The once-a-month opportunity for a morning of calm, peaceful "girl time" is not my favorite part. Compared to what we are used to, the quiet is actually a little disconcerting. As much as we enjoy our time alone for all things girly, we secretly (shhh...) are glad when our guys get home from their monthly Men's Prayer Breakfast and Workday.
Many men come up to me at church the next day, praising "how well the boys worked". I smile politely pretending not to notice the surprise on their faces when they mention it. While I am pleased to hear it, unfortunately, I am not able to put much stock into the opinions of those men. I have no way of knowing to which standard they are comparing my boys. Were it compared to the last lazy teenager they saw glued to a video game, I would not be impressed. The praise from the men at church is also not my favorite part.
My favorite part is hearing Mr. Visionary's account of how the boys fared on their workday with the men. Dad knows our boys and the standard to which they should be compared. His reports delve into their hearts, and their struggles against their own flesh. These guys are being compared by Dad to their past: did they work harder than last time (even a little)? Did they learn ever-so-slightly-more what it is to discipline themselves when they wanted to play instead of work, or be served instead of serving others?
As the Momma who is with the boys every-second-of-every-day, my view is far too microscopic to be accurate. I often wonder not only if my guys will grow to be doers of the word, but if they will ever be hearers. The picture I get from Mr. Visionary's balanced macroscopic view, however, is always encouraging. Dad's praise of the boys is definitely my favorite part.
I think my second-favorite part is that my guys get to see men cook breakfast once-a-month. Maybe they will learn that men cooking breakfast is a good and natural thing. Maybe they'll want to try it sometime at home.
Or maybe they'll just appreciate my cooking more. Either way, I win.