Some of my fondest childhood memories are of dismantling. My parents can attest to the fact that my brothers and I were quite adept at it. In fact the more difficult the challenge, the more we rose to the challenge.
A favorite family tale was the Tonka trucks we were given in our youth. Mom and Dad, tired of us destroying the plastic toys, spent big money on Tonka trucks, which we had apart within hours. In may actually only have been minutes, becuase my most vivid memory of my truck was turning it over and discovering the metal tabs.
Bent metal just cries out to be unbent.
Down to the basement we ran to try out our new indestructible trucks was what Mom and Dad witnessed. Down to the basement to find tools to remove the cab was our intentions.
We broke them. We broke them good and fast.
I can’t speak for my brothers, by my motivation to remove the cab was to see what would happen. I honestly thought removing the top of the truck would make it go faster and as a male, faster is always better.
Another male rule is “anything that is standing must be pushed over”. The natural state of vertical is horizontal, and the taller the item the more the urge to see it fall. Build a tower of blocks in front of a boy and walk away, I dare you.
My brothers and I repeatedly applied this rule to anything small enough to have influence over. One of our favorite places was the woods out front of the house in Pine River. I am not sure what trees we were pushing down, but we pushed them down. All of them.
We broke them. We broke them to the ground.
Electricity has always fascinated me. I am certain that fascination has lead me to the information technology field and live sound. Plugging in a microphone and guitar into a power amp was definitely designed by a boy. Wires and power could not be any more male. Women have much more sense than to believe a thin sleeve of insulation wrapped around copper wire is safe.
Once we moved to Brainerd we discovered electricity. This was in large part due to the fact that we moved to an older house with these things called fuses.
Blowing fuses made Dad mad.
Blowing fuses was now the mark of manhood. If we could blow a fuse, that meant whatever we were up to was dangerous. Another male rule is “dangerous is only dangerous if you are stupid”. There is huge latitude in danger, and the more clever you are the more dangerous you can be.
Understanding electricity needs a path to ground before it can harm you was an epiphany moment. Watching the utility workers touching live wires in their magic isolated bucket was inspiring. To hold on to enough electricity to vaporize flesh, to actually have those electrons flowing around your hands, now that was amazing.
In a fit of anger one afternoon I decided to electrocute my brother.
He had it coming.
I was hoping that the metal springs in his bed would be isolated enough so that when he laid down he would complete the circuit. It turns out the paint on the metal was not up to the job and created quite a light show when plugged in. Good thing the fuse let go, because the arc welder we made was really bright. And hot.
We broke them. We broke hundreds of them.
So why the trip down memory lane? Groundwork I guess.
Last night while playing my guitar and singing on stage with the four worship teams in my church I remembered that I break things. I have been put on this planet to break things.
Not the adolescent way of breaking toys, pushing down dead trees, or foolishly trying to hurt my brother, but in the adult way of breaking down strongholds.
It felt really good to break things last night. Instead of broken trucks and fallen trees and blown fuses there was healed hearts, raised spirits and the power of God. Years of division, hurt, separation, and pride fell by the power of unity under the banner of the King.
Go break some stuff this week.