How a “Mr. Universe” can look
I just finished typing a report. For those of you who don’t know me, my day job is medical transcription. From my cozy, old farmhouse, I type medical reports day after day for physicians in a faraway state.
It’s an interesting job. Thousands of names and stories have passed through my fingers. Countless exams and procedures and maladies. Most of the time, I can plan menus, solve problems, pray on the fly, and hammer out schedules, all while listening to docs and typing up their files. I’ve heard it (almost) all. But today, I’ll admit it, he caught me off guard.
“The patient,” said Dr. So-and-So, my hand surgeon extraordinaire, “is competing for Mr. Universe.” Oh. Well, now. “He has muscles in his forearm that are bigger than my thigh.”
That’s what the doctor said. Which got me thinking.
For 30 years now, I’ve been married to a man who’s never competed in a Mr. Universe pageant. Never stood on an international stage with cameras clicking, winning a golden trophy.
He’s never appeared on People Magazine as The Sexiest Man Alive. Never been front-cover featured on Time Magazine as Man of the Year. He’s never been recognized by the world on that scale, but here’s the truth. He’s Mr. Universe to us.
In a world where so many children are growing up in fatherless homes. In a world where the burden of being mother and father and sole provider falls upon a woman’s shoulders. In an “enlightened” era when culture proclaims that men aren’t needed and are, in fact, toxic, this man is our Man of the Year.
Here’s why: he puts himself last, and he puts Lord Christ first. Then me, then his sons, then himself.
He provides for us financially. He’s worked with all his might, building a business, then comes home at the end of the day. We’re well cared for.
He provides for us spiritually. Because his eyes are fixed on Christ, he is full of sound wisdom. We trust him.
He provides for us emotionally. Now, you know it, that this girl’s got the only ovaries on this team, and he’s a master at navigating all the *feels.* He’s a rock.
When his sons are anxious, they call him. When they’re unsure or confused, they will text. His calm, steady way of looking at problems brings some “calm and steady” to us all. Man, we love him.
I know that there are men who are monsters. They’ve abused or neglected, active or passive, and they’ve damaged the ones they ought to love. But not all.
No, not all men are monsters. Indeed, many are kings.
A true Man of the Year doesn’t have to be as rich as Bill Gates to be a Man of the Year for his family.
A real Mr. Universe doesn’t have to have a forearm that’s bigger than my thigh to be the a safe center for a child’s heart and world.
And the real Sexiest Man of the Year is the one who loves well. Who take care of his babies and their mama. Now, that’s sexy.
Financial adviser, doctor, musician. Mechanic or preacher or builder, it’s no matter. These are the unsung heroes. Today, it makes me real happy to recognize these ordinary men who are kings in their own homes and towns. If you would like to recognize your own “Mr. Universe,” I’d love to hear it. Feel free to pop down below, tell me his name and why you love him.
Happy spring,
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