Colorado Springs is the home of the United States Olympic Committee as well as a few U.S. Air Force and Army installations. That makes it an ideal location to host the Wounded Warrior Games as it has for the past few years. Every year this event has drawn increasing attention as disabled men and women from each of the branches of the U.S. military have demonstrated enormous courage and cohesiveness as they both compete and cheer each other on in Olympic style races.

This year was special; Prince Harry came to lend his support and cheered on the British Armed Forces team. Over 400 press credentials were granted as a phalanx of news anchors and camera crews—from many US network and cable companies, the BBC, Australian and even German TV— awaited Harry’s arrival at the opening event.

The pandemonium surrounding Harry was fun to watch, but it wasn’t the most inspiring event of those days. Living 5 minutes from the Air Force Academy where most of these events took place, I drove over to watch some of the track and field competitions and a few swimming events. Both times I left in tears.

I watched several classes of 100-yard running races for competitors with below-the-knee amputations, above-the-knee and above-the-waist injuries. It was amazing to watch these men and women ride in wheel chairs, or walk with canes, or get guided by teammates to the start line, and then race.

I wasn’t prepared for the camaraderie. I laughed along with dozens of other Yanks at the British soldier in the stands wearing a camouflage kilt who insisted that we cheer for the British racers, successfully getting us all to cheer, “UK! UK! UK!” though we had no idea who the UK racer was. Didn’t matter at all. We cheered rabidly.

I choked back tears as four blind men, one a Marine, one from the Navy, and two others from Special Forces, overcame their horrific wounds to race 100 yards in the darkness of their new reality. The winner ran alone, and as he ran past the finish line, was guided by a buddy in the infield who yelled, “Stop! Stop!” so he wouldn’t run straight into the fence he couldn’t see at the end of the track.

The two powerfully-built Special forces soldiers ran alongside each other, carefully sharing a two-foot long piece of rope that helped them guide each other to the end. The Navy sailor, apparently completely blinded, walked the 100 yards, with a buddy at his side, guiding him for 99 yards. As he reached the last yard and finish line, the “racer” threw his arms in the air just like anyone who overcame severe challenges would do.

I swelled with admiration when the winner of the “open” 100-yard race, a black Army soldier, slowed down as he crossed the line inadvertently cutting off the second place finisher, a white Marine. Realizing his competitor was about to crash to the ground, the Army guy spun on his heels, embraced him, and back-pedaled while guiding the Marine to a safe stop.

Army-Marine. Black guy-white guy. Competition opponents. So often these distinctions only result in battle lines. Not this time. “Who does this?” I thought. “Who reaches out to help his competitor?” I was far more impressed by the soldier’s reflexive concern for his Marine opponent than by his speed, which was impressive in its own right.

As I left the stadium following that race, I happened to walk right past the Army winner as he put on his sweats on the other side of a fence. I reached over the fence and just had to shake his hand and say, “Hey, man. That was a very classy act at the end of the race. Nice going.” He just smiled and simply said, “It was nothing, man.” Nothing? Maybe to you, I thought, but not to our hyper-competitive, self-aggrandizing culture. It was nothing? No, it was pure class.

As I said, I wasn’t prepared for the camaraderie. But I really wasn’t prepared for what I experienced the next day as I watched a few swimming races.

I swim competitively so I’m familiar with the grueling practices it takes to be ready on race day. I’m familiar with the feeling of complete aloneness as you stand on the block waiting for the gun to fire. I’m familiar with both the amped-up exhilaration of the event, as well as the nagging fear that all the work you’ve put in might fall a few split seconds short of your goals. I’m familiar with the setting, but I wasn’t prepared for what I saw here.

Race after race, men and women missing a leg or an arm, were wheeled up to the starting blocks, and crawled on top until they could stand for the gun. Some could only sit on the edge of the pool and fall in. I thought to myself, I don’t expose myself like that.

Men and women with no legs, pulled themselves through the water, and then in complete exhaustion flopped onto the gutter at the side and dragged themselves to their wheel chair. I don’t take that much of a risk in front of others.

