Warm Fuzzies, Guys, and Dad

I went to Starbucks, aka Covenant Life Church members' hangout, to write Warm Fuzzies. This is the place where you will almost certainly see pastors, fellow church members, friends, and acquaintances in the course of twenty minutes. Today I spotted a former coworker, two former classmates from high school, and a caregroup leader, all within thirty seconds of arrival. I smiled.

"Ahhh... Starbucks."

But I had a mission, and no time for extensive catching-up with cronies. Warm Fuzzies, my dear, are serious business. These handwritten notes of love and encouragement, made for each separate member of my large family, take hours to craft. They are truly the most meaningful presents on the tree, rolled up into small scrolls and tucked among the ornaments. You don't just sit down and dash them off in an hour on Christmas Eve.

I addressed myself to the task, silently thanking God for an opportunity to tell my dear ones how very, very much I love them, and how I see God's work in their lives. At Daddy's suggestion, I made a list of the Fruits of the Spirit first, and then began to point out those fruits in the lives of each sibling, parent, or grandparent. It was such a delight, so much fun, and so faith-building, to note specific growth and give specific encouragement.

Some guy came in, and patted me on the head. I blinked.

"Hey, Baby."

"Daddy! Hi!"

He grinned at me like the ten-year-old that he is at heart, and passed on to get his coffee. Daddy is thoroughly enjoying his two weeks off from work. I sighed, happy, and turned back to my notes. At that moment...

"Hi, Christy!"

"Hi, Malcolm."

One of the former classmates, a young man of boundless enthusiasm (and disgustingly good looks), seated himself at my table, regarding me earnestly. I put down my pen.

"Christy, I have a question for you."

"Shoot." I was comfortable, and Malcolm's questions are always interesting, to say the least.

"Okay, here's the deal. It's a hypothetical question. I have a friend who might be interested in pursuing a girl in, oh, say a year. But he's concerned about how to grow in tenderness and, you know, that kind of thing. He thinks maybe he should make a goal of chivalry. In your opinion, as a girl, what are girls looking for in guys?"

"You sure this isn't you, Malcolm?"

"No, honest!" Sincerity radiated from his big brown eyes. I stifled my amusement, and considered his question.

"First of all, I tend to shy away from the whole 'chivalry' thing. Chivalry was never practiced in its ideal form, even in the Middle Ages, and the word has been so much distorted or abused nowadays that I don't really think it works as a goal or standard of behavior."

"Okay."

He was waiting for my every word, as if I were an oracle. I decided to level with him. "Malcolm, you aren't going to like this, because you've heard it before. In my experience of living with lots of Christian girls, I think I can say without exception that the kind of girl whom you would want to marry will be most interested in a guy who is wholeheartedly pursuing God. It's just very attractive, to see a guy being passionate about God. So if you want to grow in tenderness, or any good character trait, all I can say is, 'Meditate on, imitate, and pursue God.' I've never found another formula that works."

Dad reappeared at my elbow. I explained Malcolm's question, and my answer, as he sat down. Dad said, "Your answer is impeccable, Honey, but I'm not sure that it's really tailored to the specificity of Malcolm's question."

I made a gesture of inviting him to elaborate. "How so?"

"Well..." He explained that my answer was a general one that applied to every area of life, but that if a guy is specifically wondering about what he should do to prepare for marriage, then he needs to focus on growth in the areas that pertain most to that end. Responsibility. Humility. Leadership. Tenderness. I conceded his point, and decided that it would be much better to let Dad talk to Malcolm. I picked up my pen again...

"Hi guys!"

Joel, who had been studying across the room with Malcolm, stood there. I put down my pen.

"Hey, Joel! Pull up a chair."

He did so, and briefly explained that he and Malcolm had been studying for Literature, History, and Philosophy. I asked Malcolm, "Do you find that my mother's classes prepared you for college work pretty well?"

"Very well! Except, in these 'reflection papers' that they make us do, they don't want us to tell them what we're going to say, say it, and then tell them what we said."

"Huh," I responded. "Weird."

"Yeah. But otherwise, I've been very well prepared for the writing."

"And the reading?" I asked, with a conspiratorial wink. He rolled his eyes. Ah, memories. There were weeks, back in our high school days, when we had 400 pages of reading to complete for a week's worth of History alone.

"Who are you taking for Philosophy?" Dad asked.

"Dr. White. He's really into Shamenism right now."

"Is that so? You know, with all that they've been discovering about quantum physics, it turns out that only Zen-Buddhism and Christianity have an answer for the way the universe is."

It was at that point that I excused myself to go back to writing. I know Dad. If the going looked good, they would be discussing parallel realities for the next hour.

It was actually an hour and a half, and another guy wandered over, and Dad held all three of them spellbound while I wrote notes. Occasional comments drifted through my mental smokescreen.

"Well, plants are innocent." .... "That's why you don't dare pull the plug on these machines." .... "So, in Science Fiction.." .... "Well, everybody writes trilogies nowadays" .... "If this reality were shaped like a cone, you see; Honey, do you mind...?" Dad leaned over to borrow my pen and notepad. I watched him sketch a geometric shape in broad strokes. Dad loves to have a whiteboard when he's teaching, but a notepad is next best.

"Um, Dad... how about this pen?"

He took the proffered pen, and I got mine back. You can't switch pens in the middle of a Warm Fuzzy. It looks funny. I went back to my writing. Half an hour later, Dad finished the discussion and stood to leave. I looked up. "Can I catch a ride back home with you, Daddy?"

"Sure!"

I pushed my stuff together. "Did you enjoy that, Malcolm?"

"It was fascinating!"

I nodded, marveling. Every young man, every young man I've ever known, seems to become an instant fan and pupil of Dad's. It never fails. Daddy held the door open for me, and we stepped outside. A few months ago, at a play rehearsal, I remember solemly informing several members of the cast that my father is perfect. Looking at him this afternoon, absolutely bouncing off the pavement, talking to Mama on his cell phone with the tone of a man in love, and excited about going to Giant to buy dog-food... I'm convinced that I was right. He may not be perfect in an absolute sense--that distinction belongs to God--but he's the perfect father for me and my siblings, and the perfect husband for Mama.

"Honey, your dad is a prince." Mama said to me earlier today, while we both watched him watching a video that one of his clients had sent. It was a movie of their daughter's ballet recital. "Your dad is the kind of guy who watches his clients' daughters' ballet recitals."

Malcolm said to me, as I was walking out the door at Starbucks, "I'm just wondering what girls want, you know?"

Sitting here, thinking about it, I know the right answer to that question. I'll tell you what girls want, Malcolm...

They want someone just like Dad.