Many years ago, for Rob, the only resource for pornography was printed material that was sold at franchise booksellers. During that particular era of analog smut, I would haunt the Jackson Books-A-Million store in order to purchase my fix every 60 days of so. Now, my go to wasn't typical for men, therefore it was even more difficult for me to step up to that counter and address the clerk for what I knew I shouldn't purchase but in many ways, desperately needed.
I remember one occasion distinctly because this particular clerk had the audacity to mock me after the transaction was complete.
This young black woman chided me by saying "Now, you tell all of your friends to come in here as well and see me."
Who she was referring to were my gay friends. For you see, I had asked to purchase a Playgirl magazine.
-------------------------
I've only known of one black man to attend any Samson Society meetings. I had the privilege of talking with him extensively at one particular after-meeting. He disclosed a lot to me during that time, but one thing that stood out was his revealing to me how he'd been belittled as gay by women he'd dated. And the way this occurred was simply through casual dialogue. The women literally belittled this guy by accusing him of being gay based on what they'd observed of his demeanor / mannerisms over some set period of time. And this was in spite of the fact that he was sexually active with all of these women during their dating relationships.
To return to what happened to me in Books-A-Million, you'll recall, I asked for that Playgirl magazine, and when I did, the clerk heard me speak. Not a whole lot, mind you, but enough for her to hear a man's voice that didn't in the slightest resonate as hyper masculine.
I cannot tell you how many times I've ordered food at a fast-food restaurant by engaging with a black female, and that female immediately smirking in response to both the pitch and inflections of my voice. In fact, most of the time when I'm in McDonald's, I'm intentional about speaking very softly in order to minimize the auditory impact.
-------------------------
Overall, Samson Society is about as gay as it gets despite the fact that it has nothing to do with men being romantically / sexually involved with each other. What I mean by that is Samson Society is first and foremost about building platonic relationships between men that ultimately will provide some semblance of accountability to said men.
I believe many, many men choose to shun men's ministry altogether due to this (including Samson Society).
But I believe black men, in particular, exhibit zero confidence in themselves in this regard, therefore they absolutely will not invest themselves in any semblance of men's ministry out of fear. And that fear is tied directly to their perceived sexuality (by black women).
To me, as a white man, having a black woman attempt to humiliate me by labeling me as gay does little harm in the end. Sure, it's belittling and awkward, but I'm frankly not interested in her view / opinion of Rob. Although, if I was a black man, I do believe, the tables would be turned in her favor.
It is a travesty that Samson Society (as well as most every other men's ministry I've been involved in) is white through and through. Where do black men go for support that in no way, shape or form hints at homosexual feelings / relations (the basketball court / barber shop)? What a paradox black men find themselves dealing with! The one thing that can provide so much healing is off limits from the standpoint of potentially de-masculinizing him under the premise of it appearing homosexual in nature / character.
Monday, May 27, 2019
Saturday, May 25, 2019
Pretend That You Like Me / Vicarious Attraction
Salacious photography hit Rob like an emotional sledgehammer to the head as a middle schooler. The drugstore periodicals is where I encountered these firstly, and these images weren't on the top shelf or packaged in opaque plastic. These were "run of the mill" exercise magazines, positioned as "How To" guides on how to look super strong, healthy, and ultimately, physically perfect. Prior to that encounter, I'd honed my imagination on comic books, TV, and film from the era of the '80s. Our family was no different than other middle class white nuclears. We gorged ourselves on the newly introduced cable television each day and ran to the moviehouse to see the latest film on the weekends, never having any truthful idea what we were introducing ourselves to 'till the credits rolled.
Like a young screenwriter, I took those salacious exercise magazine photographs and added a sexualized narrative to them, and typically that narrative involved me being pursued. This brought on feelings of worthiness and value. It was overwhelmingly effective at counteracting my low adolescent self-esteem. Plus, I was in complete control of the fantasy, therefore no one could come in and complicate these relationships or cut them short.
As a college student, I continued in this vein, but at this point, I relied solely on my imagination to fuel these sexual fantasies, though the themes remained the same.
-------------------------
This past fall, I attended the Samson Society retreat in Eva, Tennessee. On Saturday, Mr. Nate Larkin challenged us to illustrate some specific scenarios (past or present) that represented thematically a certain portion of our story. Afterwards, we paired up with 3 or 4 men who were close at hand to discuss our individual work. One Samson man in our group was in his mid 50s, and upon sharing one of his illustrations, mentioned how difficult it was for him to believe he was at all physically / sexually attractive. Therefore, he rescinded to Internet porn as an escape which fueled this notion that fantasy lust was justifiable due to his need for self-love.
Now, this man was by no means unattractive physically. Nor was he physically disabled or of low intelligence. That's what made this confession so shocking to me.
The industry that sells salacious imagery to us, no matter the format, are slight of hand illusionist who indirectly evangelize self-hatred. Overall, their product fuels this negativity whilst consumed, but particularly within individuals who are highly visual (like me).
--------------------------
Years ago, I was watching a daytime television talk show that featured a handful of young beautiful women alongside their mothers. The premise of this particular show was mother / daughter support relative to the daughters being recently photographed naked in Playboy magazine. At a certain point during the interviews, the host stopped to take questions from the studio audience. One very brave man caught the attention of the show host prior to asking the following question of the Playboy Playmates, "Do you understand why it is that mostly men purchase Playboy magazine?"
The camera filming the ladies on the stage abruptly captured their awkward silence before this man answered his own query bluntly.
"They do so in order to masturbate to the photos."
Now that same camera zoomed into these beautiful women's faces squirming in disgust, all the while looking at each other as if they'd now been exposed to the reality of their monumental regret.
-------------------------
I am convinced that the majority of our consumable entertainment culture is fueled by nothing more than propaganda, subtly telling consumers, "You're a worthless piece of shit because you don't measure up to what you're seeing here onscreen, therefore choose to emotionally invest yourself within these images / story just as everyone else does. To do so will make you feel better about your pathetic self."
For so many of us here in the western world, having been sold this bill of goods since childhood, it certainly has made a lasting impression.
What can be done to break free from these lies? Choose now to STOP consuming them.
Like a young screenwriter, I took those salacious exercise magazine photographs and added a sexualized narrative to them, and typically that narrative involved me being pursued. This brought on feelings of worthiness and value. It was overwhelmingly effective at counteracting my low adolescent self-esteem. Plus, I was in complete control of the fantasy, therefore no one could come in and complicate these relationships or cut them short.
As a college student, I continued in this vein, but at this point, I relied solely on my imagination to fuel these sexual fantasies, though the themes remained the same.
-------------------------
This past fall, I attended the Samson Society retreat in Eva, Tennessee. On Saturday, Mr. Nate Larkin challenged us to illustrate some specific scenarios (past or present) that represented thematically a certain portion of our story. Afterwards, we paired up with 3 or 4 men who were close at hand to discuss our individual work. One Samson man in our group was in his mid 50s, and upon sharing one of his illustrations, mentioned how difficult it was for him to believe he was at all physically / sexually attractive. Therefore, he rescinded to Internet porn as an escape which fueled this notion that fantasy lust was justifiable due to his need for self-love.
Now, this man was by no means unattractive physically. Nor was he physically disabled or of low intelligence. That's what made this confession so shocking to me.
The industry that sells salacious imagery to us, no matter the format, are slight of hand illusionist who indirectly evangelize self-hatred. Overall, their product fuels this negativity whilst consumed, but particularly within individuals who are highly visual (like me).
--------------------------
Years ago, I was watching a daytime television talk show that featured a handful of young beautiful women alongside their mothers. The premise of this particular show was mother / daughter support relative to the daughters being recently photographed naked in Playboy magazine. At a certain point during the interviews, the host stopped to take questions from the studio audience. One very brave man caught the attention of the show host prior to asking the following question of the Playboy Playmates, "Do you understand why it is that mostly men purchase Playboy magazine?"
The camera filming the ladies on the stage abruptly captured their awkward silence before this man answered his own query bluntly.
"They do so in order to masturbate to the photos."
Now that same camera zoomed into these beautiful women's faces squirming in disgust, all the while looking at each other as if they'd now been exposed to the reality of their monumental regret.
-------------------------
I am convinced that the majority of our consumable entertainment culture is fueled by nothing more than propaganda, subtly telling consumers, "You're a worthless piece of shit because you don't measure up to what you're seeing here onscreen, therefore choose to emotionally invest yourself within these images / story just as everyone else does. To do so will make you feel better about your pathetic self."
For so many of us here in the western world, having been sold this bill of goods since childhood, it certainly has made a lasting impression.
What can be done to break free from these lies? Choose now to STOP consuming them.
The Religious Wife & Her Husband of Ill Repute
Religious wives who choose to remain with husbands who've participated in sexual sin, by definition, may very well do so for the sole purpose of persecuting him for what he's either admitted to taking part in or getting caught in taking part in.
Some of these women can be classified as viragos. I've seen it, and essentially, from my point of view, it's her exploiting a marital relationship in order for her husband to suffer by her hand "'till death do us part".
We all enjoy watching others suffer. It's one of the reasons behind our fascination with news / current events television. When you're "in the know" relative to others pain, either through journalism or gossip, it can instantly seem to elevate one's sense of well-being by gratifying that part of us that detest self-examination (by distraction).
A religious wife may say, "I don't know the you who's done these things", or she simply may stay tight-lipped about the entire situation, to the point of completely disregarding the man's need for recovery (through Samson Society or otherwise).
Religion is tangible. There is order there, and this plays into a wife's need for security. But religion, as we know from Scripture, is empty / fruitless. It promotes pride which is the ultimate demerit against our Heavenly Father.
--------------------------
Now there's another piece to this, and that's the sexual side of these couple's marriages.
