When Will You Make Prayer A Priority?

My plea to you tonight my brother is to stop.  Stop justifying the neglect of your prayer life.  Stop putting everything else in front of it.  If you can prioritize meeting your genital's needs, you can put the same energy and desire behind prayer.

You say you have no time to pray.  No appropriate setting.  Some of you say that you have no words to pray.  Those are excuses that reveal you're simply not taking this vital part of your role as a Christian man seriously.

When are you going to get with the program by joining the countless other saints who've gone before us in making prayer a priority within their lives?

It's time to start now.  Today.

Pit Them Against Each Other With Minimal Clear Direction Or Oversight; Then Take The Time To Stir The Pot

Being employed within an environment where one's supervisor manages via the unspoken, inferred rivalry technique is pure misery.  I've been there.  In fact, I can recall days where I was so miserable that literally nothing got done (other than me surfing for Internet porn).  Please know that I'm so ashamed to admit to that.

To be more specific, this was a work environment where there were few discernible long-term goals (for me or anyone else), minuscule amounts of helpful feedback / guidance, and lots of unhealthy interpersonal dynamics that were ongoing and seemingly off limits to address.

These circumstances are like living in a prison.  Day after day.  Or at least for me it was.  And understandably, this particular job's demerits didn't initially suffocate / choke me as they did much further down the road.  This must have been due to two truths.  One was my individual maturation as an employee, and the other was literally how "emotionally infected" I was slowly becoming over time via the environment itself.  During those last few years there, constant anger would simmer beneath the surface as I tried to cope, hoping forlornly that someday things would improve for the better for me and my colleagues.

Perhaps there are men out there who thrive within this sort of environment, but if so, I can't imagine they're emotionally healthy individuals.

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But what's far worse is when a man's home life reflects this.  Where his wife, in particular, sets this sort of toxic standard in motion, pitting everyone around her against each other.

What's stunning to me is many men live and endure within this kind of familial hellhole and have since the beginning of time.  It's Biblical (see Isaac & Rebekah's sunset years story in Genesis).

Know too that THERE ARE PLENTY OF HUSBANDS / FATHERS WHO NEVERTHELESS MANAGE JUST THE SAME, but hopefully, I'm speaking here to those who know better.

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What's to be done then, when you find yourself within one or perhaps (God forbid) both of these situations simultaneously as a man?

Find a healthy release valve like Samson Society first and foremost.  It's not always feasible to up and find a new job (circumstantially or economically).  I know for me, when I was in this situation vocationally, my children were small and my wife was staying home to rear them, therefore starting fresh elsewhere simply wasn't feasible at that time.  In other words, my tenure (overall) as the breadwinner was more important to me than my pain.

Speaking specifically to toxic marriages as described here, seek out marriage counseling either through a pro or your pastor.  And if your wife refuses to go, then go alone.

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What not to do:

-  Lose sight of the fact that it doesn't take much, if any, managerial competence to become a business owner, and within a similar vein, much, if any emotional health to become a man's wife.
-  Talk bad about your employer / your spouse to your friends, relatives or anyone else.  Just because others are being critical of you behind your back doesn't give you the right as a Christian to do the same to / of them.
-  Grow bitter
-  Grow resentful
-  Lose hope
-  Lose your sense of humor
-  Stop caring for yourself*

*Stupidly investing in booze, drugs, lust (Internet porn or otherwise) in lieu of regular exercise, journaling, Bible study, prayer, and of course, Samson Society.

Our Faith Is The Comprehension That Our Lives Are Built Upon

Exotic garage in Monaco - summer of 1994

My friend Bryan admiring a Ferrari 456GT.  The most beautiful GT car I've ever seen.

One of the most magnificent experiences I've lived through was teaching my 3 daughters to both swim and ride bicycles (albeit not at the same time).  As children, our brains are malleable.  Comprehending complex yet natural skills therefore happen with aplomb.  And I would argue this is especially the case when trust is involved between parent and child / teacher and pupil.  It is a tremendous experience to behold as it pays homage to how expertly children are knitted together by God.

Jesus cited having faith "like a child" within Scripture.  I've always equated this to simplistic, almost dumbed-down thinking, but not anymore.  Instead, I now see it as a comprehensive understanding that's under girded by an innate sense of order / hierarchy, none of which is lost on children due to how hyper-absorbent / malleable their young minds truly are.

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When I was either a sophomore or junior in high school (I believe I was a junior), I ended up within a study hall class due to me needing to stay 'till the end of the school day for band (6th period).  That study hall met in the high school library.  It amounted to 50 minutes of free time for Rob every day right after lunch.  I recall everyone having to sit at round tables in complete silence, therefore as you can imagine boredom set in quickly.

One day, a Motor Trend magazine caught my eye on the magazine stand.

Never had I read anything (that I recall) on automobiles, therefore I was ignorant through and through other than what little marketing I'd been exposed to on TV.  Surprisingly, something clicked within my brain upon me reading of this massively complex free enterprise narrative / industry, and from there, I found that I simply couldn't put Motor Trend down 'till I'd read and re-read every page.  Therefore, I would wait expectantly each month for the next issue to appear on the magazine stand, and usually within just a few days, I'd have consumed the entire publication.  The subject itself was fascinating to me.  I'd no idea what amounted to the industry of automobiles 'till it was presented to me within this periodical.

In summary, thanks to that required high school study hall, Rob quickly became a lifelong automobile aficionado.

And most importantly, what I found internally, was the avalanche of comprehensive knowledge I was gaining was illuminating in real time my understanding of the automotive landscape newly set before me.  It truly was an experience akin to peeking behind the curtain in order to fully understand who / what was in control of the great Oz.  And this was something I'd neither any ability nor interest to do prior to stumbling upon Motor Trend as a teenage boy.  

I cannot underestimate to you, dear reader, how impactful this was to me as an individual.  I even ended up selling cars at Howard Wilson Chrysler / Plymouth in Jackson during the summer of 1991 (in between my freshman and sophomore year in college)!  It was such fun.  Plus, I made a lot of $$$ (#1 salesman for both June and July).

