Book Review: The Last American Man

You will notice right away this book is not psychological self help. I read self help too, but find it often leaves me feeling just plain confused. Its sort of like watching a movie from the front row of a theater. Things appear large and more detailed but my eyes usually hurt from trying to focus so much. There is such a thing as analyzing your life too much. To that end, I commend to you The Last American Man by Elizabeth Gilbert - a biography, a human study, a real life story of one man. Sometimes hearing someone else’s story can bring clarity to our own lives that insight alone cannot deliver. And this story will certainly not disappoint you.

Meet Eustace Conway through the eyes of author Elizabeth Gilbert (yes, the Eat Pray Love writer). Eustace is a brilliant charismatic naturalist still alive somewhere in the woods of North Carolina. It seems odd to have a biography of someone still living, unless they’ve been a president or overcome some amazing obstacle to accomplish some grand feat. I guess in that regard, Eustace Conway is the later.

You don’t have to read too long to learn that Eustace has accomplished much with his young life. He survived in the woods for a week at age 12 without bringing food or shelter with him. At age 17 he hiked the Appalachian Trail doing 30 miles a day in sneakers and a loin cloth. Almost without catching his breath, he was on to kayak Alaska and then to living with the most primitive tribe he could find in Guatemala. And just for adventure sake, he galloped across America on horseback and set a new record for the fastest trip from coast to coast by horse. And that’s not to mention his daily life of living in a teepee, running a full nature camp, making his own clothes, and eating road kill. Eustace Conway has indeed done a lot of amazing things.

And all of this is killing him because none of this is getting him the thing he wants most - his father's validation and love. Eustace Conway has a massive father wound. This is his greatest obstacle. It almost bleeds off the page. Some parts of the book are absolutely heart breaking. Here is just a taste of the words his father uses to obliterate his son. “You are so stupid. I’ve never met a child more dimwitted. I don’t know how I could have sired so idiotic a son. What are we to surmise? I believe you are simply incompetent and will never learn anything.” (p.30) Daily, methodically, deliberately his father bludgeoned his son with similar tirades.

Like everything else in his life, Eustace has put herculean efforts into pleading with his father for some relief, some validation, some love. From age 12 to the present, he has written letters to his father as penance and petition for mercy. Well into adulthood, he wrote: “I have an overwhelming need to be accepted by you, to be appreciated, acknowledged, recognized for something better than trash… I have a great void where I look for love. All I have ever wanted is your love. Perhaps I should accept defeat and stay away from you. But denial and distance do not satisfy the need for your acceptance” (p.105). His father has never responded to any of his letters.

If you’ve ever wondered at the impact of a father’s love on a man, read this book and have your heart torn in two for Eustace Conway. You may find new eyes, new curiosity, new compassion for your own story and the stories of the men in your life.

Check out the Resources page of my website to purchase this book from my Amazon.com bookstore.

Restoring Broken Things

You may have noticed my unofficial sabbatical from doing any writing whatsoever for the last few months. I know. I’ve committed the chief of all blogging sins. So here’s the story.

At the beginning of the summer, we purchased a historic home with the hopes of renovating it and restoring it to its original Victorian Lady charm. Its old, 116 years old to be exact. Old. Like back when horsepower meant the actual horse hitched up in your back yard. And the first owners of our home probably did have horses in the backyard. But all these years have taken their toll on this antique homestead. Sagging wooden floors, plaster falling from ceilings, out of date wiring. Add to this all the unkempt years of neglectful renters. Our Victorian Beauty needed some lovin’!

We started this whole venture awash in romanticized sentiments that restoring an old home is like a really fun hobby. Or some symbolic spiritual pilgrimage. I grew up pumped full of This Old House episodes with Bob Villa and still love that show. But they make the process seem so laden with excitement and effortless progress. And not a single worker on that show ever breaks a sweat or dirties their clothing. Somehow I imagined our weekends being full of similar restful energizing work.

At some point several weeks into our project, amid so much dust and detritus and 16 hour work days, I finally let myself admit I had lost all romantic ideals about our renovation project. I was now just plain afraid. I was standing in an expensive pile of rubble. In the name of change and restoration, we had produced one grand mortgage backed mess. Here we had gone and dismantled a perfectly good home. And without any prior experience at this, I really feared that we might never emerge like we hoped and planned.