Religion in no way promotes pleasurable activity within the marriage bed because the emphasis is always on moral / spiritual superiority coupled with an almost repugnant view of the flesh. There's plenty of instruction on obedience and holiness, but none related to oral sex, heavy petting, or butt play because the two simply cannot coexist. Oral sex, heavy petting, and butt play promote vulnerability and shameless physical pleasure between husband and wife. These awesome activities promote unity by helping marriages heal systematically as they endure the repetitive grind.
But religion isn't interested in healing. Not really. Because when healing occurs, there's that loss of power and control over the failed spouse and that intoxicating sense of moral superiority / opportunity for persecution.
Marriage is a joining of two into one. One flesh. Husband and wife. Man and woman. It's a amazingly complex, supernatural work. There are Biblical standards for marriages to end in divorce. It's all written in Scripture, but if a couple chooses to work through sexual sin, the scenario I've described here must be avoided at all costs. Otherwise, you'll simply end up with a husband who's walking through life with a boot on his neck. And that's in no way in line with the respect he needs to thrive as his wife's husband.
Some of these women can be classified as viragos. I've seen it, and essentially, from my point of view, it's her exploiting a marital relationship in order for her husband to suffer by her hand "'till death do us part".
We all enjoy watching others suffer. It's one of the reasons behind our fascination with news / current events television. When you're "in the know" relative to others pain, either through journalism or gossip, it can instantly seem to elevate one's sense of well-being by gratifying that part of us that detest self-examination (by distraction).
A religious wife may say, "I don't know the you who's done these things", or she simply may stay tight-lipped about the entire situation, to the point of completely disregarding the man's need for recovery (through Samson Society or otherwise).
Religion is tangible. There is order there, and this plays into a wife's need for security. But religion, as we know from Scripture, is empty / fruitless. It promotes pride which is the ultimate demerit against our Heavenly Father.
--------------------------
Now there's another piece to this, and that's the sexual side of these couple's marriages.
Religion in no way promotes pleasurable activity within the marriage bed because the emphasis is always on moral / spiritual superiority coupled with an almost repugnant view of the flesh. There's plenty of instruction on obedience and holiness, but none related to oral sex, heavy petting, or butt play because the two simply cannot coexist. Oral sex, heavy petting, and butt play promote vulnerability and shameless physical pleasure between husband and wife. These awesome activities promote unity by helping marriages heal systematically as they endure the repetitive grind.
But religion isn't interested in healing. Not really. Because when healing occurs, there's that loss of power and control over the failed spouse and that intoxicating sense of moral superiority / opportunity for persecution.
Marriage is a joining of two into one. One flesh. Husband and wife. Man and woman. It's a amazingly complex, supernatural work. There are Biblical standards for marriages to end in divorce. It's all written in Scripture, but if a couple chooses to work through sexual sin, the scenario I've described here must be avoided at all costs. Otherwise, you'll simply end up with a husband who's walking through life with a boot on his neck. And that's in no way in line with the respect he needs to thrive as his wife's husband.
Friday, May 24, 2019
A Bare Chested Bible Teaching
For the majority of my teen years, my youth pastor was female. She was single initially, but within the first year or so of her tenure, Cindy married the nicest attorney on planet Earth. At the time, they were both in their mid-30s. From what I recall, years earlier (prior to her being employed by our church), she'd come very close to marrying another man. She was fortunate to have had second thoughts due to the fact that his replacement couldn't have been a better fit for her.
My youth pastor was a force of nature in terms of her presence and personality, and she was very savvy in how she pushed the envelope topically in spite of her filling a ministerial role that was almost universally appointed to men...at least here in the deep South.
Keep in mind this was during the late '80s, and our youth ministry was undoubtedly the largest in the state of Mississippi. It had the resources / budget / facilities coupled with a dynamic, boundlessly energetic lady leading the way. She was literally a powerhouse. To this day, I've never witnessed a youth pastor with more zeal, compassion, and leadership skill. Cindy was literally larger than life to all of us. Needless to say, even back then, I knew I was part of something very special, and what a tremendous positive impact it made to not only my faith but my self-esteem! Our youth pastor, though she wasn't perfect, loved Rob and all of his quirks. And because of that, I was endeared to her as well as her husband despite my "choosing to exist in the background" approach. In particular, I'll always be indebted to her encouragement relative to my vocal skillset and subsequently, the many opportunities that were presented to me to utilize those talents there in church.
Surprisingly, this same woman eventually chose to lead our church's college ministry for a handful of years as well. This, I'll have to admit, was a little odd. It wasn't like First Baptist Church's budget was strapped for cash, and therefore couldn't afford to hire someone. Nevertheless, she also chose to take on this role, though it was soon obvious to almost everyone that she simply couldn't effectively translate her rigidly programmatic approach over to the older, more sophisticated / independently-minded college crowd.
There's no doubt too that college-age students are looking for substance. Meat if you will, if they choose to partake of church during this season of their lives. And that substance needs to be based in not only a thorough understanding of God's Word but a deep respect for it. It's not that Cindy didn't embody that statement, but it was impossible to not see her as a youth pastor first and foremost.
Thankfully, this is where her husband, Bill, at least in terms of her ministry, strategically complemented her.
Bill was in many ways the exact opposite of Cindy's persona, though he was no doubt similarly intelligent and articulate. He was the inevitable representative of a shadow (cast by her), until opportunity presented itself (on occasion) for him too to surprisingly flex his (just as adept) risk-taking muscles. And at times, he did so in the most unexpectedly manly ways.
-------------------------
I believe it was the summer after my sophomore year at Mississippi State. I was home for those two months, therefore I found myself fully engaged with my home church's college ministry. I remember participating in a rafting retreat somewhere in eastern Tennessee with this group and having such fun!
Afterwards, we returned to wherever it was that we were staying in order to rest up for our journey home the following day. From there, my memory is a bit fuzzy, but I believe Bill decided to take it upon himself to lead a Bible study to those who wished to participate. Therefore, a handful of us gathered together in some sort of common space or lobby, neatly tucked away in a quiet corner, anticipating being lead by Bible teaching Bill.
Physically, Bill was a small framed man. His wife, Cindy, was average height for a female, and he was only slightly taller than she. Bill, when he was assisting his wife with ministry at our church (in whatever role she put him in), was usually decked out in a dress shirt and slacks, the typical First Baptist Church uniform. What I'd never noticed though was despite his small stature, he was not, by definition, lean.
But this became readily apparent during this aforementioned rafting retreat Bible study due to the fact that he executed it bare chested.
Now, it wasn't like he was wearing dress slacks and no shirt. Everyone was simply lounging around in shorts and t-shirts, therefore he was as well, except of course, without his shirt on.
The Bible study wasn't brief. Bill was an excellent communicator / student of God's word. He taught with skill and passion, therefore us being typical sponge-like college students, we soaked in every word, asking lots of questions along the way. I remember I sat adjacent to Bill, and suffice to say, it took a few long minutes for me to get over my shock at seeing this man's nipples in living color.
Today, men's bodies are celebrated if they're hyper muscular, lean and hairless, and if you have any semblance of a six-pack, you're considered sexy and to be envied. This was not the case back in the late '80s / early '90s. During this era, men within photographic media didn't model themselves with their hyper muscular, hairless action figure bods. It simply wasn't the norm as it is today.
I am convinced the reason Bill taught Scripture to us bare chested is he needed to prove to himself and to us that he was more than what we'd known of him up to that point in time. In other words, he needed to be seen deeper than what we'd had the privilege of seeing prior, therefore he saw an appropriate opportunity with an appropriate age-group and took advantage of it.
[One thing I haven't mentioned is Bill, at the time, was teaching collegiate law classes (I did mention he was an attorney), therefore he understood the monumental maturity levels (on average) between secondary versus higher-ed students.]
From that day forward, my respect for this man increased tremendously, and of course, looking back, I'm grateful to have been a part of such an important reckoning. A reckoning where our understanding / respect of a cherished male leader expanded circumstantially.
My youth pastor was a force of nature in terms of her presence and personality, and she was very savvy in how she pushed the envelope topically in spite of her filling a ministerial role that was almost universally appointed to men...at least here in the deep South.
Keep in mind this was during the late '80s, and our youth ministry was undoubtedly the largest in the state of Mississippi. It had the resources / budget / facilities coupled with a dynamic, boundlessly energetic lady leading the way. She was literally a powerhouse. To this day, I've never witnessed a youth pastor with more zeal, compassion, and leadership skill. Cindy was literally larger than life to all of us. Needless to say, even back then, I knew I was part of something very special, and what a tremendous positive impact it made to not only my faith but my self-esteem! Our youth pastor, though she wasn't perfect, loved Rob and all of his quirks. And because of that, I was endeared to her as well as her husband despite my "choosing to exist in the background" approach. In particular, I'll always be indebted to her encouragement relative to my vocal skillset and subsequently, the many opportunities that were presented to me to utilize those talents there in church.
Surprisingly, this same woman eventually chose to lead our church's college ministry for a handful of years as well. This, I'll have to admit, was a little odd. It wasn't like First Baptist Church's budget was strapped for cash, and therefore couldn't afford to hire someone. Nevertheless, she also chose to take on this role, though it was soon obvious to almost everyone that she simply couldn't effectively translate her rigidly programmatic approach over to the older, more sophisticated / independently-minded college crowd.
There's no doubt too that college-age students are looking for substance. Meat if you will, if they choose to partake of church during this season of their lives. And that substance needs to be based in not only a thorough understanding of God's Word but a deep respect for it. It's not that Cindy didn't embody that statement, but it was impossible to not see her as a youth pastor first and foremost.
Thankfully, this is where her husband, Bill, at least in terms of her ministry, strategically complemented her.
Bill was in many ways the exact opposite of Cindy's persona, though he was no doubt similarly intelligent and articulate. He was the inevitable representative of a shadow (cast by her), until opportunity presented itself (on occasion) for him too to surprisingly flex his (just as adept) risk-taking muscles. And at times, he did so in the most unexpectedly manly ways.