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Faith is a gift of God's to man.  It's different from trust in that trust is built on unspoken rules established between two (or more) individuals.  Faith is not like that at all.  Instead, it's more like an awakening or enlightenment pertaining to something too massive / complex, and to do it justice takes firstly an understanding that no real human expert on faith has existed except God's son, Jesus, who is our king / high priest.

But like the intrinsic knowledge of what an automobile manufacturer's chassis or platform may be, in terms of its purpose / design within the grand narrative of automobiledom, our childlike faith provides a rudimentary, highly conceptual understanding of the language / colors / narrative behind God's sovereignty here on Earth.  That's the best way I know to describe it.

Of course, reading God's word promulgates what I would argue could be described as an adult-like faith.  No doubt that's why the entire Old Testament, in particular, exists for us.  39 books to read and re-read.

May our eyes be opened more and more as our faith allows us to comprehend in proportion to our Heavenly Father's commitment and love for us.

And if faith hasn't clicked for you today, I pray that it soon will.  It changes everything for the better.

Winter Sunset - Rural Yazoo county, MS

Autumn sunset - Destin, FL

Lagniappe

My Hope In The Shadows

Sitting here at my computer and staring out the window, I ponder how it is an unusually overcast and gloomy day for late March. Outside, the wind blows noisily through the trees, stirring up a chill that permeates the spring air and causes me to release an involuntary shiver from within. Belatedly, I realize that I have left the bedroom window cracked open, and now the whistling wind rushing through has brought with it a coldness that begins to fill the room.

Oftentimes when I become distracted, my mind tends to drift away and carry me to a faraway place somewhere in my past. Although there are quite a few moments in my past that I repressed for many years, there are still many that I remember quite fondly. It is these moments that come flooding back during idle daydreams, bringing a warm touch to fill my being. Indeed, they bring a smile to my face as I vicariously relive them through my memory. The gloomy chill that fills the air on this cold Saturday slowly gives way to a warm summery day as I sit and let my mind carry me to another time.

I often like to tell people that as a child and adolescent of the 80s and 90s, I grew up in a world that was simultaneously analog and digital. As a kid growing up in rural Mississippi in the late 80s and early 90s, electronic objects to occupy our time were far and few in between; in fact, they were virtually non-existent in my household. As a result, my younger brother and I were often left to our own devices in the summertime, and it was up to us to create our own forms of entertainment. Although we grew up in a small rural town and lived part of those years in the remote countryside, I do not recall us ever being bored. Whether it was having mud-track races behind the shed with our toy cars, fishing in the pond, or zipping through the pasture in our two-seater go-cart in search of our next adventure, we were never bored. One of our favorite pastimes, and a real summertime treat to us, was going to one of three local creeks for an adventure day. Within the wide banks of these creeks, the noisy waters flowed swiftly and created a wonderful backdrop for many summertime adventures. My brother and I were both accomplished swimmers, and the creeks were not big enough to ever permit fear of drowning to enter our minds. 
      Our favorite creek was the beautiful White Sand Creek just down the road from our home. We could literally walk to it from our house and for two young Mississippi boys, it might as well have been heaven. This magical place was the setting for many a summer adventure; in this place, the waters flowed swift and clear, and the beautiful white sand bars felt like a fiery powder under our feet as we ran across them chasing each other. We spent our time alternately splashing around in the water and then searching for treasures such as pieces of driftwood or unusual rocks that we would find lining the banks of the creek. We delighted in digging crawdads out of their holes. If we were lucky, we might spot a frog or perhaps a turtle or two sunning itself on a log. Attempts to catch the turtles were usually futile, as the elusive reptiles seemed to have an inherent sense of our presence and jump into the water before we could reach them. There were times when we would engage in games of hide and seek as we hid in the bushes that lined one bank of the creek. Other times we would float on our backs and see how far the current would carry us downstream before mother began to holler at us and tell us to come back. Sometimes, we would simply sit at the water’s edge in a shallow pool of water and watch the water as it ebbed and flowed around our bodies. We had moments where we would roughhouse, as young brothers are often apt to do, taking turns dunking each other in the water. I remember sometimes just simply sitting there on the banks of the creek, basking in the warm summer sun as I watched the waters flow by.

Even as a kid, I had a very active imagination, and I was often prone to daydreaming (which sometimes happened at the most inopportune times such as during lessons at school). One day, I noticed how at times, the clouds would cross the sun's path, creating dancing shadows that would dart across the landscape. On one side of the creek, was a large forest that seemed scary to my young self. It was filled with bushes and giant hardwood trees that towered as high as the heavens. On the other side of the creek was a broad meadow of Technicolor green filled with cows who would briefly pause their grazing to look up and watch us as we swam in the creek. I loved to watch the shadows move across the meadow, and I took notice of the various shapes and patterns they would make. Sometimes, the clouds would come and the shadows would stay in place, signaling an impending summer storm looming on the horizon. When the clouds covered the landscape, they brought with them, temporary relief from the blazing summer sun. The air would get cooler, and the swiftly flowing waters would for a moment in time, seem darker and scarier. The cool waters that we had played in only moments before suddenly became a bottomless pit of eternal inky depths. Eventually, the clouds would part and I would turn my face to the sky, embracing the return of the sun’s warmth. 

Young Pip, following Estella in Great Expectations (1946)

Life is full of light and shadows. Ever since those early days of my childhood, I have been continually fascinated with the shapes, sizes, and movements of shadows. Sometimes, when the opportunity presents itself, I enjoy sitting outside as I watch the shadows dance their perfectly choreographed dance routine, dancing and fading in and out, synchronized to a mysterious number known only to nature. Part of this fascination is what led me to write a Master’s thesis on David Lean’s use of light and shadow in his film adaptations of Dickens’ Great Expectations (1946) and Oliver Twist (1948). One of my all-time favorite books is Great Expectations and Lean’s ending deviated significantly from that of Dickens’; this was done in order to give viewers a happier ending. In Lean’s adaptation, Pip rushes into the interior of a ruined mansion to rescue his childhood sweetheart, Estella. In this ruined place, Estella sits in the darkness surrounded by objects in various states of decay. In what I believe is one of the most memorable moments in post-World War II British cinematography, Pip rushes into the room, yanks down the rotted draperies and throws open the windows. He shouts out to Estella, “I have come back to let in the sunlight…. Look, Estella, nothing here but dust and decay!” Pip was aware that nothing can live or thrive in the darkness of night. As he threw open the windows to let in the sunlight, he symbolically saved Estella from the shadows that cloaked her life.