That fear is surprisingly familiar to other areas of my life. Change seems to carry a romantic sense to it. But eventually the idea of change melds into the harder, sometimes downright discouraging work of changing. Yes, I want to love my wife more courageously. Yes, I want to be more in shape. Yes, I want to listen to God more. And then its 30 degrees out when I get up to run. Or a time of pursuing my wife crumbles into an all out fight. Or I spend a whole hour with God daydreaming about something we have to do on our house. I start to wonder if I’ll ever change. Fear shouts its resounding, “No!”

Take something like counseling. I hear so often in my office the sighs of relief from folks who have finally taken the step of getting counseling. The hope of change wafts in with them like fresh spring air after winter. And then we get to work… for a couple months. And that’s expensive. And will it actually work? Will it pay off? And I’m reminded so often of that Garth Brook’s line, “This is how it seems to me. Life is only therapy. Real expensive and no guarantee.” And I have to tell my clients change does not come in pill form. Change is a process you just have to trust sometimes. Trust.

Well, we’ve emerged from our house project. And it looks really good. Those wood floors have a beautiful sheen to them. The stained glass chandelier hangs magnificently in the dining room. My wife can often be heard sighing with relief and exclaiming, “I can’t believe this is our house!” Indeed. How did we make it? We had to learn to trust the process.

We did get our spiritual pilgrimage.

Man vs. Life

“What does man gain by all his labor at which he toils under the sun?” Ecclesiastes 1:3

“Ah, but a man's reach should exceed his grasp, or what's a heaven for?” Robert Browning

With careful precision, a young toddler boy stacks small colored blocks precariously on top of each other. Aware that one bad placement could mean destruction, he slows his pace and steadies his hand to get his tower just a few inches higher. Satisfied with his efforts, he stands back and eyes his accomplishment. Suddenly, as if transformed into some wild beast, he lunges at the wooden structure swinging his arms in abandoned fury. Blocks cascade to the floor and the young boy collapses into giggled euphoria. His delight lasts only a moment before he is set building another in order to repeat the whole process.

Why is this scene so familiar to us? It seems that it gets played out in the life of every boy. What is it about a boy that loves to build towers and tree forts, to dig holes and blow up fireworks, to attack enemies and destroy things?

I believe it is the masculine longing to impact the world. If we are truly honest, this longing is innate in our gender and only deepens as a boy becomes a man. And as with the boy who builds his tower all over again, rarely is our desire ever satisfied. The tension between the desire to impact our world and the disappointment when it does not last or is not enough drives men into a profound vortex known as futility.

I heard this in a conversation between two men at Home Depot a few weeks ago. They were selecting the right nails for their project as we shared the hardware aisle together. One man turned to the other and said passionately, “Too bad I didn’t bring my nail gun!” His friend, a bit confused and annoyed, replied, “Why? We don’t need it. We only have a few nails to put in.” The nail gun man clearly took his friends comment pretty hard. He shot back, “Yeah, but I like to use it and rarely get to.” Did you hear that? The nail gun was this guys chance to come through on this job, to have his strength make a difference in his world. And his friend thwarted him, shut his desire down. My heart sank with his. Futility strikes again.

Work is only one area of life where we men struggle with feeling like we are not enough for the task. We may have a great night with our wives, even pull off romance well, but then we awake to another day of marriage, another day we need to love her. Or take finances. Two days after my paycheck hits the bank account, its devoured by a thousand hungry life needs. Why does our strength never feel like enough?

I think God is responsible for this whole nagging futility deal. Back in Genesis, after Adam and Eve first sinned, God cursed each of them uniquely. Here’s Adams: “Cursed is the ground because of you; through painful toil you will eat of it all the days of your life” (3:17). As Dan Allender has pointed out, the curse on Adam affects more than just farming. God levels a blow on Adam in his strength. And on all man as his sons.

God prevents our masculine strength from ever being enough. Its easy to see the curse as the backhand of an angry God. But as John Eldredge says, the curse is actually wildly redemptive. God wounds us as men, gives us a limp so to speak in the place we are wired to come through, right in our strength. And he does it to protect us from living independently, from living the lone ranger life, from living godless. Futility and frustration are meant make us aware that we need God. And lead us back into relationship with Him.