-------------------------
I believe it was the summer after my sophomore year at Mississippi State. I was home for those two months, therefore I found myself fully engaged with my home church's college ministry. I remember participating in a rafting retreat somewhere in eastern Tennessee with this group and having such fun!
Afterwards, we returned to wherever it was that we were staying in order to rest up for our journey home the following day. From there, my memory is a bit fuzzy, but I believe Bill decided to take it upon himself to lead a Bible study to those who wished to participate. Therefore, a handful of us gathered together in some sort of common space or lobby, neatly tucked away in a quiet corner, anticipating being lead by Bible teaching Bill.
Physically, Bill was a small framed man. His wife, Cindy, was average height for a female, and he was only slightly taller than she. Bill, when he was assisting his wife with ministry at our church (in whatever role she put him in), was usually decked out in a dress shirt and slacks, the typical First Baptist Church uniform. What I'd never noticed though was despite his small stature, he was not, by definition, lean.
But this became readily apparent during this aforementioned rafting retreat Bible study due to the fact that he executed it bare chested.
Now, it wasn't like he was wearing dress slacks and no shirt. Everyone was simply lounging around in shorts and t-shirts, therefore he was as well, except of course, without his shirt on.
The Bible study wasn't brief. Bill was an excellent communicator / student of God's word. He taught with skill and passion, therefore us being typical sponge-like college students, we soaked in every word, asking lots of questions along the way. I remember I sat adjacent to Bill, and suffice to say, it took a few long minutes for me to get over my shock at seeing this man's nipples in living color.
And I must say, Bill had (at the time) an enviable bod of any present day guy, with even (if I remember correctly 25+ years ago) a defined six-pack, which made this event that much more unique. Who'd a thunk?
Today, men's bodies are celebrated if they're hyper muscular, lean and hairless, and if you have any semblance of a six-pack, you're considered sexy and to be envied. This was not the case back in the late '80s / early '90s. During this era, men within photographic media didn't model themselves with their hyper muscular, hairless action figure bods. It simply wasn't the norm as it is today.
I am convinced the reason Bill taught Scripture to us bare chested is he needed to prove to himself and to us that he was more than what we'd known of him up to that point in time. In other words, he needed to be seen deeper than what we'd had the privilege of seeing prior, therefore he saw an appropriate opportunity with an appropriate age-group and took advantage of it.
[One thing I haven't mentioned is Bill, at the time, was teaching collegiate law classes (I did mention he was an attorney), therefore he understood the monumental maturity levels (on average) between secondary versus higher-ed students.]
From that day forward, my respect for this man increased tremendously, and of course, looking back, I'm grateful to have been a part of such an important reckoning. A reckoning where our understanding / respect of a cherished male leader expanded circumstantially.
Tuesday, May 21, 2019
"Has Jesus Ever Masturbated?"
I'm no theologian, but no, Of Course Not.
And neither has your father or your grandfather. In fact, the only time they've ever used their hands to touch their weiners was to position it to take a piss or to scratch it. Even in the shower, they refrain from soaping up "down there" except with a washcloth.
Only you have been "guilty" of masturbating. Hence, your asking this perverted question.
And neither has your father or your grandfather. In fact, the only time they've ever used their hands to touch their weiners was to position it to take a piss or to scratch it. Even in the shower, they refrain from soaping up "down there" except with a washcloth.
Only you have been "guilty" of masturbating. Hence, your asking this perverted question.
Monday, May 20, 2019
"...& besides, men don't send each other letters."
The first time I became acutely aware that I was living in a state that was less than appreciated (national reputation) was my junior year in high school. My two best friends were both one year older than me, and both made a point to use their college career as an opportunity to exit Mississippi. One went to Colorado for her undergraduate degree and the other went to Tennessee, and neither ever returned permanently. In fact, one of the two's parents eventually moved away despite the fact that they were well into their middle years. I remember feeling like a leper for not buying into their higher education exit strategies from the standpoint of the obvious implied rejection by non-association. I had no desire to leave Mississippi. In fact, the notion of attending college (in state) over 2 hours away from my home (by car) amounted to plenty 'nough geographic separation for Rob from his home.
So what makes Mississippians distinct? People that live here are generous. It's their defining attribute. If you were to meld every Mississippian together to create one individual and stack him up against his melded counterparts from his 49 united cohorts, none would be more generous than he. Now, there would be savvier melded states, more intelligent, more creative, more refined, more ambitious and so forth, but none more generous than Mississippi. And of course, generosity is in no way revered culturally. On the other hand, Mississippi is brimming with deadbeats and the marginalized, and these are mainly men whose outlook is short-term. All of this combined can make for a weird assemblage that looks on the surface to many as either unworkable / unsustainable for the long-term. Hence, our tendency to eek / freak out newcomers.
Neither of my high school friends were generous individuals and the 'rents of the one who also moved out of Mississippi were cut from the same cloth as their daughter, therefore it's understandable that they would want out. I get that now, but back then, it hurt to be disparaged for being at peace with my home. That being said, I do not hold in disregard anyone who looks down on our state. There is much here that demands an acquired taste.
To me, generosity is no more noteworthy than any other attribute from the standpoint of being a cultural identifier. It takes all kinds to make up the great US of A, but know this, living amongst people who overall hold generosity up, does make for a sweet existence. It's really nice to be cared for and to be treated well overall as you go about the inevitable mundane routine of life.
We have friends who just recently saw their oldest son and daughter in-law return to Mississippi from living out of state for +/-5 years. Having been reared here, their experiencing the absence of this spirit of generousness within another place caused regret to set in, therefore they've since returned. They're not sure how they'll make it work vocationally, but they're proud to be back home.
-------------------------
Years ago, I had the privilege of meeting a new neighbor who took the initiative to thank me for some volunteer work I'd signed up for in our 'hood. He was a bachelor, we were both in our early 30s, and he made no qualms about loving his somewhat new home here in Mississippi despite the fact that he was a Texan by birth.
This was a first for me, meeting a transplant who adored the Magnolia state. This guy actually would take vacation / weekend road trips on his own throughout various regions of Mississippi. I can remember him showing me various photo albums he'd created containing snapshots of iconic Mississippi buildings and so forth, many of which I'd had the privilege of knowing of throughout my life due to my heritage.
So here we were. A new friendship. I was excited! Especially considering his admiration for my home state.
But then I decided to send him a very personal letter...
------------------------
I can still remember my follow up telephone call after sending my correspondence. His words (some of which make up the title to this post) stung.
Essentially, I had disclosed too much, too fast about my story, therefore in lieu of me wanting to "efficiently" mature the friendship forward, he felt lambasted instead, therefore he immediately rejected me outright on the grounds that spending any further time with Rob would "make him too uncomfortable". Ouch.
I don't think I'll ever forget the emotional fallout from that short-lived friendship, but one thing positive that I did learn from it was to never discount my own platonic needs. There had been plenty of friendships up to that point that were not unlike the ones I had in high school with my none too generous friends. These friendships were characterized as being surface, shallow. They were built on routine or circumstance. A shared Sunday School class or work setting, etc. I'd grown tired of those for they offered me nothing except an opportunity to be annoyed at my own pretending to have my life put together expertly.
-------------------------
I have emotional needs that I want met via my friendships with other men (& so do you). Samson Society offers a wellspring of guys who I've found are willing to work towards meeting those needs. I've told people before, and I'll say it again, that Samson Society tends to attract some of the most generous guys you'll likely ever meet. They tend to look for opportunities to care for their brothers in Christ as they also in tandem look out for their best interests.
Is it perfect? Of course not. Is there sometimes disappointment? Yep. But, it's not a two-man group. There's scale here for those inevitable relational imperfections, and even if you choose to communicate with a paper and pen (like I tend to do), you'll likely find your place eventually. Thanks be to God for Samson Society.
So what makes Mississippians distinct? People that live here are generous. It's their defining attribute. If you were to meld every Mississippian together to create one individual and stack him up against his melded counterparts from his 49 united cohorts, none would be more generous than he. Now, there would be savvier melded states, more intelligent, more creative, more refined, more ambitious and so forth, but none more generous than Mississippi. And of course, generosity is in no way revered culturally. On the other hand, Mississippi is brimming with deadbeats and the marginalized, and these are mainly men whose outlook is short-term. All of this combined can make for a weird assemblage that looks on the surface to many as either unworkable / unsustainable for the long-term. Hence, our tendency to eek / freak out newcomers.
Neither of my high school friends were generous individuals and the 'rents of the one who also moved out of Mississippi were cut from the same cloth as their daughter, therefore it's understandable that they would want out. I get that now, but back then, it hurt to be disparaged for being at peace with my home. That being said, I do not hold in disregard anyone who looks down on our state. There is much here that demands an acquired taste.
To me, generosity is no more noteworthy than any other attribute from the standpoint of being a cultural identifier. It takes all kinds to make up the great US of A, but know this, living amongst people who overall hold generosity up, does make for a sweet existence. It's really nice to be cared for and to be treated well overall as you go about the inevitable mundane routine of life.
We have friends who just recently saw their oldest son and daughter in-law return to Mississippi from living out of state for +/-5 years. Having been reared here, their experiencing the absence of this spirit of generousness within another place caused regret to set in, therefore they've since returned. They're not sure how they'll make it work vocationally, but they're proud to be back home.
-------------------------
Years ago, I had the privilege of meeting a new neighbor who took the initiative to thank me for some volunteer work I'd signed up for in our 'hood. He was a bachelor, we were both in our early 30s, and he made no qualms about loving his somewhat new home here in Mississippi despite the fact that he was a Texan by birth.
This was a first for me, meeting a transplant who adored the Magnolia state. This guy actually would take vacation / weekend road trips on his own throughout various regions of Mississippi. I can remember him showing me various photo albums he'd created containing snapshots of iconic Mississippi buildings and so forth, many of which I'd had the privilege of knowing of throughout my life due to my heritage.