I have come to let in the light, Estella!

Sometimes in our own lives, shadows come and cast darkness over every aspect of our lives. Sometimes, these shadows are only temporary, and they quickly pass by as they did across the pastoral landscape on those long-ago summer days. Other times, the shadows come, sink in, and begin to weave themselves into the tapestry of our lives. When this happens over a period of time, we may not even be aware of how faintly the diminished and filtered light illuminates our lives. Just a few short years after those summer days at the creek, I would begin to get lost in my own shadows. These shadows would follow me around for many years and would keep me from walking in the light that I so desperately needed to be walking in during my formative and adolescent years. I lost my way for a very long time. Finding the Samson Society nearly 5 ½ years ago marked the beginning of my being able to emerge from my own shadows. To be able to walk forward with boldness and courage in my life. To allow the light back into my life as I ripped down my own rotted draperies. To admit my great, and continual need for other men who would walk with me and keep me from making a wrong turn that would ultimately lead back into the shadows. Men who would also call me out and point me back to the cross of Christ.

We’re living in uncertain times right now. All we need do is turn on the news and we feel that there is a metaphorical shadow covering our world right now. We can’t let these shadows of doubt fill our lives and take root. In my own life, living in the shadows led to hopelessness and despair and could have very well been fatal. I don’t know what kind of things or repressed thoughts hide in your own shadows, but I do know that nothing can grow or thrive in that space. Fortunately, with Samson, we have the gift of a lifeline given to us; it is crucial that we continue walking alongside other brothers and with them, stand in the light that Christ gives us. It is so easy for me to retreat into my own shadows, and that place, my brothers, is a dangerous place for me to be. In the darkness, it is impossible to see the roadmap of where we are going, and it is so easy to take a wrong turn. We have hope in the shadows and the promise of light that shows us the way.

We recently learned a new song in church a few months ago. Our music director instructed us that when we sang the chorus, we should lift our hands up whenever we sang the words that proclaimed what Christ meant in our lives. And as I proclaimed the words “you’re my hope in the shadows…”, I gratefully lifted my hands in the air.

You’re MY HOPE in the shadows!

Some time ago, I was traveling on a day trip with my family and passed through the town of my childhood; this town is a place that I avoided for many years and no longer claim a connection to. And as we passed by the place where a part of me had remained lost in the shadows for many years, I caught a glimpse of my eleven-year-old self hidden where he had been left behind all those years ago. Silently, I called out to him…. “It’s going to be ok. It will take many years, but you will eventually be ok.” And for the most part, I am. The shadows still come, dancing their mysterious number across the landscape of my life before dissolving away. But today I have hope. I always have hope in the shadows. And you do too.

Many years later, my son looking down at White Sand Creek, circa 2018

Stephen Coleman is a member of the Samson Society and is a guest contributor to the Samson Society blog. 

How The Fear Of God Can Sober Us Up To The Reality Of Chronic Sin

You've heard of people doing a "cleanse" of their digestive system?  As far as I know, they drink some magic elixir (processed smoothie), and from there, they defecate their "past self" down the loo.

I suppose the idea here is some sort of guttural reboot.  I don't know.  It sounds interesting though in concept (though really stinky).

Wouldn't it be interesting if we could do that with our souls?

Perhaps due to the quarantine, we actually can.  Without drinking some gross-tasting magic elixir.

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Chronic sin - especially when it involves other human beings or tangible "landmarks" - is monumentally difficult to break free from under normal, everyday circumstances.  Take for example a man involved intimately with a female co-worker.  Perhaps the relationship hasn't become sexual except within his lustful fantasies, but nonetheless, his flirting with her at work 5 days a week promulgates this sin.  Or a man who meets up discreetly with his lover once or twice a month, unbeknownst to his family.  And finally, the man who masturbates at work behind closed doors as he fantasizes about his fetish whilst viewing photos / videos on his pocket computer.

Relative to drunkenness or gluttony, consider the man who travels by car / plane regularly for work and who serendipitously maps his trip in close proximity to local watering holes / fast-food & ice cream parlors.  Adult bookstores could certainly be treated the same here.

You get my drift.

God wants us in communion with him, and this requires obedience to his commands.  What better way to be reminded of this than for him to interrupt our focus on the routine - family, work, church, and on and on via the quarantine?

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Here's sort of an inverse analogy to what I'm describing here.

My wife, Angie, tripped over her feet in our driveway +/-8 weeks ago.  Unfortunately for her, she then proceeded to fall on her left arm / shoulder, severely bruising it from stem to stern.  From there, for about 5 weeks, she kept this arm completely immobile via a sling, wearing it throughout the day due to the intense pain from the bruising (both internal and external).  About three weeks ago, I began working with her to "re-learn" how to use this previously immobile limb.  This has involved both at the gym and (now) at-home exercises, and wow, has she progressed marvelously!

But this hasn't been easy for her in the least due to two new realities:

1.  How weak / easily fatigued her left arm now is due to its (more or less) complete 30-day immobilization coupled with the severe injury.

2.  How atrophied her left arm now is due to its (more or less) complete 30-day immobilization coupled with the severe injury.

There's been many tears shed by my sweet Angie as I challenge her to lift and stretch with that left arm as she did prior to her fall.  The pain in her joints, in particular, is intense, but each time we do this work, her arm strengthens / her arm's mobility improves exponentially.  And afterwards, she smiles more due to her accomplished good work (which makes me smile too).

It's important that you understand my motivation here in order for this inverse analogy to be utilized to its full potential.

I know the Angie before her accidental injury, and it's the one I want back.  For example, she and I haven't been sexually intimate for well over 2 months (maybe 3).  It's simply not been feasible.  And sex for us is really important, and not just because I'm great in bed (hah!).  As within any healthy marriage, intercourse for us is loads of fun plus it demonstrates our commitment to each other.  Therefore, in light of our circumstantial celibacy, our marriage has felt more like roomies than anything else.  And this is beginning to have a long-term negative impact.

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If you're cognizant to God's pursuit of your heart today, perhaps he's expecting you to exploit the quarantine to its full potential by re-thinking / repenting of chronic sin now that it's so easily identifiable / recognizable to you.