I think God gets to men most often through our anger. God is trying to provoke us. He wants a fight, wants to wrestle with us, and knows that a man must walk into his rage to get his heart. Not every struggle in life is His doing. We do have Satan as an enemy. But most assuredly, some of the struggles in your life come from God. He will trash your life to get to your heart.

A few years ago, while in grad school, I had a string of car problems over a few month period that totaled over $5000. It was terrible. One day during this time, I noticed my muffler was growing especially loud. My heart sank. Here we go again, I thought. I half heartedly turned to prayer, asking God to take care of it, to get me through this, to fix my car. I kid you not, right in the middle of my prayer, my muffler fell completely off. I saw it skid along the road in my rearview mirror. I was enraged. I cussed. I yelled at God. And then the shock of what had just happened actually made me listen to God. He had my attention. And what did I hear?

“I’m trying to get to your heart.”

Next time your world as a man does not work out, next time something on the car breaks or you have some crisis with your wife, and the “I’m not enough” futility gnaws your insides, may you hear God’s invitation back into relationship.

The Art of Counseling

“How did you do that?” I exclaimed to my counselor, Peter, as we got up to end our session. About an hour ago, I walked into his office a mess inside, feeling like a ball of tangled kite string. And in an hour he had helped me unravel some of those messy feelings, see my life differently, shed tears, and leave more hopeful, more connected to my heart. It amazed me. So how did he do that? “It’s an art,” he replied.

Art? Can counseling be an art? I thought. And hey, wait a minute, wasn’t that my messy, broken life he was talking about. That borders on being insulting. Engaging my pain and brokenness is a form of art for him. Do I like that? I’ve had a few years to think about his comment. Now as a therapist myself, I’ve come to believe more and more the truth of Peter’s statement. Counseling is an art.

That’s Biblical by the way – consistent with the Christian story. If we look back at Genesis 1, to God’s work of creation, his artist studio, we find that God began his masterpiece with a mess.

Genesis 1:2
“Now the earth was formless and empty, darkness was over the surface of the deep, and the Spirit of God was hovering over the waters."

Formless and empty, covered in darkness. Others have used words like chaos. Yep, that sounds like my life sometimes. And it was within this chaos that the Spirit of God did his creative work, his art. He spoke into this mess. He filled the emptiness with life. He created a universe of order and beauty out of the formless mess. He brought light to bear on the darkness.

The story doesn’t end here, though. We do not live with the beautiful, ordered, living world created in Eden by God. When Adam and Eve sinned, the world fell again into chaos, mess intermingled with vestiges of God’s creative touch. The world became like a bombed out art museum. We have breath-taking sunsets amidst terrorist bomb threats and global warming. We, too, are a mess now, though we all bear the original glorious creative design of God.

But... when we pursue any growth, change, healing in our lives, we mimic God’s original work of creation. Eden's glory returns in a way. Our emptiness, mess, darkness become filled with life, order, beauty, and light. We recover our artistic glory.

Recently I heard the story of some local artists in Mozambique that inspired the pants off me. You may remember that Mozambique suffered for 17 years under a brutal civil war. The country has been working with programs that allow folks to trade weapons for farm implements. A group of artists have taken these collected weapons – ak-47’s and grenade launchers – and welded them together in the shape of the Tree of Life. The same weapons that literally took life now stand as a symbol of life. It’s such a moving picture of art birthed out of pain.

Counseling can offer a process of turning our chaos and pain into art. You may or may not ever produce actual art from your healing journey, like these African artists. Either way, your life can be a work of art again. Beauty and glory can be birthed form your broken life.

Our Love of Shame

“Their rulers dearly love shame.” Hosea 4:18

In college, I struggled with using pornography. It was an accessible, covert drug for me. I used it to cope with stress, depression, and pain. But it was not pornography alone that I used as a medication. I loved the shame that came afterward. Yeah, you heard me right. I loved the shame. Now, if you asked me, I would have told you I hated shame. Its nasty stuff, like black tar that gets stuck to your insides and will not wash off. Or a stomach ache after too much candy. Only much worse and much more spiritual. Its more like your soul has a hangover.

But I got a lot out of shame. Shame was so motivating to me. When I felt so terrible and despicable inside, I got a lot done. I used to wash my car, organize my finances, read, call old friends, go exercise, go to church consistently. Anything I could do to clean up or bring order to my external life, I did. These were my self directed acts of penance. Before I turned to God, I felt like I needed to make myself decent, clean up my act, get my appearance right, get some control. As much as I loved the temporary relief that pornography gave me, I loved the motivation and pseudo energy that shame gave me just as much. It seemed to give me the kick in the butt I needed to reorder my life. And this motivated me about as long as a sugar rush.