The last race I watched was a men’s 100-meter freestyle, two laps of a long, long pool for six men, all of whom were missing an arm. I don’t know if I could do what these men are doing. Their courage and determination were beyond description.

The gun went off, and most men dove off the blocks and made immediate headway despite their disabilities. Except for one, who was clearly struggling behind the others. And then I saw why: like the other swimmers he had only one arm; unlike any of the others, he had no legs. I actually gasped out loud and threw my hand over my mouth. That’s not a reaction I recall ever having before.

I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. This was a man, formerly fit enough to fight in the British Armed Forces, probably more athletic than the great majority of people, exposing his fearsome wounds and limitations, and putting them to the test. My heart pounded for him; I barely breathed; I held my hand to my mouth; and tears streamed down my face.

When you run a race and get exhausted, you can stop and catch your breath. When you’re biking and absolutely must stop, you do. But if you’re a person with only a torso and one arm, in a ten-feet-deep pool, if you stop, you sink to the bottom. We were witnessing a life-threatening endeavor.

Courage, yes. Determination, yes. But also, indescribable humility and vulnerability. A willingness to reveal to everyone who he really is. This man was grievously wounded, extremely disabled (physically anyway), and publicly exposed. His bravery brought the whole audience and every competitor to their feet in full-hearted cheers as he worked his way to the end of the race.

I filmed it on my phone, but discovered he was filmed in the same event last year with a much better camera. You can see what I saw in this clip. The whole race is less than four minutes, or you can go to the 2-minute mark to watch his solitary battle while all the other racers, finished long before, look on with admiration.

Most men fear revealing themselves to others. We cover up flaws, we ignore or deny wounds and we run from relationships or events that we suspect will involve vulnerability. We fear that if others knew the truth about us, they would no longer respect us.

The truth is almost always the opposite. When we expose our weaknesses and tender spots to other men, three things usually happen:

1.     Our story turns out to be very similar to that of another man who is listening— we find out we are not alone.

2.     We engender respect and earn trust for our courage and vulnerability.

3.     We are cheered on in our race.

Men, you matter. The impact of your life is so important; the consequences of your decisions are so significant. I urge you to race like the man in the story above—all out, no masks, out of the man-cave, investing great effort into those matters and those people we believe in deeply, and finding a team of like-minded men.

In I Cor. 9 Paul writes, “You’ve all been to the stadium and seen the athletes race. Everyone runs; one wins. Run to win. All good athletes train hard. They do it for a gold medal that tarnishes and fades. You’re after one that’s gold eternally.”

“I don’t know about you, but I’m running hard for the finish line. I’m giving it everything I’ve got. No sloppy living for me! I’m staying alert and in top condition. I’m not going to get caught napping, telling everyone else all about it and then missing out myself.” (Message)

All out. No sloppy living. No isolation. No shame. That’s the kind of living and racing I saw in the Wounded Warriors.The British swimmer didn’t come in first in time, but he was without question the star of the race, because he showed up and gave it everything he had despite grievous wounds.

If you’d like to talk further about how that lifestyle can be truer of you, I’d like to hear from you. Just comment below or hit Reply. Because you matter.

One of the takeaways was five simple life principles that help define and guide the transition from immaturity to maturity. They are the recognition that:

1. Life is difficult.
2. You are not in control.
3. You are not that important.
4. You are going to die.
5. Your life is not about you.

Even though each of these statements is true, immature, self-absorbed males believe the opposite of all of these.  Mature, other-centered men recognize their truth and still live with faith, hope and love.

Recently  an author I respect, Tim Elmore, included these principles in a post entitled, The Secret to Raising Emotionally Healthy Kids. In his post Elmore mentions a seemingly paradoxical term a growing number of counselors use to describe the emotional state of many young people these days: “High arrogance; Low self-esteem.”

Some of you parents of teenagers or young adults might recognize that description and may find Elmore’s comments helpful.