So here we were. A new friendship. I was excited! Especially considering his admiration for my home state.
But then I decided to send him a very personal letter...
------------------------
I can still remember my follow up telephone call after sending my correspondence. His words (some of which make up the title to this post) stung.
Essentially, I had disclosed too much, too fast about my story, therefore in lieu of me wanting to "efficiently" mature the friendship forward, he felt lambasted instead, therefore he immediately rejected me outright on the grounds that spending any further time with Rob would "make him too uncomfortable". Ouch.
I don't think I'll ever forget the emotional fallout from that short-lived friendship, but one thing positive that I did learn from it was to never discount my own platonic needs. There had been plenty of friendships up to that point that were not unlike the ones I had in high school with my none too generous friends. These friendships were characterized as being surface, shallow. They were built on routine or circumstance. A shared Sunday School class or work setting, etc. I'd grown tired of those for they offered me nothing except an opportunity to be annoyed at my own pretending to have my life put together expertly.
-------------------------
I have emotional needs that I want met via my friendships with other men (& so do you). Samson Society offers a wellspring of guys who I've found are willing to work towards meeting those needs. I've told people before, and I'll say it again, that Samson Society tends to attract some of the most generous guys you'll likely ever meet. They tend to look for opportunities to care for their brothers in Christ as they also in tandem look out for their best interests.
Is it perfect? Of course not. Is there sometimes disappointment? Yep. But, it's not a two-man group. There's scale here for those inevitable relational imperfections, and even if you choose to communicate with a paper and pen (like I tend to do), you'll likely find your place eventually. Thanks be to God for Samson Society.
Thursday, May 16, 2019
The Miserable Truth about Mentorship / Growing a third testicle
I was privileged to attend a professional college (at a state university) which (after 5 grueling years) ushered me a professional degree. That degree, in order to fully take advantage of it, required that I be dubbed an intern for a certain time period prior to me being eligible to take a 9-part licensing exam. That internship lasted +/-4 years, and during my schooling, it was referred to often as the opportunity for "real world experience" to be melded into my education.
I did pass the licensing exam, therefore I suppose the collegiate academia combined with my internship worked as it was designed to.
In tandem with the start of my internship, also not long after I graduated from college, I became involved in a regional, parachurch men's ministry. The premise of the ministry was to minister to "young business men with leadership traits" (this was actually integrated into the ministry's name). Well, I was young (mid to early 20s), and I did work for a business. But, there was also a leadership expectation there which didn't fit the young Rob in the least. I was officially an intern during this time, and goshdarnit, I certainly felt as such. Hence, I was hungry for some leading.
This parachurch ministry organized weekly small group Bible studies, paring up men in groups to meet wherever they saw fit. I ended up in a group of 4, lead by the coolest Christian man I'd ever known and since ever known (by far). He was incredibly laid back and knowledgeable of Scripture. Plus, he was just cool. Very, very cool.
Months went by as we met weekly to study God's word. We grew close together as friends as our commitment to our time together grew. It was more fun (& enriching) than I'd ever had at 6:30 AM!
Eventually, I gathered up the nerve after the close of one of our study times to ask our fearless, carefree leader (who was +/-5 years my senior) if we might take the group in a more personal direction. If we might share our "testimonies" (that's '90s-speak for personal stories).
In response to my inquiry, our leader turned to me, handed me his copy of our "meeting book", and said, "If that's the direction you'd like to take this group, you go right ahead, but leave me out of it."
From there, he turned and walked out of my buddy's apartment. I never spoke to him again after that. And as you might imagine, our group soon fell apart. None of us younger men had the leadership skillset needed to keep it going. He essentially was the light that we were all drawn to, week after week.
-------------------------
Throughout my college career, despite the fact that the faculty within the professional school I attended were licensed pros, I never once saw any viable mentor (outside of an academic). Now, keep in mind that for me, Christianity played a huge role in who I chose to look up to. But, that being said, I wasn't necessarily looking for a saint. Just a man who attested to believe in Scripture's inerrancy and ultimately in his life being monumentally more than an accident / opportunity to consistently seek out happiness / self-pleasure.
The biggest blow to my pursuit for a mentor came professionally. I simply couldn't separate my desire to find a Christian mentor from my career because I had invested so much time and effort in it for all those years prior. Again, I was simply looking for someone who knew my story and who was willing to share their own. The majority of those in my profession (at that time) were men. At one point, I worked for 4 distinct male shareholders, and spent an awful lot of time with one or two in particular. Though by my 8 or 9th year there, I'd lost hope in seeing my desire to be mentored come to fruition.
So, what is a mentor? What exactly was I looking for?
An older Christian man that I could relate to (on some level), and this relation had to occur by each of us being willing to share our (or at least a portion of) own stories. This man would offer encouragement simply by making himself vulnerable to me. Ideally, this man would make himself available to me in order for me to experience his investing in Rob. And perhaps the end result would be him establishing a horizontal friendship with me outright. How awesome that would have been!
-------------------------
Men who've been mentored by other men are in the same category as men who have 3 testicles or who've fathered more than 10 children. (Perhaps those are one and the same men actually). It's rare indeed.
Why is this so?
Because if you never experience mentorship that's healthy, fulfilling, you'll likely never be qualified / enlightened to reciprocate the favor to a younger man due to the fact that quality mentorship brings about heart change. Heart change is a big deal. And it's that change that motivates / levels up a man to minister / mentor other men.
If you consider African elephants and the behavior of the males amongst the herd, the key indicator that you'll have an orderly, healthy, functioning group - particularly if you have a number of younger males present - is tantamount to the herd having some older bull elephants present. If you poach that older male(s), the younger males will oftentimes create disorder amongst the herd, and of course, disorder can spell disaster for a herd trying to survive on the African tundra.
So what do we do? How do we solve this miserable problem of there simply being no available mentors?
My approach has been to glean from sources what I can, always on the lookout for more opportunities to be mentored, even if it's in very small, episodic doses. This may seem unrealistic, whereas throwing one's hands up in the air and decreeing surrender seems warranted, but I've found that by doing this, it puts you in a better position to someday grow a third testicle.
And that's what you want to achieve ultimately. There's something some kind of special that comes about from mentoring a younger man. It is an honor and privilege to do so because that process serves to cancel out the backwash of misery that comes from attempting to do life (as a young man) on your own. And oh man, was I ever miserable.
I did pass the licensing exam, therefore I suppose the collegiate academia combined with my internship worked as it was designed to.
In tandem with the start of my internship, also not long after I graduated from college, I became involved in a regional, parachurch men's ministry. The premise of the ministry was to minister to "young business men with leadership traits" (this was actually integrated into the ministry's name). Well, I was young (mid to early 20s), and I did work for a business. But, there was also a leadership expectation there which didn't fit the young Rob in the least. I was officially an intern during this time, and goshdarnit, I certainly felt as such. Hence, I was hungry for some leading.
This parachurch ministry organized weekly small group Bible studies, paring up men in groups to meet wherever they saw fit. I ended up in a group of 4, lead by the coolest Christian man I'd ever known and since ever known (by far). He was incredibly laid back and knowledgeable of Scripture. Plus, he was just cool. Very, very cool.
Months went by as we met weekly to study God's word. We grew close together as friends as our commitment to our time together grew. It was more fun (& enriching) than I'd ever had at 6:30 AM!
Eventually, I gathered up the nerve after the close of one of our study times to ask our fearless, carefree leader (who was +/-5 years my senior) if we might take the group in a more personal direction. If we might share our "testimonies" (that's '90s-speak for personal stories).
In response to my inquiry, our leader turned to me, handed me his copy of our "meeting book", and said, "If that's the direction you'd like to take this group, you go right ahead, but leave me out of it."
From there, he turned and walked out of my buddy's apartment. I never spoke to him again after that. And as you might imagine, our group soon fell apart. None of us younger men had the leadership skillset needed to keep it going. He essentially was the light that we were all drawn to, week after week.
-------------------------
Throughout my college career, despite the fact that the faculty within the professional school I attended were licensed pros, I never once saw any viable mentor (outside of an academic). Now, keep in mind that for me, Christianity played a huge role in who I chose to look up to. But, that being said, I wasn't necessarily looking for a saint. Just a man who attested to believe in Scripture's inerrancy and ultimately in his life being monumentally more than an accident / opportunity to consistently seek out happiness / self-pleasure.
The biggest blow to my pursuit for a mentor came professionally. I simply couldn't separate my desire to find a Christian mentor from my career because I had invested so much time and effort in it for all those years prior. Again, I was simply looking for someone who knew my story and who was willing to share their own. The majority of those in my profession (at that time) were men. At one point, I worked for 4 distinct male shareholders, and spent an awful lot of time with one or two in particular. Though by my 8 or 9th year there, I'd lost hope in seeing my desire to be mentored come to fruition.
So, what is a mentor? What exactly was I looking for?
An older Christian man that I could relate to (on some level), and this relation had to occur by each of us being willing to share our (or at least a portion of) own stories. This man would offer encouragement simply by making himself vulnerable to me. Ideally, this man would make himself available to me in order for me to experience his investing in Rob. And perhaps the end result would be him establishing a horizontal friendship with me outright. How awesome that would have been!
-------------------------
Men who've been mentored by other men are in the same category as men who have 3 testicles or who've fathered more than 10 children. (Perhaps those are one and the same men actually). It's rare indeed.
Why is this so?
Because if you never experience mentorship that's healthy, fulfilling, you'll likely never be qualified / enlightened to reciprocate the favor to a younger man due to the fact that quality mentorship brings about heart change. Heart change is a big deal. And it's that change that motivates / levels up a man to minister / mentor other men.
If you consider African elephants and the behavior of the males amongst the herd, the key indicator that you'll have an orderly, healthy, functioning group - particularly if you have a number of younger males present - is tantamount to the herd having some older bull elephants present. If you poach that older male(s), the younger males will oftentimes create disorder amongst the herd, and of course, disorder can spell disaster for a herd trying to survive on the African tundra.