And all of this kept me from God. Yeah, I hid in it. I did not want to really admit to myself or to God that I needed love, that I needed help, that I felt like a mess. I did not let myself risk being loved.

Of course, I’m not talking about real shame. Real shame, or true guilt, is meant to show up when we do something wrong. It invites us be loved, to be vulnerable, to be sorrowful for what we did. And it produces life. Listen to the fruit of such guilt as described by the ancient Biblical sage Paul:

“You're more alive, more concerned, more sensitive, more reverent, more human, more passionate, more responsible.” 2 Corinthians 7:11 (the Message)

When we really see what we did wrong, how we’ve hurt others, offended God, true guilt invites us back to life, back into being loved. Yes, through sorrow, maybe even tears, we get our human dignity back. It draws us into relationship rather than turning us back in on ourselves.

And that’s the result of false shame – the black tar stuff. It turns us on ourselves, to hate ourselves. “How could you be so stupid!” says false shame. “You idiot!” This is the self contempt that made me so productive at cleaning up my life. I worked really hard to feel loved again, driven by the whip of my own inner hatred. Sadly, precisely when we hate ourselves, we cannot receive love. And in part, this is what we get from turning to our shame; we do not have to risk receiving love.

Let me say that again. That is what we love about shame! We do not have to risk being loved.

If we punish ourselves with contempt, we do not really have to be vulnerable to others or to God. We are afraid of God’s angry back handed slap across the face. I have a friend who used to think he would lose his job or get in a car accident or be robbed for the 24 hours after he looked at porn. Another friend admitted he feared God would keep him from getting married or make him marry someone ugly. I’m guessing here, but I bet the rumor that masturbation leads to blindness was started by someone struggling with the fear of what God would do to him.

If Adam and Eve had listened to their real guilt, they would have gone to find God. Seriously. That sounds crazy doesn’t it?! They would have gone naked to God and asked for mercy. Instead, God had to find them hidden in the shrubbery of the Garden of Eden.

I know we do not normally think of shame as something we enjoy. Why would anyone want to embrace something like this? But shame is so much easier to handle than love. Oh, yes, love is what we need. But true love as C.S. Lewis says, is more stern and splendid than mere kindness.

What does shame tempt you to do? How does it keep you from love?

Drink Your Masculinity

If you want to sell something forget the scantily clad blond bombshell draped over the car hood. Go right to the father hunger in every man. Show pictures of fathers doing things that seem masculine. And confident. Point out their virility and adventurousness! No man wants an insecure metrosexual, gelding for a dad. That just will not sell. He's gotta score with chicks and mock the insecure. And then talk about them passing on a legacy or blessing to their sons. Insert your product at this point so that men think affirmation comes in a bottle. You've heard of Liquid Courage, right? Well, now we have Liquid Fathering. Your dad consumed our product and look what kind of man he became. And aren’t you his son? Swell your chest and drink up, man, for you too are cut from his stock. We’re not selling whisky. We’re selling masculinity!

My wife found one of these ads in an outdoor magazine. I was drawn to the statement it makes about a sons desire to take pride in his father. But the types of fathers these ads speak about are repulsive. What a powerful revelation about the reality of men in our culture. We can now sell products drawing solely on men's hunger to be fathered. When sex no longer sells, try fathering. They obviously are on to what we thirst for, but are clueless how to quench it.

Makes me think of a quote a friend sent me recently.

"They speak only of my drinking,
But never think of my thirst."

Scottish Proverb

Male Friendship

My wife taught junior high for several years. She chose this job, felt called to it. Believe it or not, she even loved it. She especially enjoyed observing these adults in training and had an insightful eye on their wild and weird stage of development.

I found one of her observations about the junior high boys absolutely stunning. “The boys touch each other all the time. I notice how often in the halls they wrestle or give each other head locks or push each other a little. Its like they need all kinds of physical touch with each other.” That fascinated me. And being a man, once a puberty laden young lad myself, I did think back on how often we did the same as guys. In 8th grade, my friend Dan invited a group of us guys to his house for a sleepover dedicated to wrestling. We threw his bed comforter on the floor as the ring and went man on man for hours! I even remember sharing a bed with all the guys at the end of the night. Yeah, six of us guys in one king size bed with no shame whatsoever. And of course! We had just wrestled for hours together.