“There are three things, no four,” Solomon wrote, that were so amazing to him he could not begin to understand them. The last was “the way of a man with a young woman.” (Prov. 30:19) I agree, but right after that I would put, “the way of a dad with a daughter.”

There is something mystical about the relationship forged between girls and their dads. Together they bring a mix of tenderness, trust, joy, adventure, respect, hope, strength and love. Just typing those words makes me smile.

One of the greatest joys of my life is being father to Barclay (33), our first-born; father-in-law to Bonnie (27); and grandfather to Bella (7), Brynn (5), Brooke (2) and Blakely (in the oven). The closest of them is 1065 miles away; the farthest 2014. That distance makes the periodic shared birthdays, holidays and vacations much more special. I love being around each of them.

Dads, one of the most amazing aspects of your role as a father is that you show your daughters truth about themselves, about men and about God.

·      Dads convince daughters they have value as women. They should know beyond the shadow of a doubt that you are thrilled with their femininity and that you love that they are girls.

·      Dads reveal to daughters what they should expect and require from the men in their lives. They should never settle for any man who doesn’t view them, treat them, speak to them, and touch them with respect and love. Never.

·      Dads show daughters what God looks like. Children view the Heavenly Father through the lens of their earthly father. If Dad is approachable, tender, forgiving and grace-full—God is even more so. If Dad is distant, vindictive, critical and angry— God is infinitely so.

Barclay recently posted this link, 50 Rules for Dads of Daughters, on her Facebook page. It’s humorous, creative and thought-provoking. I wish I could go back and try some of them. If you’re a dad with a girl still at home or within a day’s drive, you have a gift at your fingertips. Reach out to her. She needs you.

As for me, I’ll keep trying some of these Rules with my daughters, and with the next generation of girls in my life. There is one thing, no four—Bella, Brynn, Brooke and Blakely—that are too amazing for me to understand, the ways of granddaughters with their grandfather.

Photo by Charles Krupa AP

Our hearts and minds reel in stunned disbelief at the images and stories still streaming from the horrific bombing at the Boston Marathon. We simply weren’t built to process this kind of random, awful violence.

Yet, these events always bring stirring stories of heroics by both trained professionals who leap into action, and seemingly average citizens who become unsuspecting national heroes.

Those who are trained to respond reflexively to danger inspire us. We saw them not only in Boston, but also in West, Texas, where at virtually the same time over a dozen first responders entered the blaze at the fertilizer plant, only to be lost in the sudden enormous explosion that killed many of them instantly.

We are also inspired by the average citizens who react with the same selfless spirit in the face of danger. One of those in Boston was Carlos Arredondo, “the man in the cowboy hat”, who re-appeared in numerous photos and stories, always helping another person.

He and many others showed another side of human nature that counters the awful evil we have seen far too often in recent months. These men and women reveal the essential goodness and courage that also lies deep in the human heart. They are genuine heroes who put themselves in danger on behalf of others.

It turns out Carlos was very familiar with suffering. Years ago he was the subject of another national story. The Costa Rican immigrant father of a Marine son who died in Iraq in 2004, Carlos became so distraught at the news delivered to him at his home by Marine officers, he jumped into their van and set himself ablaze. He survived only because others came to his rescue.

Perhaps it was Carlos’ own familiarity with suffering that motivated him to reach out to the strangers he saw bleeding on the streets of Boston. If so, he demonstrates the truth of 2 Cor. 1:3, 4: “…the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort…comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves have received from God.”

Compassion is not often equated with heroism. It should be. The world knows a hero when they see one. He’s the guy running compassionately toward danger when others are running away.

I only had one daughter to give away in marriage, Barclay. On that day, June 10th 2000, I knew that I was officially no longer the most important man in her life. Truth be told, that transition had been gradually happening ever since she met Vince, her super-hero. I was fortunate and honored to be able to completely entrust her to his care because of the kind of man he is. It was still hard.

I’ve officiated at a number of weddings, including my kids’, but I never gave a talk as impactful as the one in this clip. In 3 minutes this father communicates a ton. He demonstrates a good example of a father; and he demonstrates a good example of public speaking.