I realize that may hurt to hear, but if it does, you may have a serious problem, my friend.

Nevertheless, please remember that Samson Society is here to help.  Consider getting involved today - especially during the quarantine.  We'll benefit from your involvement as much (or more) as you'll benefit from knowing all of us.

Take the steps to re-think your involvement in chronic sin today.  It may just be now or never.

Refuse to lie to yourself or wear flowers in your hair.

Lagniappe

Recommended Reading From The New York Times

https://dnyuz.com/2020/03/23/the-beautiful-world-beside-the-broken-one/

Bearded Iris

A distinctly masculine flower

Better Off Dread. (The "I Love You" Man)

I wrote here about my attempt to receive encouragement from a prominent, local attorney during a particular low point within the past 6 years.  In looking back on that today relative to the topic at hand (& as I'll speak to at the end of this post), he was in no shape to assist me.  Nevertheless, he was kind enough to try.

One of the interesting caveats he shared with me that day, towards the end of our calendared juncture, was a simple prayer request.  And that was that I pray he'd soon overcome his ongoing sense of dread.

This particular emotion being divulged didn't shock me due to the fact that this man had endured tremendous emotional pain years prior.  Pain which he no doubt faced head on; so much so that he regularly addressed it formally through speeches given to churches, youth gatherings, etc.  What did take be aback though was his willingness to divulge this to insignificant me.  It was certainly my privilege.  So I prayed then and there, though I had no real understanding of what exactly I was interceding for.

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So what is dread?  Firstly, it's not a word you hear very often.

In my mind, it's a low frequency, negative emotion, for sure, and I believe it can be a result of enduring an impact that's done extensive damage to the (emotional) system itself.  Not unlike when you bust your eardrum and it simply never heals up properly resulting in that incessant ringing.

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As their only child, I observed, with much anxiety and confusion, my parents' marriage implosion when I was in 4th grade.  During that time, I watched my father's then youthful emotional health / demeanor short circuit, and frankly due to how young I was (considering my perspective), I suppose it either amplified or perhaps severely incapacitated his ability to process emotion from that point forward.  The best way to describe it is he went ape shit on us (justifiably) in a big way and the broken - claustrophobic / at times catatonic - end result (going forward) is all I've really known through my teen and adult years.  Really scary stuff for a young boy to witness, if I do say so myself.

Having been privileged to work with my dad now for the past 6+ years (me being in my late 40s and he in his late 60s), I have observed a very important detail about him that I believe speaks more specifically to what dread actually is.

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Dread is linked explicitly to irrational fear, and as a result, interpersonal trust is almost impossible to default towards.

In fact, to return to my analogy, if dread is like an incessant low frequency soundwave, then a sickening, relentless fear is the source of those sound waves.  And I'm not speaking of the kind of fear that's addressed Biblically.  That's rational fear.  This is something of another ilk, though it can certainly be erroneously categorized as the same (by the ignorant).  Subsequently, have you not experienced it (& believe me you don't want to), it's impossible to relate to.

Back in '13, our pastor in Cleveland, MS met with me the day prior to us departing to return here to Jackson after I'd lost my job.  It was a Monday, therefore he was exhausted from his church obligations the day prior, and therefore didn't care to necessarily meet.  Nonetheless, I was considered the exception due to our past history with both he and the church.

He listened with bleary eyes as I summarized my entire story for close to 45 minutes, but it wasn't 'till the tail end that he began to sober up to where it was all leading.  From there, I believe, the Holy Spirit impressed upon him to share this difficult bit related to irrational fear and how prevalent and intrusive it can be (even towards the pastorate).

Tim described to me his disdain for making hospital / home visits to parishioners who were cancer patients.  He talked about experiencing feelings somewhere between despondency and angst when with them.  So much so in fact that he'd often seek to avoid them altogether which, of course, brought on terrible shame.

Pastor Tim was essentially in bondage to the fear of either himself or someone he loved becoming a cancer patient just as these were, and he felt powerless against this mindset as it prohibited him to do his job well to those he looked after within his congregation.

I remember thanking him for sharing from his gut on that bleak September day.  And I must say, it's taken me quite some time to come to grips with the gravity of what he actually shared.

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A quick sidenote:  One of the most bizarre "managerial techniques" that I've seen employed whilst dealing with what I've described here is a guarded aloofness.  I feel it's important to mention that before I conclude with the hard part of this post.  Call it a weirdmo intentional detachment.  I see it as a coping technique for sure.

So, here we go.  What is the point of this post?  What's in it for me?

Nothing at all.  Instead, my plea to you is as follows:

Have pity on these folks.  Honor them by being patient.  And don't fall into the trap of thinking it's you yourself that's part of their problem.  As a friend, this is not too difficult to manage, but as a spouse / child, it can be quite difficult to keep this mindset in check due to the fact that you have other frames of reference (at times) serving to confuse matters (for yourself and for them).  That being said, there will be times when you must remind them of their own irrational feelings, but I find that really depends on their need - in real time - to be heard authentically.  When it comes to friendships, this unfortunately can spell doom.

Also, it's okay to keep your distance.  You don't owe your time or allegiance to this individual.  Nonetheless, you can sure do a lot of good if you'll commit to pray / be available, and this comes by loving them well (and telling them this often) through your own rationale view.

To loop back to the beginning of this post, I vividly remember being escorted out of my prominent attorney friend's impressive office, having voiced a short prayer of relief for his condition.  And I felt so fortunate to now have honest knowledge of where he was at.  Considering that occasion though, it wasn't 'till today that I'm truly standing in awe of how impactful negative life experiences can actually be. 

From there, he & I never spoke again.  And I understand, looking back, why that was the case, although at the time, I certainly did not.

You're Invited To Join Us On Thursdays at 6 PM - Jackson, MS Samson Society Zoom Meeting

Thanks to Mr. Lance Bowser, we had our first Zoom Samson Society meeting last night at 6 PM.  How awesome to have this tech available!  It was enriching and really humbling to see men from our 5 local groups come together via Zoom.  Dare I say, reunion?  It certainly felt like it.

Contact Mr. B. for more info regarding how to join in the online recovery Thursday evenings at 6 PM.

