Watch ye, stand fast in the faith, quit you like men, be strong. - 1 Corinthians 16:13
Growing up as a young boy in KwaZulu Natal, I remember my mother doing her very best to care for me. My fondest memories of her are her smile upon my face, her cooking what still stands today as some of my favorite foods, but more so her instilling in me a love for God. Life was challenging, perhaps no more so than it is for our kids in this harsh world. I remember my mother, a single parent, and when I looked at her I recall her being lonely. She was always in what felt like the pursuit of a man, a man who could perhaps be a husband for her, and a real dad to me. My father, whom I don't really know, apparently left before I was born. He had met my mother during conscription, resulting in my birth. I don't really know all the details of him, his past, and my knowledge of him is more myth and lore than anything else and probably fits on the tip of a toothpick.
My mother struggled. Perhaps my ability as a child to see her loneliness was reflected in the quality and caliber of poor men who entered our home. Men who tormented my mother either through physical abuse, or men who were nothing but scum of the earth looking for a good time. From ages 1-11, I did not have a father figure in my life. I say 11 years old as that was when my mother died in a car accident; not wearing a seat belt, she broke her neck on impact. I was in the car and ended up with severe injuries. But during those 11 years, there were no men to steer me, to build me up, to equip me with all that it meant to be a MAN.
Our home was a broken home. I hardly felt like my mother spent time with me, but rather was doing her best to provide, to try to fix the missing piece within herself and within our home. That day never came. Given her desire to provide, fix our family, and have her own life, I often felt second place. The depth of loneliness I felt ran deep. I remember on numerous occasions (there were no cell phones), waiting at school as a very young boy, but my mum was not there. Eventually, when the school gates were closed, I would walk home myself, perhaps 2-3 km. I remember walking home one day, crying endlessly. I kept looking back to see if my mother was driving to the school, and while doing so, I fell into a golf dam. Thankfully, a golfer nearby picked me up and took me home. I remember there were times I would be so lonely at home, I would secretly cycle to the entrance of our residential area to try to see if I could find my mother, perhaps at the nearest Spar or making her way home. Loneliness was a friend, a cruel, cruel friend. He punched deep and played many tricks with my mind.
Perhaps it may be said, what kind of woman was this, what kind of mother? For some part of my early life when I left my guardians' home, I thought less of her. But as I now gaze at my three kids, and as I rise onto my own feet in their warm embrace, I see clearly, far more than ever, the realities, the root cause of it all: a failing FATHER and a failed MAN.
There are three phases of my life where FATHER matters. The first was when I was growing up with my mother. The second when I was staying with my guardians. And the third, as I raise my three kids. How different our lives would have been if in my home, a man was present, a husband was there when the wife was not, a father was there when the mother was not. There were so many tools I lacked in my youth that others had. There was so much effort I had to put into building myself into what a real man should be. But of it all, whether in my early life with my mother, or in the latter part of my youth, the description, the qualities, the attributes of what a real man was, were absent.
I look out at the world today, and that picture of what a MAN is feels even further corrupted. We have gender ideologues that have crept in, swaying, self-chosen genders. We have a strong feminist movement that sees women as greater than men, and to some not even needing them. Men and women are certainly equal, before God and before men, but they are different. I want to focus our time in this book on the identity, character, and nature of a real man. By real man, I mean a man who fulfills the role that God has purposed for Him. A man who is strong. A man who fights for what is right. A man who is moral. A man who clings to the word of God. A man who clings to his wife and lays down his life for her. A man who leads his family well. A man who dedicates his time to his kids. But above all, a man who is obedient unto the Lord God, not because God demands, but because God loved him first.
As we journey together, there are three axioms from which this book finds form, but also the clear definition of a REAL MAN, and they are:
- God (Jesus) is author of this world.
- God defines the nature of the roles we should fulfill and how.
- Because God is not physically present, we look to His Words in scripture as His stamp of final authority to us. That is, the Bible is the final authority on all matters to do with ethics, truth, relationships, and living.
All scripture is given by inspiration of God, and is profitable for doctrine, for reproof, for correction, for instruction in righteousness: That the man of God may be perfect, thoroughly furnished unto all good works. - 2 Timothy 3:16-17
I became a REAL MAN because of God's Word. It shaped and moulded me, but above all it allowed me to have a relationship with THE MAN, Christ Jesus.