So what do we do? How do we solve this miserable problem of there simply being no available mentors?
My approach has been to glean from sources what I can, always on the lookout for more opportunities to be mentored, even if it's in very small, episodic doses. This may seem unrealistic, whereas throwing one's hands up in the air and decreeing surrender seems warranted, but I've found that by doing this, it puts you in a better position to someday grow a third testicle.
And that's what you want to achieve ultimately. There's something some kind of special that comes about from mentoring a younger man. It is an honor and privilege to do so because that process serves to cancel out the backwash of misery that comes from attempting to do life (as a young man) on your own. And oh man, was I ever miserable.
Wednesday, May 15, 2019
U: Talks too much in class
Throughout my early elementary school years, I always, on every report card I received, earned an "Unsatisfactory" for "Talks too much in class.
As an only child, I learned early on that in order to gain the attention I craved from those around me (other children or adults), I could simply talk incessantly at them, forcing them to pay heed to my words. It didn't take long before I ran out of things to communicate, therefore I then began to simply make it up as I went along. Lying, I knew was wrong; it even felt wrong, but I absolutely did not want to shut up. Therefore, I literally made up whatever farcical tales I could in order to keep my motor mouth in gear.
Eventually, around 5th grade, I came home to my mother in tears, having plastered scripture verses related to lying all over my bedroom. She demanded that I re-think my approach to garnering attention. And I did. Her concern forced me to re-think the unequivocally unstable foundation I was choosing to build my persona upon.
Now, there's chatty and there's talking incessantly. Two distinct descriptors there with the latter being what I was as a boy. I mean literally my jawbone would ache at the end of the day.
My wife on the other hand, as a girl (& even throughout high school as a young lady) was the complete opposite. No amount of torture on planet Earth could persuade Angie to speak. Ever. To her every word was precious, therefore her mantra was "Why dialogue when you could simply smile instead?" (She didn't actually say this of course, but she did think it...often.)
-------------------------
Many years ago, I became fast friends with a man in south MS through my position as a staff architect with the state of MS. He and I were close to the same age, I had a couple of small children, and he and his second wife were expecting their first. Donnie (not his real name) eventually suffered tremendous tragedy through the loss of this expentant child immediately following her birth. In response to this, I did what I could despite our long-distance friendship to minister to him during this difficult season.
One weekday afternoon, I made my way unannounced to his office to check in with him. It was right after lunch, and he happened to be in. From there, I sat in his office and listened for over 4 hours, many of his words spoken through tears. I remember being so absorbed by his words that I don't even think I stepped out to pee. He recanted the birth, burial, his wife's reaction, and on and on. It was a completely appropriate diatribe that I felt honored to partake in.
I remember sleeping like a baby that night yet feeling overwhelmingly spent over the next few days as I lead bureaucratic planning meetings. I was satisfied in choosing to visit with Donnie as I did, now carrying with me some of the sadness he had brought for me to bear.
Over time, my south MS friend and I grew distant as I moved on from that position with the state of MS. He and his wife did eventually get pregnant again and went on to have 2 (or possibly more) healthy children. I will always cherish my memories of his friendship.
-------------------------
People tell me (sometimes) that I'm a good listener. But, to be honest, I'm not nearly as gracious as I should be with my ears. A few months back, a prospective Samson Society attendee met me for breakfast, and after an hour of listening to his story, I simply cut him off, telling him in so many words that if he was going to join in the fun of Samson, he was going to have to throttle back on the verbiage.
Needless to say, he never showed up for a meeting.
What I need to remember is I started out as a boy in that place where talking was all I knew how to do, and despite the fact that I'm beyond that strategy for relating to other members of the human race, it doesn't mean I'm now qualified to look down on those who either haven't or chosen not to.
Talk is cheap, yes, but there are times when it's all a man seems to have. Remember that Rob. Otherwise you just come across as arrogant.
As an only child, I learned early on that in order to gain the attention I craved from those around me (other children or adults), I could simply talk incessantly at them, forcing them to pay heed to my words. It didn't take long before I ran out of things to communicate, therefore I then began to simply make it up as I went along. Lying, I knew was wrong; it even felt wrong, but I absolutely did not want to shut up. Therefore, I literally made up whatever farcical tales I could in order to keep my motor mouth in gear.
Eventually, around 5th grade, I came home to my mother in tears, having plastered scripture verses related to lying all over my bedroom. She demanded that I re-think my approach to garnering attention. And I did. Her concern forced me to re-think the unequivocally unstable foundation I was choosing to build my persona upon.
Now, there's chatty and there's talking incessantly. Two distinct descriptors there with the latter being what I was as a boy. I mean literally my jawbone would ache at the end of the day.
My wife on the other hand, as a girl (& even throughout high school as a young lady) was the complete opposite. No amount of torture on planet Earth could persuade Angie to speak. Ever. To her every word was precious, therefore her mantra was "Why dialogue when you could simply smile instead?" (She didn't actually say this of course, but she did think it...often.)
-------------------------
Many years ago, I became fast friends with a man in south MS through my position as a staff architect with the state of MS. He and I were close to the same age, I had a couple of small children, and he and his second wife were expecting their first. Donnie (not his real name) eventually suffered tremendous tragedy through the loss of this expentant child immediately following her birth. In response to this, I did what I could despite our long-distance friendship to minister to him during this difficult season.
One weekday afternoon, I made my way unannounced to his office to check in with him. It was right after lunch, and he happened to be in. From there, I sat in his office and listened for over 4 hours, many of his words spoken through tears. I remember being so absorbed by his words that I don't even think I stepped out to pee. He recanted the birth, burial, his wife's reaction, and on and on. It was a completely appropriate diatribe that I felt honored to partake in.
I remember sleeping like a baby that night yet feeling overwhelmingly spent over the next few days as I lead bureaucratic planning meetings. I was satisfied in choosing to visit with Donnie as I did, now carrying with me some of the sadness he had brought for me to bear.
Over time, my south MS friend and I grew distant as I moved on from that position with the state of MS. He and his wife did eventually get pregnant again and went on to have 2 (or possibly more) healthy children. I will always cherish my memories of his friendship.
-------------------------
People tell me (sometimes) that I'm a good listener. But, to be honest, I'm not nearly as gracious as I should be with my ears. A few months back, a prospective Samson Society attendee met me for breakfast, and after an hour of listening to his story, I simply cut him off, telling him in so many words that if he was going to join in the fun of Samson, he was going to have to throttle back on the verbiage.
Needless to say, he never showed up for a meeting.
What I need to remember is I started out as a boy in that place where talking was all I knew how to do, and despite the fact that I'm beyond that strategy for relating to other members of the human race, it doesn't mean I'm now qualified to look down on those who either haven't or chosen not to.
Talk is cheap, yes, but there are times when it's all a man seems to have. Remember that Rob. Otherwise you just come across as arrogant.
Monday, May 13, 2019
"It is my goal to be the fittest man in the room." [Enamored by one's own awesomeness]
Pride is what God hates most. It makes a man unusable to Him. Pride / arrogance can grow out of man's need for respect if he allows his identity to be shaped intrinsically by what he excels at / what ranks him higher up the scale than his peers.
A few years ago, I met an Italian man who was close to my age who was originally from Iowa, at the time living in Birmingham, Alabama by way of Houston, Texas. Of course, his name was Anthony (as all Italian men are).
He and I became fast friends because he was desperate for a friend (literally). We had lunch one day here in Jackson, and he asked me the following question, "How do you make friends?".
I'd never been asked this before, and boy, was I intrigued at where this particular query originated from.
Anthony eventually moved back to Houston, Texas after a short stint here in the deep South. He's unfortunately been out of my life for some time now.
-------------------------
Many of you who read my writings here know some or all of my story. Suffice to say, I typically utilize a handful of small, everyday objects as visual aids whilst sharing Rob's tale. One of those objects, as of late, is a broken (shattered) hand mirror. That broken mirror represents "The Void" as I've dubbed it, which is what I see when I look back at myself in order to compare who I am within the company of other men.
I argue that most men have a mirror that's not broken as mine is, therefore they're quite capable of taking stock of their own self, and this mirror is what men use as they learn to respect themselves either outside of or within some semblance of male community depending on their circumstances.
Sans a working mirror, men like myself can spend way too much time fixated on other men. Again, for those of you who know my story, you likely can see where this can lead. But too, the reverse can happen when a man becomes fixated on his own reflection.
-------------------------
A hand mirror is a helpful tool for a man, but it's certainly not meant to be used more often than not. Otherwise, that's when pride can begin to set in.
Anthony eventually shared most of his story with me. The gist of it had to do with him being reared in rural Iowa within a poor family as an overweight kid. He was keenly aware of his body fat because of his mirror. In fact, like many overweight children, (if I remember correctly), he would "camouflage" his build by wearing coats all the time. In college, he dropped the weight prior to taking a long, hard look in his mirror, and man, did he ever like what he'd become!
When I met Anthony, he was enduring military style exercise routines most days (in his basement), and he weighed himself immediately following. These routines he followed online, or he'd purchase DVDs that he would screen over and over again. This same routine had been going on for years and years. He didn't like gyms as he couldn't as easily follow his "Muscle Insanity" (or whatever it was called) routine nearly as easily, therefore instead, he'd isolate himself in his basement night after night after night.
Needless to say, Anthony didn't look like your typical Deep South man. Not at all. As anyone who's from here knows, most middle-aged men from the South don't look their best in their underwear. Anthony, it was obvious to me, would have looked fantastic in nothing but his underwear. He was just that fit. Minimal body fat, olive skin, ripped, refined, chiseled. He was all of that, and he knew it. How his early 40s body endured the endless 24-hour cycle abuse he'd put it through, I'll never know.
I challenged Anthony repeatedly to throw out his bathroom scale, but he wouldn't do it. I told him to throttle back on the exercise regimens, but he'd simply respond by saying he'd consider doing so a month or so into the future.