August 22, 2017 - Mr. Nate Larkin & Dr. Tom Moucka paid us a visit.

Suffering Vicariously

I was suffering tremendously when I first stepped into Samson Society.  Shame was my constant shadow.  It was impossible to shake, therefore no amount of "living life" diluted it to any degree.  (I cannot emphasize that enough).  Hence, had a precedent been set personally relative to drug / alcohol use to "drown out" that (or any other) deep seated pain, I have little doubt that would have complicated things that much further for me.

That was August of 2014.  Sometime in October of that same year, I was elated to be serving as a Silas.  For those of you that know me, I'm not at all shy, therefore soon after reaching out to a new guy (who stepped through the door a few months after me), he and I were off and running.

What I wasn't expecting, nor was prepared for, was the emotional weightiness of walking within another man's shame / emotional turmoil vicariously.

I'd had no training as a counselor / therapist.  I was an architect, for pete's sake!  Therefore, my listening / querying this younger man resulted in me venturing into the unknown week after week, and what I found was I WAS NO WHERE NEAR EMOTIONALLY EQUIPPED TO HANDLE THIS WELL.

Therefore, I simply did the best that I could each and every time we'd chat.

In looking back, what was important to that man (based on what I observed) was the following:

-  I listened well.
-  I obviously cared enough to listen (versus just holding the phone to my ear).
-  I never once pushed his call to voicemail (always on relational standby).
-  I always prayed for him before our dialogue concluded, asking specifically for prayer requests.
-  Never expected an opportunity to be directly ministered to in return.

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When you're in the thick of it as a Silas - serving another man / men, emotional exhaustion can crop up.  If you're like me, I consider it such an honor to serve men, therefore you'll trudge forward regardless.  That being said, some guys - new ones in particular - may "overattach" to their first Silas.  And this is to be expected due to the level of intimacy that's quickly established.  Eventually though, most men who believe firstly in Samson Society itself (and this is key) will expand their horizons relationally.

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What keeps men away from Samson Society is being expected to do what I've described above. 

Here it is again:

-  I listened well.
-  I obviously cared enough to listen (versus just holding the phone to my ear).
-  I never once pushed his call to voicemail (always on relational standby).
-  I always prayed for him before our dialogue concluded, asking specifically for prayer requests.
-  Never expected an opportunity to be directly ministered to in return.

Today, men who are willing to step up and lend their ears are needed more than ever, but be forewarned.  There is nothing easy about it.  No pay.  No benefits.  And (this is the kicker) absolutely zero guarantee that the friendship will be long-term.

So, in other words, there's nothing at all in it for you Bubba.  Except Christian obedience.  Which, I would argue, is what all of us need moreso than anything else.  Because through obedience comes sanctification, which is the ultimate end goal.

Recommended Reading from Ms. Margaret Phillips

https://mailchi.mp/31951122beb5/margarets-musings-onthe-latest-wave-to-hit-the-church-game-of-thrones

2020 Samson Society Retreat. Something To Look Forward To.

Registration link can be found here.  Highly recommended.

Degrees Of Vulnerability / Predisposition to Negative Influence

The second library design I had the good fortune of working on as an architect (around 2001) received an additional building plaque upon the building's completion.  This bronze plaque was a tad bit smaller scale than the standard plaque (which sat adjacent), and it was cast in honor of the director of the library system herself.

The library system that we worked for relative to designing the building had lost their director to cancer just a few months prior to the building being completed.  I'd only worked with her for a few months during the planning phase prior to her getting very sick and having to forego her work as director.  This woman was young.  If I had to guess, I'd say around my age today (47) or younger, and like every librarian I've ever had the privilege to work with, she was articulate and intelligent with so much steadfastness.

Yesterday, I went to a park in Jackson to run, and due to the superb Spring weather, there were Jacksonians everywhere walking, running, and talking on their pocket computers (all at the same time).  Obviously since I was in Jackson, most of these people were black which left me in the minority as a white man, and this got me thinking about blacks in relation to COVID-19.

The aforementioned library system director, Rose, was black.  In fact, she was the first professional black woman I'd had the privilege to work with here in Mississippi (which was very cool).  After she died, I came across some research that detailed how blacks are more prone to succumb to illness than other races.  Illnesses like cancer, heart disease, diabetes type 2...the incurable, life-threatening ones.  And this was due to the fact that their bodies don't respond as well to typical forms of medical treatment.

I remember how sad this made me for Rose as well as the entire black community.  Especially considering that so many blacks live here in Mississippi.  Having grown up here, it was eye-opening to learn this about their race.  Because whites and blacks stay so segregated from each other here in Mississippi, it's hard to be sympathetic at all due to the distance that's always there between our two races.

And of course, this got me thinking about the current pandemic, and how perhaps the black community may be more at risk than other races to suffer more / succumb to the virus.  Or vice versa.  Scary, macabre stuff, I know, but it's difficult not to think about the macabre these days.

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I recall, many years ago, the first commercial air flight I took where the majority of passengers had a tablet device with them.  A new friend, sitting adjacent, had one, and he was excited about "HBO GO" or somesuch app that had recently come available.  He talked (believe it or not) briefly about recently finalized / concluded HBO programming which he'd obviously enjoyed immensely.  Based on what I understood, the HBO GO app would now allow him to seamlessly take the content with him on the go.

When I was a teen, HBO was Home Box Office.  It was film content (all PG-rated before 6 PM during weekdays) with some Fraggle Rock thrown in for good measure.  HBO was "premium TV programming", and as such cost as much or more than all your other cable programming combined.  Hence, few families (here in MS at least) purchased it back in the '80s.

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Terminator was the first R-rated film I believe I screened (in its almost entirety), thanks to HBO (at my best friend's house - one weekend).  I vividly remember sitting adjacent to my friend's older sister (she was 16), and having her detail the following commentary to my 14 year-old self as she provided visual aids with her hands.

"I bet his dick is this long."  

Even today, whilst recounting that moment, I feel dirty inside.  Knowing full well that I shouldn't have been watching due to the corrupting impression that was occurring in real time.

But what was I to do?  How could I possibly look away / leave the room?

I was simply too vulnerable to resist.