For those of us who are fathers, what lessons does he teach us?

For those of us who periodically speak in public, or those of us who know a good talk when we see one, what is it about this talk that makes it so effective?

• The average Burundian lives on $6/week

• Percentage of population living in poverty is 69%

• As of 2010 the number of mobile phone users/100 people is 0

• Number of people owning personal computers/100 is 0

• Users of the internet/100 is 2

• Average life expectancy is 49 years

• 80% of the population is illiterate or under-educated by global standards. Of the remaining 20%, half are unemployed

• 8% of the population has HIV or AIDS

• The capital city, Bujumbura, population 900,000, has no stop lights

Yet, on my recent 10-day trip to this nation in the heart of Africa I met some of the most joy-filled people I have ever encountered. (To see a day-by-day, very brief pictorial journal of my time there please go to the Men Matter Facebook page. I invite you to “Like” it, to get periodic, real-time prayer requests and Peregrine ministry updates).

Burundi and its neighbor Rwanda have experienced several cycles of tribal genocide over the past century, most horrifically in the late 90’s and early 2000’s when hundreds of thousands of men, women and children were slaughtered, raped, or maimed by opposing tribe members. The resulting offspring of those rapes, and orphans of those murdered parents, fill the streets of Bujumbura as unwanted young women and men.

My first exposure to these tragic victims was at the Home Care Center directed by a stunningly compassionate and strong Burundi woman named Peace, in partnership with Tirzah International. Peace and her family emigrated to Canada during the genocide, but returned to Burundi several years ago to bring hope its women.

I traveled with a team of men, five from Texas, one from Louisiana, and Peregrine board chairman Dave Kirkland. We were welcomed by 40 young women enrolled in the discipling and seamstress training program run by Peace and her small staff. These women, who are learning a trade in order to survive and support their children, previously described themselves as “garbage.” They experienced rape, abuse, beatings and life at the bottom of the heap. Some were so traumatized that they entered the program mute—literally unable to speak.

The Home Care staff and Tirzah began by telling them that they are not garbage, they are deeply loved, beautiful daughters of God himself. The transformation in these women is no less than miraculous!

They had every right to hate, or at least fear us, because we symbolized the very elements of cultural history that led to their own suffering. We were foreigners; we were men; we were white; we were wealthy; we had power. But rather than stand back from us as we arrived at their school, they burst into joy-filled singing; dancing around us, showering us with flower petals.

For half an hour they covered us with their singing and joy. We were dumb-struck as women knelt in front of us and washed our shoes with towels. Take a look at this joy-filled welcome dance.

After showing us their love, Peace asked these women if any would be willing to express what the Home Care program meant to them. Familiar with the reticence and awkwardness of many people in our own country when it comes to pubic speaking, we couldn’t believe how quickly and fervently one woman after another stood and expressed her story of transformation from garbage to child of God.

Each one began with a smile and the words (phonetically) Yays-hah-Sheem-way! —Praise Jesus! invariably followed by the response from all the other women, AMEN!! For more than half an hour, these formerly broken and rejected women couldn’t wait to stand and tell their story of redemption.

Our team was invited by Tirzah leadership to help them explore the possibilities of providing a similar message of hope and significance to “Street Boys,” the thousands of young men living on the streets of Bujumbura. Most are drug-using thieves barely eking out a life, trying to survive the consequences of having been born unwanted.

Peace arranged a meeting for us with several young men who had either been Street Boys, or were currently working with them. We set up 20 chairs in the largest room at the Home Care facility and waited to see who would show up. Fifteen men came in, then another five, then ten more. They sat on the floor and filled the outside patio. Forty young men came to tell us their stories.

The story of Abednego was a typical one. Born into utter poverty in the countryside, he came to the capital hoping to find employment and found even deeper misery. His days were filled with drugs, robbery, fighting and begging for money. One day he met Desiré, a Christian who befriended him and led him to the Lord. Today Abednego makes $10 a week selling SIM cards for the cell phones that ex-patriots and the wealthy can afford. He is one of a small core who has dreams of developing an agricultural training program to provide employment, hope and dignity to the men of Burundi.