Anthony loved his reflection too much to ever consider any of this.
One day, he disclosed to me that his goal was to always be the "fittest man in the room".
Why?
To command respect of the inner Anthony. The one who likely still sees an overweight, jacket-weighing boy.
It was like a battle was ongoing within my Italian friend, and what to him felt like justifiable victory, was only fueling pride as he spent more and more time trying to outrun his past self versus making some semblance of peace with it.
When Anthony asked me that question during our lunch, "How do you make friends?, I couldn't help but mention Samson Society. I remember explaining to him how it had impacted my life tremendously. He even agreed to attend a Samson meeting with me if it happened to work with his travel schedule.
Unfortunately, it never did.
Eventually too, I shared my story with Anthony, and it didn't faze him.
It wasn't all that long ago that men like Anthony didn't exist, but today, I see it more and more. I remember reading The Adonis Complex many years ago and being intrigued.
In closing, and in an attempt to circle back to my original statement on pride, I took a serious blow to my pride in 2013 due to a unexpected job loss. The position fit me well on the surface, but personally / spiritually, it proved to be a nightmare. Despite my skillset / credentials being well utilized, no amount of professional mobility could override the intense shame I was experiencing internally. That shame was rooted in personal struggles which extended as far back as puberty, and it only continued to grow more and more sizable with each passing month within that weirdly unresolvable setting. I was one year into my tenure there when it all came to abrupt end. I've touched on that part of my story here. What I learned from that experience is that I would never have obtained the faith I have today had it not been borne out of my healing from that particular trauma. Losing that job, at least in as far as how it was handled (between me and my superiors), felt as if I'd been raped and subsequently impregnated with a massive sense of worthlessness. That experience resulted in PTSD taking root, which I dealt with for +/-18 months. I've never walked through anything more debilitating. Therefore, I celebrate each day that I can look back and thank God for healing my mind of such damage, knowing full well that I will be forever indebted to him for that miracle. Many men never fully recover their hearts from such trauma.
-------------------------
Beware of staring too long into your mirror (if you're lucky enough to have one that's unbroken), and if you're the kind of guy who has a problem with this, simply force yourself to put it down in order to replace it with a Bible. I recommend starting with the book of James (Jesus' brother).
A few years ago, I met an Italian man who was close to my age who was originally from Iowa, at the time living in Birmingham, Alabama by way of Houston, Texas. Of course, his name was Anthony (as all Italian men are).
He and I became fast friends because he was desperate for a friend (literally). We had lunch one day here in Jackson, and he asked me the following question, "How do you make friends?".
I'd never been asked this before, and boy, was I intrigued at where this particular query originated from.
Anthony eventually moved back to Houston, Texas after a short stint here in the deep South. He's unfortunately been out of my life for some time now.
-------------------------
Many of you who read my writings here know some or all of my story. Suffice to say, I typically utilize a handful of small, everyday objects as visual aids whilst sharing Rob's tale. One of those objects, as of late, is a broken (shattered) hand mirror. That broken mirror represents "The Void" as I've dubbed it, which is what I see when I look back at myself in order to compare who I am within the company of other men.
I argue that most men have a mirror that's not broken as mine is, therefore they're quite capable of taking stock of their own self, and this mirror is what men use as they learn to respect themselves either outside of or within some semblance of male community depending on their circumstances.
Sans a working mirror, men like myself can spend way too much time fixated on other men. Again, for those of you who know my story, you likely can see where this can lead. But too, the reverse can happen when a man becomes fixated on his own reflection.
-------------------------
A hand mirror is a helpful tool for a man, but it's certainly not meant to be used more often than not. Otherwise, that's when pride can begin to set in.
Anthony eventually shared most of his story with me. The gist of it had to do with him being reared in rural Iowa within a poor family as an overweight kid. He was keenly aware of his body fat because of his mirror. In fact, like many overweight children, (if I remember correctly), he would "camouflage" his build by wearing coats all the time. In college, he dropped the weight prior to taking a long, hard look in his mirror, and man, did he ever like what he'd become!
When I met Anthony, he was enduring military style exercise routines most days (in his basement), and he weighed himself immediately following. These routines he followed online, or he'd purchase DVDs that he would screen over and over again. This same routine had been going on for years and years. He didn't like gyms as he couldn't as easily follow his "Muscle Insanity" (or whatever it was called) routine nearly as easily, therefore instead, he'd isolate himself in his basement night after night after night.
Needless to say, Anthony didn't look like your typical Deep South man. Not at all. As anyone who's from here knows, most middle-aged men from the South don't look their best in their underwear. Anthony, it was obvious to me, would have looked fantastic in nothing but his underwear. He was just that fit. Minimal body fat, olive skin, ripped, refined, chiseled. He was all of that, and he knew it. How his early 40s body endured the endless 24-hour cycle abuse he'd put it through, I'll never know.
I challenged Anthony repeatedly to throw out his bathroom scale, but he wouldn't do it. I told him to throttle back on the exercise regimens, but he'd simply respond by saying he'd consider doing so a month or so into the future.
Anthony loved his reflection too much to ever consider any of this.
One day, he disclosed to me that his goal was to always be the "fittest man in the room".
Why?
To command respect of the inner Anthony. The one who likely still sees an overweight, jacket-weighing boy.
It was like a battle was ongoing within my Italian friend, and what to him felt like justifiable victory, was only fueling pride as he spent more and more time trying to outrun his past self versus making some semblance of peace with it.
When Anthony asked me that question during our lunch, "How do you make friends?, I couldn't help but mention Samson Society. I remember explaining to him how it had impacted my life tremendously. He even agreed to attend a Samson meeting with me if it happened to work with his travel schedule.
Unfortunately, it never did.
Eventually too, I shared my story with Anthony, and it didn't faze him.
It wasn't all that long ago that men like Anthony didn't exist, but today, I see it more and more. I remember reading The Adonis Complex many years ago and being intrigued.
In closing, and in an attempt to circle back to my original statement on pride, I took a serious blow to my pride in 2013 due to a unexpected job loss. The position fit me well on the surface, but personally / spiritually, it proved to be a nightmare. Despite my skillset / credentials being well utilized, no amount of professional mobility could override the intense shame I was experiencing internally. That shame was rooted in personal struggles which extended as far back as puberty, and it only continued to grow more and more sizable with each passing month within that weirdly unresolvable setting. I was one year into my tenure there when it all came to abrupt end. I've touched on that part of my story here. What I learned from that experience is that I would never have obtained the faith I have today had it not been borne out of my healing from that particular trauma. Losing that job, at least in as far as how it was handled (between me and my superiors), felt as if I'd been raped and subsequently impregnated with a massive sense of worthlessness. That experience resulted in PTSD taking root, which I dealt with for +/-18 months. I've never walked through anything more debilitating. Therefore, I celebrate each day that I can look back and thank God for healing my mind of such damage, knowing full well that I will be forever indebted to him for that miracle. Many men never fully recover their hearts from such trauma.
-------------------------
Beware of staring too long into your mirror (if you're lucky enough to have one that's unbroken), and if you're the kind of guy who has a problem with this, simply force yourself to put it down in order to replace it with a Bible. I recommend starting with the book of James (Jesus' brother).
Saturday, May 11, 2019
It's A Woman's World! [But I'm not a woman.] Thank God for Nate Larkin!
Women are drawn to all manner of things that provide feelings of security. Men are drawn to all manner of things that provide feelings of respect. These two truths are determinants for so much in our world today. They represent the why of how our western culture works.
Within our technologically laden, post-industrialized, free enterprise society, catering to fulfilling women's emotional need for security is the end goal of institutions, corporations, churches, etc. They won't ever admit to this, but it's how they operate.
Years ago, a friend of mine disclosed that his wife chose a particular SUV make / model due to the inclusion of a sizable electronic touchscreen in the dash. The screen displayed maps and had virtual buttons and so forth. There were plenty of lesser models that were just the same size / motivated by the same engine, but it was the illusion of security that the electronics provided that sealed the deal for them. Therefore, they gladly spent in excess of $15K more for this particular model.
I'm convinced the entire SUV craze is an end result of women's need for security. The SUV sits higher up from the road and subsequently feels safer to her and her family due to its size / shape / design. Today, women purchase as much or more automobiles than men, therefore the manufacturers cater to their needs firstly. It's genius of them to do so. If you're as interested as I was earlier this week in seeing Car & Driver's take on the 20 ugliest SUVs, click here.
At this time in history, automobiles (not taking inflation into account) are more expensive than ever due to their SUV scale and all of this integrated tech (hyper convenience / safety). Nevertheless, consumers are not daunted to put down the necessary cash / go into debt for something that feels more and more secure, and the manufacturers + their shareholders are loving it!
Secondly, let's take a looksee at the pocket computer (cellphone).
Who exactly were these devices made for?
Originally, the mobile phone was for security. There's no denying that. But then came the pocket computer (iPhone) that also happened to function as a mobile phone. Today, social media is the primary function of pocket computers. Social media, I would argue, would not have near the global penetration if our planet were only populated with men.
There is nothing technologically that provides more effectively feelings of security than social media. The notion of being connected to a ginormous community of algorithmically vetted individuals (of your "choosing") that's constantly contracting and expanding is the ultimate security safety net. And this community is right at your fingertips 24/7 - 365 days a year 'till you die!
I have friends whose wives spend upwards of 9 hours a day on social media. Now that's meeting some needs!
And lastly, there's religion or parachurch organizations. Both operate similarly.
If women are the target audience, the organization will typically grow. Of course, this should be one of the end goals. Please know too that I'm not saying God isn't using some of these. That's not my point here. My focus here is understanding the target audience whom also happens to play a sizable role in the decision making.
Let's consider two parachurch organizations.