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Hollywood is owned by the public.  The companies that make films, small screen programming are publicly owned.  Therefore, they answer firstly to their shareholders.  And their shareholders are concerned with nothing more than market value and dividends.  Therefore, Hollywood entertainment studios push the boundaries constantly in order to grab as much of the public's attention as they can.  And more often than not, that content is hyper-sexualized due to the fact that so many of us are vulnerable to it.

They do not concern themselves with whom is watching.  They do not see that as their business.

There's big money to be made in Hollywood.  At the expense of so many.

But, as we know, the accumulation of material wealth is first and foremost within the minds of men.  People will do just about anything to get rich.

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Where are you vulnerable?  Do you know?  What steps have you taken to protect yourself?  What did that first foray into filth look like for you?  What were the specific circumstances where your young eyes were taken advantage of?  I believe it's important that you document that to yourself in order to attempt to make peace with it if you believe you'd benefit from it.  And finally, are you willing to add to Hollywood's coffers when they refuse to take anyone or anything but their balance sheets into consideration?

A new Samson Society friend told me recently that he'd given his television to a brother in Christ for safekeeping.  I thought that was so brave of him to admit to.  Especially considering the fact that his employer is partially an entertainment company.  Sure, it sounds extreme, but I would argue, during this day and age, extreme measures are needed if you're serious about protecting yourself from your own personal weaknesses.  

Put yourself first in this regard.  Always.  Don't pretend that we're all hardwired the same.  That's what our culture (& Satan) attempts to use to deceive us all.  Either that or he whispers in our ear that we deserve to be entertained with salacious material.  And we all know that's nothing but a crock of shit.

Envelope Problem(s) / Forensic work needed

We've lived in our abode for almost 20 years.  It's recently received a new roof, new HVAC system, and soon some new attic insulation (if the contractor will ever show up to do the work).  Ever since we moved in, we've had (rain)water leaks under the wood floor (within our front room) at the front elevation of the house.  These leaks, over the years, have moved around, but all in all, it's the same nuisance stains that we've simply grown accustomed to seeing (despite the numerous "repairs" / promises of repair that have been executed) in more or less the exact same place.

The results of these leaks are nasty, discolored (almost black) stains / discoloration within the wood that spread from the base of the exterior wall (right under the shoe mold) to about 18" towards the center of the room.  It's not at all unlike looking at a foreboding negative bar chart descending into our living space.

As you might imagine, it looks really bad, and it's embarrassing to attempt to explain when new friends come over (so of course, we cover it up as best we can).

If we ever sell the house, something's obviously going to have to be did about this, and I'm afraid to think what it might cost / how much trouble it will be to accomplish.

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A building's envelope consists of all of its exterior systems (roof / walls) working in tandem to protect the interior from the elements.  Obviously, based on what I've described above, we have had some ongoing envelope problems at our home.  And this proves that our home's envelope isn't doing the work it's supposed to be / was designed to do.

As Christian men, I believe we're also afforded an envelope that shelters our insides, and subsequently keeps us from being infringed upon emotionally.  No matter the circumstance / degree of severity.  And just to be clear, it's primarily anger that I'm wanting to laser in on going forward.

So often, said envelope isn't doing its job for guys, therefore our insides take on external elements that should have been easily shed / redirected from the get go.  From there, he are forced to respond INTERNALLY now that the infiltration is undeniable.

BREACH!

Even though, had the envelope been doing its job, this response would have been unnecessary to begin with.  In other words, it's no doubt impossible to ignore an uninvited guest.

In many ways, it's like one's initial exposure to hardcore porn - no matter the age or circumstance.  I would argue in that instance, it's the breach itself and what it now represents that's most disturbing / makes the most impact versus the salicious material (& what it means to us).  That instance is a pivot point.  A lightening bolt moment that opens our eyes to who we are / have now become in regards to the world around us.  And this is in ways we never imagined prior.

Call it awakening the dragon, if you will.  However you wish to view it, it's a paradigm shift.  And if you know anything about those, they're all about how we see and feel about ourselves in relation to our perception of the world as we know and understand it.

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To summarize, I believe anger is more a response to our own envelope's weak points than anything else.  And yes, I'm definitely discounting the situation itself.

Let me repeat that.

I believe anger is more a response to our own envelope's weak points than anything else.  It's a very impulsive, complex response that can truly take us off guard, and over time, take root as a legitimate personality trait.

After a series of heavy rains, I remember so vividly how powerless I felt all those years ago when I first took note of our front room under floor water leak(s), knowing full well how difficult it would be to uncover exactly what was awry relative to our homes envelope.  It was overwhelming to think about.

And I didn't honestly blame anyone at that point due to the fact that I knew full well how difficult constructing an impenetrable envelope truly is.  Particularly here in Mississippi where on average we receive 60" of rain annually.

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As men, we want to exude strength, perfection, maturity, resilience.  Why?  Because it's what our culture celebrates as attractive, successful - in and amongst men.  Sexy even.  Who's against being sexually attractive?  No one.  Certainly not this day and age.  It is the gold standard for value.  Is it not?

Anger doesn't fit categorically in with what I've just described as the gold standard.  Even that in and of itself - the realization of one's now ugliness, can further fuel anger's grip on us.  Plus, anger is a powerful emotion, motivating us - for the worse, always - to either eviscerate or marginalize (or something in between) - those around us.  Not at all, on the opposite end of the spectrum, as love motivates us conversely.

Therefore, so much of our anger as men isn't justified, and this is due to the fact that it's more of a response to a truth (our own weakness) that is so difficult for us to face with courage.  And subsequently ask for help with.

Many men are in bondage to anger, thanks to it serving at times as lust does.  As a fuel to feel intensely.

The hard truth of being (un)recognized as an imperfect dad can be just as confounding / shaming, if not moreso, than the imperfection itself.

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88.6788!

Years ago, Mr. Don Waller would invite us Samson Society men out to rural Hinds County on some family owned property right around New Year's Eve.  He'd have a bonfire built, and we'd eat fantastic home cooked jambalaya or red beans & rice.  Due to the holiday, there'd rarely be more than 6 or 8 of us that would show up, and in looking back, that smaller scale crowd did make for a more intimate experience.