For two hours we sat with these young men and heard their stories of pain and hope. At one point we asked them, “What is it that draws you to Peace and the women on her staff?” Their response, “We are all looking for a mother.” Tears welled in my eyes, as they do now. Grown men, ages 18-32, experienced in the awful ways of the streets and living in grinding poverty, were simply longing for a mother.

Later, we asked Desiré why they weren’t longing for a father. His response: “Father means nothing good to these men. Father is the one who beat them, the one who abandoned them, or the one they never knew.” They don’t even know how hungry they are. They are not only economically impoverished; they are relationally and spiritually impoverished.

Our team met with men who offered hope for what might be done for these men. We met separately with Desiré, Fabrice, Abednego and Dieudonne (Gift of God) who shared their dream of establishing a small farming and discipling community, where men are taught the same spiritual and practical lessons the women at Home Care have been. Afterward we laid our hands on them and asked the Lord to bless their dream.

We met Mark and Apollinaire, the senior pastor and worship leader of Life Center. Apollinaire is the extraordinarily gifted, self-taught sole music teacher in all of Burundi. Yes, the only music teacher in the country. He trains worship teams and instructs others on the instruments he taught himself to play.

The men invited me to speak at their Friday evening worship service. Not all of the members of the church would be there—just 1000 or so. The vibrancy, joy and power of the worship and dancing were beyond anything any of us had experienced before. Take a look at this Burundi worship service, which only partially demonstrates the joy we experienced.

What an honor it was to speak on I Cor. 16:13, 14: “Be on your guard, stand firm in the faith, be people of courage and be strong. Do everything in love.” I commended them for their faith, their resiliency and their courage; and I urged the men in particular to do everything in love; that is, live their lives on behalf of others, not just themselves. I discovered a long time ago, these verses and lessons apply to men in all cultures.

At the end of the service I thought I heard my name mentioned from the stage and, on checking to see what it may have been about, discovered I was invited to preach again on Sunday morning. I spoke on a verse that has become one of my favorites in recent years, Romans 15:13: “May the God of hope fill you with great joy and peace as you trust in him, so that you may overflow with hope, by the power of the Holy Spirit.”

My goals for this trip—of going, listening and learning—were met beyond expectation. Where we go from here in helping the men of Burundi is uncertain, but we all returned with a commitment to do what we can. The businessmen on the trip felt compelled to work in creative partnership with the key men we met who have a vision for resolving economic poverty. I’m certain there is a place for the message of Peregrine to help resolve the spiritual poverty we saw.

The challenges are historic and profound. One man told us, the primary problem of Burundi is fatherlessness. I suspect he’s right. Others told us that the men of the nation live with crushing shame and hopelessness due to centuries of colonialism, poverty, witchcraft and genocide.

As I’ve mentioned in previous posts, I agree with the statement, “The first priority of any country is to build good men.” Because the difference between good men and awful men is so enormous. That is exactly the vision of Peregrine. We are compelled to help men:

• Understand their identity in Christ

• Embrace their roles as son, brother, husband, father and grandfather, and to

• Identify and live out the unique calling God has for their lives.

There is still a lot to learn about the needs of Burundi, but I left with an invitation to return and provide further spiritual guidance for men. When and how that will happen remains to be developed, but I’m certain it will.

Thank you to every one reading this who gave generously, who prayed faithfully and who sent messages of encouragement along the way. You were, and will be, a part of how God uses Peregrine to bring even more hope, joy and peace to this country that so desperately needs it.

Thank you for going with us.

Yays-hah-Sheem-way!

By nature I’ve never liked entering situations where I don’t know what to expect. I prefer to do my best to know in advance, who the audience is, what the expectations are, and what the possible problems are that might interfere with a successful accomplishment. Prepare, anticipate the problems and work to bring about a positive outcome.

In many circumstances that’s a wise approach. In others it’s counter-productive.