Back in the late '70s, Dr. James Dobson launched his radio ministry, Focus on the Family from southern California. Dobson's ministry skyrocketed in growth across the globe as he wrote books to support his commentary on Biblical family life. Dr. Dobson's demeanor / presentation was (& still is) the epitome of intelligent, stabilizing soothe. That's the best way I know to describe it. He represented the antithesis of a shock jock in every sense of the word. Therefore, women flocked to support his work, and it became a global phenomenon - almost overnight. It was their daily dose of personified Christian security, centered squarely at the western woman needs as well as her perceived needs of her family.
At some point in the past 10 years, Mr. Nate Larkin launched the Samson Society, a ministry for men who are looking for authentic community. In tandem with the launch also came a book, Samson and the Pirate Monks. Nate is intelligent and passionate about building community, but the last thing he seeks to convey to anyone through this ministry, which he started in middle Tennessee, is intelligent, stabilizing soothe. And that's a ubiquitous truth regarding Nate. You'll often hear him talk about how tough his marriage is as of late due to his wife's ongoing medical issues, or he'll mention how needy he truly is (begrudgingly) as it pertains to being within the company of his brothers within Samson. Nate is usually dressed for comfort and not for appearance, with a ballcap on his head. The podcasts that he and Aaron Porter produce are low production resulting in almost accidental-feeling diatribes. Hence, security is absolutely not in anyway shape or form what he's expertly conveying to the masses. Really, in many ways, it's the opposite of that entirely. Therefore, neither Nate himself nor his ministry, the Samson Society, appeals on any level to women-folk, and I would argue that simple truth is why he's garnered the respect that he has as a leader of men.
What an unusually anamolous gift the Samson Society is to men today. May God continue to use it to support men through relational accountability within authentic Christian community!
Within our technologically laden, post-industrialized, free enterprise society, catering to fulfilling women's emotional need for security is the end goal of institutions, corporations, churches, etc. They won't ever admit to this, but it's how they operate.
Years ago, a friend of mine disclosed that his wife chose a particular SUV make / model due to the inclusion of a sizable electronic touchscreen in the dash. The screen displayed maps and had virtual buttons and so forth. There were plenty of lesser models that were just the same size / motivated by the same engine, but it was the illusion of security that the electronics provided that sealed the deal for them. Therefore, they gladly spent in excess of $15K more for this particular model.
I'm convinced the entire SUV craze is an end result of women's need for security. The SUV sits higher up from the road and subsequently feels safer to her and her family due to its size / shape / design. Today, women purchase as much or more automobiles than men, therefore the manufacturers cater to their needs firstly. It's genius of them to do so. If you're as interested as I was earlier this week in seeing Car & Driver's take on the 20 ugliest SUVs, click here.
At this time in history, automobiles (not taking inflation into account) are more expensive than ever due to their SUV scale and all of this integrated tech (hyper convenience / safety). Nevertheless, consumers are not daunted to put down the necessary cash / go into debt for something that feels more and more secure, and the manufacturers + their shareholders are loving it!
Secondly, let's take a looksee at the pocket computer (cellphone).
Who exactly were these devices made for?
Originally, the mobile phone was for security. There's no denying that. But then came the pocket computer (iPhone) that also happened to function as a mobile phone. Today, social media is the primary function of pocket computers. Social media, I would argue, would not have near the global penetration if our planet were only populated with men.
There is nothing technologically that provides more effectively feelings of security than social media. The notion of being connected to a ginormous community of algorithmically vetted individuals (of your "choosing") that's constantly contracting and expanding is the ultimate security safety net. And this community is right at your fingertips 24/7 - 365 days a year 'till you die!
I have friends whose wives spend upwards of 9 hours a day on social media. Now that's meeting some needs!
And lastly, there's religion or parachurch organizations. Both operate similarly.
If women are the target audience, the organization will typically grow. Of course, this should be one of the end goals. Please know too that I'm not saying God isn't using some of these. That's not my point here. My focus here is understanding the target audience whom also happens to play a sizable role in the decision making.
Let's consider two parachurch organizations.
Back in the late '70s, Dr. James Dobson launched his radio ministry, Focus on the Family from southern California. Dobson's ministry skyrocketed in growth across the globe as he wrote books to support his commentary on Biblical family life. Dr. Dobson's demeanor / presentation was (& still is) the epitome of intelligent, stabilizing soothe. That's the best way I know to describe it. He represented the antithesis of a shock jock in every sense of the word. Therefore, women flocked to support his work, and it became a global phenomenon - almost overnight. It was their daily dose of personified Christian security, centered squarely at the western woman needs as well as her perceived needs of her family.
At some point in the past 10 years, Mr. Nate Larkin launched the Samson Society, a ministry for men who are looking for authentic community. In tandem with the launch also came a book, Samson and the Pirate Monks. Nate is intelligent and passionate about building community, but the last thing he seeks to convey to anyone through this ministry, which he started in middle Tennessee, is intelligent, stabilizing soothe. And that's a ubiquitous truth regarding Nate. You'll often hear him talk about how tough his marriage is as of late due to his wife's ongoing medical issues, or he'll mention how needy he truly is (begrudgingly) as it pertains to being within the company of his brothers within Samson. Nate is usually dressed for comfort and not for appearance, with a ballcap on his head. The podcasts that he and Aaron Porter produce are low production resulting in almost accidental-feeling diatribes. Hence, security is absolutely not in anyway shape or form what he's expertly conveying to the masses. Really, in many ways, it's the opposite of that entirely. Therefore, neither Nate himself nor his ministry, the Samson Society, appeals on any level to women-folk, and I would argue that simple truth is why he's garnered the respect that he has as a leader of men.
What an unusually anamolous gift the Samson Society is to men today. May God continue to use it to support men through relational accountability within authentic Christian community!
Wednesday, May 8, 2019
And the Two Shall Become One Flesh
Marriage, according to Scripture, is about melding two individuals together. Of course, intercourse is a beautiful picture of this, but there's more to it besides what occurs within the marriage bed.
A close Samson friend of mine carries a cellphone provided to him by his employer. This phone is his sole pocket computer, choosing to not supplement it with a personal one. He shared with me that he was having some issues with the cellphone, therefore he sat down with his employer's I.T. personnel for help.
The I.T. staffer asked him why he had an app on the phone titled "Covenant Eyes" which had been given electronic permission to generate a VPN (Virtual Private Network). He replied by telling his colleague that the app was there to serve as a sentinel program, monitoring all of his browsing activity in order to generate weekly content reports that were emailed to his wife / accountability partners.
The I.T. staffer responded by asking my friend, why would you allow that?
Smut is consumed primarily via the World Wide Web, and arguably, the most convenient means to do so is via pocket computers because it's a battery-powered window that you can use wherever you have a cellular / WiFi connection. Therefore, if you're looking to identify the soft underbelly of a man's smut conduits, his pocket computer is it.
So, back to my friend's colleague's question, why would you allow that?
For the same reason (within a marriage) you put a joint checking account in place rather than having individual ones. For the same reason you share a home, and a bed, and rear children together.
Consuming smut impacts marriage. If it's being done behind a spouse's back, I would argue the impact is amplified.
This is no different than consuming smut at home via Pay-Per-View through the cable system prior to paying the monthly bill discreetly, or hiring prostitutes to have sex with you and paying them with cash that's unaccounted for within your marriage.
-------------------------
My wife is a CPA who owns her own firm which she runs out of our home. Over the past 5 to 6 months, she's been inundated with work. Literally, she's at it day and night, nonstop. Therefore, considering my workload (+/-40 hours per week), I gladly do what I can at home to keep our household in order. Thankfully, our house isn't sizable, and our daughters are old enough to help out tremendously, but there's still an awful lot of yard and house work, not to mention food prep that I must stay in front of. This setup frustrates Angie because she feels constrained by her workload, and at times even despondent over how demanding it is.
For me, as a 46 year old husband, I'm fine with it, even taking it on as a challenge. But, I can tell you that were I 28 and newly married, it would be a different story altogether.
Look back at the title to this blog post and notice the words "Shall Become".
This implies process. And process takes time coupled with supernatural effort.
For my young friend to yield as he did to this process so early on in his marriage is remarkably mature, but arguably much more difficult to execute due to his youth.
Covenant Eyes is a wonderful resource for merging ones into two. Consider using it today, and go about doing whatever you can to promote this "Shall Becoming" within your marriage.
A close Samson friend of mine carries a cellphone provided to him by his employer. This phone is his sole pocket computer, choosing to not supplement it with a personal one. He shared with me that he was having some issues with the cellphone, therefore he sat down with his employer's I.T. personnel for help.
The I.T. staffer asked him why he had an app on the phone titled "Covenant Eyes" which had been given electronic permission to generate a VPN (Virtual Private Network). He replied by telling his colleague that the app was there to serve as a sentinel program, monitoring all of his browsing activity in order to generate weekly content reports that were emailed to his wife / accountability partners.
The I.T. staffer responded by asking my friend, why would you allow that?
Smut is consumed primarily via the World Wide Web, and arguably, the most convenient means to do so is via pocket computers because it's a battery-powered window that you can use wherever you have a cellular / WiFi connection. Therefore, if you're looking to identify the soft underbelly of a man's smut conduits, his pocket computer is it.
So, back to my friend's colleague's question, why would you allow that?
For the same reason (within a marriage) you put a joint checking account in place rather than having individual ones. For the same reason you share a home, and a bed, and rear children together.
Consuming smut impacts marriage. If it's being done behind a spouse's back, I would argue the impact is amplified.
This is no different than consuming smut at home via Pay-Per-View through the cable system prior to paying the monthly bill discreetly, or hiring prostitutes to have sex with you and paying them with cash that's unaccounted for within your marriage.