I can remember on each of these occasions, Don, with sage-like fervor, would ask us to state some upcoming year goals / milestones that we wanted to meet as individual men, and not unlike most of these types of conceptual exercises which I'd taken part in before, I'd quickly forget about them as the new year rolled around.

Interestingly enough though, this weekend I realized, quite surprisingly, that I'd met one of these goals - if not exceeded it - by a long shot!

It was one of those very personal goals that I'd simply forgotten to care about whilst going about my life, and then out of the blue, I excitedly realized the truth.

Now, I'm not a goal setter.  Never have been.  And that's simply due to my wiring.

But this really made my day.  Thanks Don!

When Those You Love Lose Their Faith In You and Your Abilities

[There's something to be said here too for losing one's faith in himself (yourself), but I'll address that farther into this post.]

My first job out of college wasn't more than 6 months old when I began to sense the sole proprietor losing faith in me.  And it was centered around my personality.

I am not a team player.  Never have been.  As an only child with two 'rents who weren't all that much older than I, I spent most of my time alone as a child, 'fending for myself - at least emotionally.  Too, I've never had a mentor (much to my chagrin).  All this plus my having to privately manage my same sex attraction throughout my life, made me who I am.  That being, independent to a fault.

And this did not bode well with my first architect boss.  Therefore, when we lost our largest client, he was not at all remorseful to let me go.  Of course, for me, it was devastating.  Angie and I were only a few weeks into our newlyweddingness.  But God was good, and within 30 days I had a new job with better pay / benefits and more responsibility.  That was almost 25 years ago.

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One of my oldest friends agreed to lunch with me yesterday.  At the end of last year, he walked away ("to take advantage of a better opportunity elsewhere") from a partnership he'd been privileged to be part of.  One where as a business owner, he found himself at the base of a totem pole, always looking upwards to two seasoned businessmen who were 20+ years his senior.  Now, the "to take advantage of a better opportunity elsewhere" portion of the story is what happened publicly.  My old friend had been part of this firm, either as an employee or shareholder, for close to 16 years.  And within my mind, he was a great candidate to buy these men out (upon their retirement), thereby allowing the business to continue forward under his headship, easily carrying on the legacy that his senior partners had established before him.

But that's not what went down since that wasn't what they today had in mind regarding him.

Similarly this week, I had lunch with a client whose partner simply walked out of the firm, taking the majority of the employees with him, leaving behind no real means to carry on with the workload.

In each case, faith in men, their values, and their abilities was lost.  And from there, the relationships (& subsequent partnerships) collapsed in on themselves.

Now, before we talk about the first few sentences of this post, let me zoom in on the particulars.  Because, that's really where the meat is relative to this critical issue.  And when I say meat, I'm referring to the heart of where Samson Society (or something similar to it) might help.

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When my institutional employer lost their faith in me back in '13 (I've cited & expounded on this a good bit within previous posts), I seriously doubt I would have lost my footing emotionally / spiritually - perhaps on any level at all - had the conveyance of said change been more respectfully executed between themselves and me.  And this is the rub within these difficult situations, either as exampled above or certainly within something as interpersonal as a marriage or friendship.  How they're precisely handled matters tremendously relative to communicating the change of heart that's about to upend the relationship.

Regarding vocational relationships, men and women in positions of authority can be cruel, but especially when they feel entitled / are "appointed" to be.  So much so that they may feel justified in - however they feel so moved - to deliver their disappointment, frustration, outrage, and on and on during that critical adjudication.  Never once considering or attempting to empathize with the one on the opposite side of the table.

I speak from experience when I say that 'till you've had your heart submerged into a vat of pejorative acid (by individuals you love / respect / trust), you cannot imagine the emotional fallout that may come from such callousness / unprofessionalism / thoughtlessness.  Especially if these individuals are older than you are.  It really all comes down to circumstances.

But on the flip side of that mess, there's hope still.  Healing for me did come.  In droves.  But, it took years for that to be seen through to its rightful conclusion.  And for me, in particular, because of my independent nature, the impact had to be close to nuclear in order for me to be forced to begin at ground zero.  Which leads me to...

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In closing, what does it mean to lose faith in oneself?

Regarding the aforementioned experience back in '13, my God took it upon himself to allow me to be crushed completely.  Thrown off a cliff emotionally with no safety net.  From there, the pain was so intense that I was unable to hold onto any hope at all.  Never had I experienced such massive emotional trauma.  I suppose you could say the timing was perfect for Satan to execute a full press in an attempt to do me in completely.  And no doubt, God allowed that.

The heart of these accusations (from the devil) had to do with the lie that I truly was worthless.  As I would weep whilst curled up in the fetal position on our closet floor on oh so many nights, I felt these accusations to my very core.  

From there, it was simply a matter of waiting on the Lord to heal me.  Or to put it another way, be rebuilt with my entire focus being on what he would do within me going forward versus me having to cope with my life with only a conceptual idea of God's healing / sovereign power running in the background.

And my involvement during this critical time with Samson Society was the perfect petri dish / safe haven for this to healing to take place within.

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Tonight, I feel for my old friend as well as my client.  May God have mercy on them as he did me.  What an amazing relinquishment of self identity did I experience.  All of which I can only hope for them too.

Lagniappe

Why Do We Sometimes Find Ourselves Mourning / Grieving The Loss Of A Part Of Ourselves That We Should Be Happy To Be Rid Of? / [Who Or What Exactly Is Influencing You?]

Because we're not actually rid of it (to answer my first question).  Especially if the ideals enumerated within that history are celebrated / go viral within our (now digital) culture.

Our lives aren't like a hard drive within a PC that's written over and over.  Who we were and who we are and who we're becoming is a linear narrative.  What's weird is that as an Christian, you'd think this grieving would actually never occur.  Instead, shouldn't we be celebrating?  Nevertheless, the reality is we have memories of who we were in the past coupled with how we once reacted / rationalized / understood the world around us.

But too (and to attempt to continue succinctly answering my first question), we're not necessarily individuals.  Instead, we're part of humanity.  Whatever that means (temperamental point of view / attitude towards fellow man) for each man at whatever point in time he happens to exist within.  Nothing can completely separate us from life, moving forward, on Earth - side by side amongst our neighbors, co-workers, family, and so forth digitally or otherwise.