One of the biggest lessons I’ve been learning in recent years is to avoid over-preparing in spiritual encounters. In fact, I’ve learned that I need to focus on under-preparing. When I over-prepare, I have all the comments figured out, the study-guide or notes in front of me, and I rely too much on a “game plan.” The problem is that, just as in warfare when the first shots are fired, the game plan often goes out the window when I engage in relationships with an open spirit.

I’ve learned that often we need to enter a speaking engagement, a leadership role or a personal mentoring relationship with an intentional attitude of open-endedness. In other words: Be unprepared. It’s in that open space that gift happens. It’s in exactly those circumstances that the Spirit responds through us with heart, rather than game plan.

Those are also the instances when we walk away from a challenging encounter, having given a spontaneous and sincere comment or two and thought afterward, “I don’t even know where those words came from. What happened there?” Gift happened there.

I’ve had few experiences that require me to engage with as little preparedness as the assignment a Peregrine board member and I enter tomorrow morning. We fly to Burundi, Africa, where we will meet the Street Boys in the capital city of Bujumbura. These young men, ages 13-20, are the unwanted offspring resulting from the rape of thousands of Burundi women during the tribal genocide in the 90′s and early 2000’s. These young men are completely without family, community, significance and meaning for life. We’ve been asked to visit and see what role Peregrine might have in the future in convincing them that they matter.

As some of you know, the main market in Bujumbura, the primary source of supplies and materials for their whole economy was recently burned to the ground in a massive fire. It’s unknown whether it was accidental or intentional. What is known is that the fire has devastated the small industries that form the meager foundation of this struggling nation.

A friend just asked me what I plan to do when I arrive in Burundi. My response:

• I’m going to show up
• I’m going to bring my heart
• And I’m going to leave space for gift to happen

That’s truly about all we can do. That’s also the most we can do. When we are weak, He is strong. 2 Cor. 12:10

We travel from Mar. 9-19^th. When you think of it, would you please pray for:

• Provision for the mothers and children we meet
• A connection of trust and respect between us and the Street Boys
• Clarity about what we can say to them that will bring encouragement
• Hope for their future and ours together
• Health and travel safety

And please pray that we will welcome the unprepared space for gift to happen.

She’s politically sharp, verbally eloquent, intellectually open-minded, obviously feminine, and a staunch proponent of men acting like men. She is refreshingly straight-forward in her lack of patience for political nonsense coming from either wing.

With this recent article, Combat Women and Congress’ Wimps, Parker once again demonstrates her gifted insight and unwillingness to bow to political correctness. She has more strength of character than the men in Congress who won’t stand up for what they really think.

Genesis makes it clear that God created men and women in his own image: “So God created mankind in his own image, in the image of God he created them; male and female he created them.”(Ge. 1:27) I marvel at how men innately reveal God’s qualities of physical power and action, while women innately reveal qualities of captivating femininity and relational depth. I know, that’s considered a controversial statement.

Of course, we know strong women, and we know very relational men. But we all know what we have in mind when we say masculine and feminine. And we love the difference. That’s what God had in mind.

Both men and women are the apex of God’s miraculous creation—equally reflecting him, equally valued and loved by him, equally needed by one another, marvelously and intentionally different by his design. In our society’s tunnel-vision approach toward equal treatment of the genders, the profound gift of those distinctions gets lost.

Will our culture continue to deny what God made evident? Will we continue to insist on blurring the very qualities about each other that bring some of the greatest joy in our lives? Man, I hope not.

Thank you, Kathleen. You go, girl!

• Speak courageously
• Follow your convictions
• Some will resent you
• Leave vengeance with God

Steven Spielberg, one of the most highly-acclaimed film producers of our times, has undergone a metamorphosis in is treatment of fathers in his movies.

This revealing 60 Minutes interview tells the story behind the progression from absent or antagonistic fathers, to supportive and present father-figures in Spielberg’s films. Not surprisingly, it comes out of his own father story. His years of anger toward his dad, and their later reconciliation, has played out for countless millions to watch.

If you made a movie about you and your dad, what would he look like? If your child made a movie, how would he or she cast you?