I’ve been thinking about “heroes” lately.
Those people, who have caught a vision dear to my heart
and done something about it.
They’ve accomplished something I dream of,
and all while remaining likable . . . for the most part.
And then, as I’ve thought about “heroes” –
the ones I particularly respect and admire –
I realize that they are better left unmet, and unknown.
Knowing them, even in the shallowest sense of the word,
often leaves me disappointed.
They are people, just like me.
The status of “hero” doesn’t change them, doesn’t make them something supernatural.
What do I want in a hero?
Well, briefly, this:
I want someone to look to as an example,
someone I can relate to,
someone who will champion my cause,
raise my feeble arms when I start falling under the weight of my ambitions.
I want someone who is going to smile when I succeed,
with a genuine smile, mind you,
And I want someone who will cry with me when I fail,
with sympathetic tears, of course.
I want someone who wants to know more than my name, my number,
my title, my accomplishments.
I want someone who wants to know my favorite coffee, my biggest pet peeve,
my greatest fear, and my most driving dream.
I don’t want someone with a nice secretary and a good e-mail signature
who sees the little girl on the other end of the internet connection
and thinks, “Oh yeah . . . another one of those.”
So, in short, I’ve realized that “heroes” are great.
They’re great for stories, and imaginations.
They’re great for strivings and reaching-fors.
But, when it comes right down to it,
I’ve got the only real heroes I need.
I’ve got a Jesus in heaven who’s watching everything I do, and cheering me on,
and I’ve got this amazing husband who not only knows my favorite coffee, but makes it for me every day.