I’ve learned something about the hearts of little boys (and men in general) by watching my little niños here in Bolivia.

Every boy needs a woman to give flowers to.

I’m convinced it’s as fulfilling for the boy to give flowers as it is for the woman to receive them.

Here’s why I say that…

I never thought about it, but my childhood was full of little indications that a strong, gentle woman was watching out for me. My laundry was always clean, folded, and waiting for me on my bed. My pants were mended, my stomach filled, and my collar straightened (if not by Mom, then by another woman at church in the row behind me). These were little subconscious reminders that I was cared for and secure–that I had a mother.

Here at the children’s home, we struggle between the tension of wanting the boys to learn responsibility while not wanting to rob them of that special care and attention only a woman can give.

Is having them do things such as their own laundry (paltry amounts every day), a creative way to teach them responsibility and independence or are we taking away a seemingly insignificant but important woman’s touch in their lives?

Of course, Father figures (in this case, me and Levi) should be gentle and caring. The myth leftover from the 60s of masculinity being about Schwarzenegger muscles and brute power is absolute rubbish. True masculinity is gentle and caring. Still, for heaven’s sake, I can’t be a mother to these boys nor should I try to be.

When that mother figure is gone (for whatever reasons), a hole is left deep inside of you. I can’t explain it, but there’s empowerment, strength, and healing that mothers give their sons few other humans can. And when that’s gone, it leaves a giant hole.

I had a mother nearly all my growing up years, and I still feel that hole. Imagine what it’s like never having known a real mother?

As equal as we may be, a man can’t be a mother. He can fold the laundry, but he can’t be a mother. He can and should wield gentle, healing strength, but he still can’t be a mother.

A mom, a woman–there’s something about her that brings healing and security to a little boy, rouses the warrior in older boys, and calls men to be honorable (and similar things for their daughter as well, I’m sure).

I know because I’ve experienced it. One of the pivotal moments which turned my life around from a porn addiction was having my Mom approach me about it. Not with severity, not harshly, but with a passionate love and a heartbreak to see me victorious.

I don’t remember–I could have forgotten–but I don’t remember my parents ever needing to confront me after that. Pornography hasn’t held a grip on my heart since. That’s the power a strong woman has in a young man’s heart. (Obviously, it was the power of the Holy Spirit, but through my mom.)

When a boy encounters Beauty, the Warrior stirs within him. Like a lion raised from sleep.

The defender puffs his chest, the warrior grabs his sword, the poet stumbles over words to express his awe, the servant gathers his tools, even the lover deep within begins to pine.

And the simplest demonstration of this is when a boy picks flowers. He doesn’t give them to his dad. He doesn’t give them to his friends.

He gives them to his mom or sisters (and when he grows up, his wife).

On the way home from town a few days ago, the ladies wanted to pick wild flowers along the road. Guess who did most of the gathering? It started with the oldest and soon spread like wild-fire among the younger men.

“Ah! A flower! Stop!”

I’d stop the truck, they’d shoot out to the purple, red, or yellow beauty which had been spotted and bring it back–beaming–to the real Beauties in the truck.

It’s simple, but it’s powerful. I don’t know what it is, but I’m convinced it’s as fulfilling for a guy to give flowers to a girl as it is for the girl to receive it.

When a boy encounters Beauty the Warrior wakes up, and when the Warrior wakes up, the boy gives the Beauty flowers.

The problems men face (lust, apathy, aggression) is due to a lot, I’m sure. But I think if you can get that Warrior inside them to wake up, a lot of those problems will resolve themselves.

Yesterday, Tia Gina spent an hour helping the boys wash their laundry and clean up their room. In the two weeks I’ve been Tio, I’ve never seen them so focused. They didn’t need more marching orders.

They needed a woman to give flowers to.

C.D.