What is it about us guys that longs to be tested against another man’s strength? Why do we seek out masculine contact like this? We innately love a fight. If there’s a chance we could win, we’d love to jump in the fray!

Proverbs 27:17 says, “As iron sharpens iron, so one man sharpens another.” I think the author of Proverbs is referring to and even affirming this desire to rub with other men. Note that Proverbs was written by a father for his son. It certainly has implications for men and women, but it was originally written as a means for a father to bestow masculine love and wisdom to his son.

God seems to have intended for this competitive deal within the world of men. When we are tested against another man, we get the close male rub we need to become men. As my wife had an eye to see, during all the pushing and wrestling and headlocks, these young men were getting a lot of physical close contact. And we men need that physical and emotional contact. We need other friends, close friends to survive the world and keep heart as men.

I find this at work in my relationships with my friends. We may not wrestle physically a lot (although that does happen and probably needs to happen more), but we do relationally go toe to toe quite a bit. Just today a friend and I had a messy confrontational conversation about our friendship. It was powerful and frustrating all at the same time. I felt the masculine rub, the strength on strength, man to man of it. We could have been two linebackers pushing on each other at the snap.

If my observations are correct, then it seems most guys are also threatened by male intimacy, going deep with other guys. Why is that?

This male contact can obviously go very bad, very fast. As with all things God created, the power something has for our good can be twisted for equally powerful harm. Sex is the climax of marital intimacy, but sexual abuse can devastate someone a whole life long. Masculine testing with other men can give us the rub we need, the closeness we crave with other guys, the development we need. But it can also shut men down, cause them to retreat from any male engagement in order to stay safe, if another man uses his power to try and dominate another man. Strength on strength to a very insecure man may become threatening and turn for him into a chance to take strength over another man.

Fathers and elders make the difference. A den of young wolf pups will wrestle and play and even bite at each other under the supervision of the elder wolves. But the bite is playful, like you get form a young puppy. A pack of wolves without an alpha male will tear at each other, fighting to the death, vying for the top position.

I played soccer as a freshman in high school. My gifts are not in the realm of athletics, but I loved the physical play with other guys, the relationships I made with my friends on the team. One day, a junior named Mike came over to a group of us during practice and commented that next year we better work really hard and pull our weight on the team or the upper classmen would haze us. Later that year, we saw a sophomore get thrown in the swamp behind near our soccer field for this reason. After that season, I quit. I was not about to test my strength against this guy where I was sure to lose.

This upperclassman needed the coach to put him in his place. I needed the coach to put him in his place. He had too much power over the team for his age. If you’ve ever read Lord of the Flies, you will know exactly what I’m talking about. A group of young civilized boys become stranded on an island without any older men around. They soon form factions that war against each other. The weakest boy is killed; anarchy reigns. Sounds like the Middle East – fatherless men scrapping constantly for power. Sounds like most junior highs. We need fathers or elders to help us know how to handle power and male affection.

For male friendship to allow for good masculine rub, iron sharpening iron, each man must have a strong awareness of his continued need for fathering. Unfathered men who do not acknowledge they are unfathered make terrible friends. Avoid them like the plague. You will notice that most arrogant types are lonely men. They may seem powerful and impressive at work or on the basketball court or on stage, but no one really wants to hang out with them for long. You just cannot get close. They are really too threatened by intimacy, not realizing that being vulnerable in male friendships gives us a safe place to discover what we are made of, even discover and connect to our need for more fathering.

Stephen Ambrose, in his book Comrades, notes that Richard Nixon lived with no friends whatsoever. He never trusted another man and thought it was weak even though he could acknowledge how other men found it therapeutic to have close friends. In his own words, “the minute you start getting familiar with people, they start taking advantage… I believe you should keep your troubles to yourself.” Ambrose points out that the biographies of Nixon are filled with the theme of him being an unloved boy in his family and ridiculed by his peers at a young age. He was unwilling to look at this pain and find the freedom to trust other friends. A sad story.

May you find good men to get close to and be tested against. And when you feel threatened, may the love of God your Father help you drop your fists, open your heart, and receive ever more fathering.