretch marks, grey hair, and cellulite. It incessantly tells her that I am looking for a younger, firmer, smoother model. (And I confirm this thought every time I notice a younger, firmer, smoother model). The doubt gene tells my wife that her husband is bored with her because he doesn’t engage her in conversation like he used to. The doubt gene feeds her belief that I prefer __________________ instead of her(you fill in the blank: kids, work, ESPN, Xbox, golf, sleep, sex, a good book…) .

Repetitionis the antidote to the doubt gene. Doubt cannot be cured but it can be gently flogged into submission. Unfortunately the antidote requires daily administration. This is not a one-shot vaccination like for rabies, parvo, mad cow or any other childhood disease ;). Repetition is repetitious. It happens over and over. How often, you ask? Let’s think about how we might like to have sex: Daily, for prolonged amounts of time, loudly, in different positions, in different rooms, night, day, enthusiastically, willingly, creatively. That’s the flavor of repetition I’m talking about: Quantity and quality.

What is it that bears repeating to my wife? What should I be saying to defeat the doubt gene?  Merle says it so well. This is the gist of what my wife needs to hear repeated to her:

• No one holds a candle to her.  Yes I see the wrinkles and stretch marks on her, but I am privileged know her inside.  I can say with sincerity that I wouldn’t trade her for anything or anyone. I am blessed over all men because of her.
•  I wouldn’t go back in time. The richness of the life we share causes memory of all others to fade to insignificance.
•  I have no regrets about marrying her.  Even the “bad times” are good when experienced with her at my side.
• I choose you.  Just like on the wedding day when you told the world that you choose this woman over all others- Again, today, “I choose you over all others”.

Men, have the tools to conquer this terrible disease of doubt that plagues the hearts of our wives. Will you sing along with Merle and me? . . . Old flames can’t hold a candle to you . . .

Blessings

Technorati Tags: communication, marriage