-------------------------
My wife is a CPA who owns her own firm which she runs out of our home. Over the past 5 to 6 months, she's been inundated with work. Literally, she's at it day and night, nonstop. Therefore, considering my workload (+/-40 hours per week), I gladly do what I can at home to keep our household in order. Thankfully, our house isn't sizable, and our daughters are old enough to help out tremendously, but there's still an awful lot of yard and house work, not to mention food prep that I must stay in front of. This setup frustrates Angie because she feels constrained by her workload, and at times even despondent over how demanding it is.
For me, as a 46 year old husband, I'm fine with it, even taking it on as a challenge. But, I can tell you that were I 28 and newly married, it would be a different story altogether.
Look back at the title to this blog post and notice the words "Shall Become".
This implies process. And process takes time coupled with supernatural effort.
For my young friend to yield as he did to this process so early on in his marriage is remarkably mature, but arguably much more difficult to execute due to his youth.
Covenant Eyes is a wonderful resource for merging ones into two. Consider using it today, and go about doing whatever you can to promote this "Shall Becoming" within your marriage.
Tuesday, May 7, 2019
The Business of Hustling Lust
I saw something today that took me aback.
Throughout my life, I've taken note of Pentecostal women that reside here in Mississippi. They're easy to spot with their long, closely hemmed skirts, no cosmetics, and hair drawn up into a mound on top of their heads. These women are part of a faith that puts a great deal of stock in women looking a certain way, therefore you'll never see them with short haircuts or slacks, much less shorts.
I recall working with a teenage girl in high school who was Pentecostal. The uniform that we were required to wear worked for her except for the slacks. Therefore, she simply wore a long khacki skirt. As a teenage Pentecostal, she did wear her long, curly hair down. And man, did she have beautiful hair!
Today, whilst sitting in McDonald's eating my yogurt parfait, I saw a clearly Pentecostal woman step outside and light up a cigarette. She smoked it right outside the restaurant for about 3 minutes prior to coming back in.
It was surreal. The only thing more bizarre than this would have been observing her light up a joint.
--------------------------
Take a look at this video from ABC news.
Now you know why Samson Society exists. The business of lust, thanks to digital media, is a money making machine. There's no consideration for collateral damage whatsoever. It's an industry built on exploiting technology and free speech rights in order to cast as wide a net as possible.
Samson Society is here to help you get untangled, once and for all.
Throughout my life, I've taken note of Pentecostal women that reside here in Mississippi. They're easy to spot with their long, closely hemmed skirts, no cosmetics, and hair drawn up into a mound on top of their heads. These women are part of a faith that puts a great deal of stock in women looking a certain way, therefore you'll never see them with short haircuts or slacks, much less shorts.
I recall working with a teenage girl in high school who was Pentecostal. The uniform that we were required to wear worked for her except for the slacks. Therefore, she simply wore a long khacki skirt. As a teenage Pentecostal, she did wear her long, curly hair down. And man, did she have beautiful hair!
Today, whilst sitting in McDonald's eating my yogurt parfait, I saw a clearly Pentecostal woman step outside and light up a cigarette. She smoked it right outside the restaurant for about 3 minutes prior to coming back in.
It was surreal. The only thing more bizarre than this would have been observing her light up a joint.
--------------------------
Take a look at this video from ABC news.
Now you know why Samson Society exists. The business of lust, thanks to digital media, is a money making machine. There's no consideration for collateral damage whatsoever. It's an industry built on exploiting technology and free speech rights in order to cast as wide a net as possible.
Samson Society is here to help you get untangled, once and for all.
Saturday, May 4, 2019
Dirtclod War / The Air of Respect
When I was in middle school, I attended a winter youth (weekend) retreat at a local state park. It had been organized by our church's youth ministry, and taking Mississippi's unpredictable weather into consideration, it wasn't necessarily too cold to spend some of that time out of doors. I remember basking in the winter sunshine that Saturday afternoon with my friends. As the clouds parted, you could see clearly through the bare tree branches all the way to the sky. A group of 6 to 8 of us boys made our way through the woods 'till we found ourselves just far enough away from the camp buildings to do our own thing.
One of the boys within our group wasn't at all a regular attendee of youth activities. I didn't exactly know why but in looking back, I recall that his parents were missionaries overseas, therefore he was likely only with us during this weekend due to their recent furlough. Missionary Boy was considerably taller than the rest of us middle schoolers. Plus, he just seemed anxious to prove himself.
From what I recall, I either helped start or solely initiated a dirtclod war by lobbing a dirtclod towards our now somewhat bisected group. It wasn't like I had any experience with dirtclods, but nonetheless, it seemed like the thing to do at the time.
By this point, our two teams were a considerable distance apart, spread out amongst the trees / dirt mounds. I have no idea why there were mounds of earth where we were, but as you can imagine, that was our source for clods - some of which were as big as softballs - and similarly as hard.
Looking back on this game, I'm none too surprised at my / our stupidity here, but you need to know that I'm an only child, therefore I'd had little opportunity to do stupid with other boys - at least in such a capacity to have learned from it.
Within the first five minutes of our game, out of the blue, I felt the impact of what felt like a sledgehammer up against my skull. Immediately, I put my hand to my forehead and felt the massive goose egg rise from the surface in response. All around me, dirtclods were continuing to fly, but all I could think about was
1. Having to endure the remainder of the retreat with this huge knot visible on my forehead.
2. Whether or not I would suffer permanent brain damage.
3. Whom might be the culprit of this potentially "life-threatening" injury.
At that moment, I identified the culprit. It was Missionary Boy. He was whooping and hollering in delight over his success in striking me like Goliath. From there, I looked down at the ground and recognized the dirtclod that had struck me. Immediately I regretted initiating this stupid game.
In response to my head injury, I stormed away from the group, making my way back to the camp buildings. Both concerns 1 and 2 now took priority over 3. Needless to say, I felt on the surface quite the victim here, especially considering the fact that my assailant was a newcomer, but deep down, I knew I had been at no less risk by taking part.
Eventually, in disgust, I finagled a means to make a discreet exit that afternoon back to our church in Jackson, wanting only to hide my face in shame from anyone within the youth group.
That goose egg remained for a number of days, and my disdain for Missionary Boy carried through for years afterwards.
-------------------------
Bringing a group of men together can elicit the risk of someone getting hurt by cross talk. At times, it can become almost challenging in itself as posturing inevitably occurs and words fly. And, with the right aim, words can make such an impact that men choose then inwardly to back out from the collective completely.
Samson Society meetings bring all sorts of men together. Oftentimes, they only interact once a week in person, therefore it's vital that crosstalk not be allowed. This rule does makes the meeting feel clinical, but without it, there's too much risk. Too, forcing men collectively to apportion an allotted amount of time for each to speak provides order and order brings an air of respectfulness. And respect is our end goal.
Men who come to take part in Samson Society meetings are doing so for their own good. The format is such that there's minimal risk that someone gets hit in the head by a dirtclod. That being said, it does still occur at times, but usually moreso during the after meeting if anywhere at all. To some degree, it's always best to keep one's head down a little, at least 'till you've identified the inevitable Missionary Boy.
One of the boys within our group wasn't at all a regular attendee of youth activities. I didn't exactly know why but in looking back, I recall that his parents were missionaries overseas, therefore he was likely only with us during this weekend due to their recent furlough. Missionary Boy was considerably taller than the rest of us middle schoolers. Plus, he just seemed anxious to prove himself.
From what I recall, I either helped start or solely initiated a dirtclod war by lobbing a dirtclod towards our now somewhat bisected group. It wasn't like I had any experience with dirtclods, but nonetheless, it seemed like the thing to do at the time.
By this point, our two teams were a considerable distance apart, spread out amongst the trees / dirt mounds. I have no idea why there were mounds of earth where we were, but as you can imagine, that was our source for clods - some of which were as big as softballs - and similarly as hard.
Looking back on this game, I'm none too surprised at my / our stupidity here, but you need to know that I'm an only child, therefore I'd had little opportunity to do stupid with other boys - at least in such a capacity to have learned from it.
Within the first five minutes of our game, out of the blue, I felt the impact of what felt like a sledgehammer up against my skull. Immediately, I put my hand to my forehead and felt the massive goose egg rise from the surface in response. All around me, dirtclods were continuing to fly, but all I could think about was
1. Having to endure the remainder of the retreat with this huge knot visible on my forehead.
2. Whether or not I would suffer permanent brain damage.
3. Whom might be the culprit of this potentially "life-threatening" injury.
At that moment, I identified the culprit. It was Missionary Boy. He was whooping and hollering in delight over his success in striking me like Goliath. From there, I looked down at the ground and recognized the dirtclod that had struck me. Immediately I regretted initiating this stupid game.
In response to my head injury, I stormed away from the group, making my way back to the camp buildings. Both concerns 1 and 2 now took priority over 3. Needless to say, I felt on the surface quite the victim here, especially considering the fact that my assailant was a newcomer, but deep down, I knew I had been at no less risk by taking part.
Eventually, in disgust, I finagled a means to make a discreet exit that afternoon back to our church in Jackson, wanting only to hide my face in shame from anyone within the youth group.
That goose egg remained for a number of days, and my disdain for Missionary Boy carried through for years afterwards.
-------------------------
Bringing a group of men together can elicit the risk of someone getting hurt by cross talk. At times, it can become almost challenging in itself as posturing inevitably occurs and words fly. And, with the right aim, words can make such an impact that men choose then inwardly to back out from the collective completely.
Samson Society meetings bring all sorts of men together. Oftentimes, they only interact once a week in person, therefore it's vital that crosstalk not be allowed. This rule does makes the meeting feel clinical, but without it, there's too much risk. Too, forcing men collectively to apportion an allotted amount of time for each to speak provides order and order brings an air of respectfulness. And respect is our end goal.
Men who come to take part in Samson Society meetings are doing so for their own good. The format is such that there's minimal risk that someone gets hit in the head by a dirtclod. That being said, it does still occur at times, but usually moreso during the after meeting if anywhere at all. To some degree, it's always best to keep one's head down a little, at least 'till you've identified the inevitable Missionary Boy.
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