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The culture continues to degrade, decouple, diminish God's relevancy.  It's happening all around us.  And we cannot stop that from happening.  I mean, we can pray for revival, but otherwise it's out of our control within this Fallen world.  Yet, as believers, we are still no doubt part of that collective despite the fact that this remains no longer our true home.

Hence, we cannot (or at least we should not) extract ourselves from culture.  Nothing in God's word lends credence to this approach.  Otherwise, how would we witness?  No story can be told sans an audience.

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When I was in college, I spent one summer living with my parents in a rental house here in Jackson.  My best friend from high school was also home that same summer, and as a nice gesture, I decided to detail his car for him.

What I learned from this experience was how impossible it was to overlook the neglect he'd wrought onto his poor car, having now attempted to restore it to its once former showroom glory.  Therefore, I never offered to do this again.  Now, it didn't keep me from riding with him in the car, but I did not ever want to be tasked with being able to see the damage his car had endured and continued to endure day after day.

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We see so much about so many people these days thanks to the Internet.  And, I'm not just referring to entertainment, but arguably the very reason the www exists is to provide us with access to an unlimited amount of data on lives lived and living.  Too, you can step farther back and see the same relative to groupings of people, how they behave, what their moral standings are / are not.  Many, many people use this to their monetary advantage online within this influencer age.

For an amateur sociologist like me, it's a fascinating tool / curse, this thing called the Internet.  But, aren't we all becoming amateur sociologist as we search, scroll, post and click?

It's like you can detail every car or a certain portion of every car you see.  Every.  Single.  Freaking.  Car.  Which is insane.  And arguably, completely out of line in how we were meant to live out our lives.

Now, whether or not that online process results in a realistic (of course it does not) pursuit, nevertheless, the process is there for any and everyone who can run a browser to take part in.  We are literally now slaves to the data.

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Everyone knows that detailing automobiles isn't normal human behavior because it's really hard work that takes an immense amount of scrutiny and patience to accomplish well.  Washing a car on the other hand, is normal behavior.  Especially if you have some help from your local automated car wash.  It's an 8 to 10 minute job compared to a 3 or 4 hour job.

To circle back to my friend's car and that summer detailing job I did for him, the impact that reality made on me (his neglect) also reflected back on me from the standpoint that this was my best friend.  Therefore, his neglect was categorized as "very personally recognizable", and therefore undeniable - in so many ways.  Subsequently, I felt ashamed and disappointed.  And not just at him, but at myself for not having been able to necessarily do more...either then or perhaps earlier on.  [Keep in mind that at this time of my life, I was quite the car aficionado.]

Now on the flip side of that internal adjudication, staying within that same "very personally recognizable" realm, I also could have felt similarly ashamed and disappointed in myself, but for a whole different set of reasons.  For instance, I may have then considered myself to have been none the smarter for actually "wasting my time" on keeping my own car in tiptop shape.

Do you see the undeniable influence there relative to both time / effort spent and who I'd dubbed "very personally recognizable"?

This influence points us back to what I wrote earlier on.  Here it is again:

But too (and to attempt to continue succinctly answering my first question), we're not necessarily individuals.  Instead, we're part of humanity.  Whatever that means (temperamental point of view / attitude towards fellow man) for each man at whatever point in time he happens to exist within.  Nothing can completely separate us from life, moving forward, on Earth - side by side amongst our neighbors, co-workers, family, and so forth digitally or otherwise.

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The Internet, for me at least, can serve as a massive junkyard, but it's one where categorically the cars are organized expertly (thanks to search engines) alongside seemingly unlimited toolsets.  Toolsets which make for easy, almost instantaneous salvaging, study, and research.  I love that.

The problem is exacerbated though for guys like me.  Guys who simply can't get enough of cars.

But that's a sorry excuse.  I've bought into the lie (in more ways than one) that there's no way to actually resurrect the dead or at least a portion of yourself that once was (for worse) living, breathing tissue.  Therefore, I've thought for too long that playing it safe online doesn't really apply to me.  How arrogant I've become!

The Insecurity Antidote / Soul Rending

Matt's video below is an abbreviated version of a man's testimony (his own) that echoes my own, in many ways.  Take the time to listen.
I love what he says here about him recognizing that his faith could no longer be built on his shallow understanding of God, and subsequently, that it took suffering (no doubt suffering which even involved the church) for God to realign his understanding / secure himself faithfully to heaven - so to speak.

We look at Bible character after Bible character, and their stories are no different.  When God desires to work within the life of a man, he'll do the necessary work within to ready him for that said work.  And that's the antidote to insecurity.  Experiencing God's restoration / sanctification via his grace cannot be written off.  It is so personal.  So intimate.  So precise.

From then on, it's like your life is anchored to a concrete slab that's a mile deep.

"You Should See Some Of Those Kids [Samson Guys]." / "This Is Not What I Need."

Many years ago, a close friend at our church (Lakeside Pres) relayed he and his wife's rationale for choosing to put their two children in private academies versus public school here in Metro Jackson.  Due to his vocational proximity to our church's youth group (at the time & years prior), he'd adjudicated / averaged the caliber of public school student of his own accord.  From there, his kidlets were ushered off to both First Presbyterian Day School and then onto Jackson Preparatory School, never looking back.

Angie and I went to private academies as elementary / middle / high school students here in both the Jackson and Hattiesburg Metro, but our three girls do not.  Now, keep in mind that we did homeschool for kindergarten and 4th grade only (our oldest two daughters).

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Mississippi is brimming with sexual sinners.  For all the potheads in California, we have the sex addicts / "lovemongers" here in Mississippi.  Mostly, this illicit behavior is fornication amongst the black population, but within the rural areas of our state, it's just as prevalent amongst whites.  Sex is the language of love, so to speak, in Mississippi.  Our motto here is, if you happen to be bored, go find someone to fuck.  And what fuels this is the vacuum of honest, thorough sexual education - across the board (from parents - emotional point of view, teachers - pragmatic point of view, church leaders - spiritual / Biblical point of view) - available to children / young adults here in the Magnolia state.

Fornication fosters pregnancy but especially amongst young adults due to how risk averse they are.  Pregnancy, amongst whites, fosters marriage (which are usually short lived).  And from there, the offspring are thrown into the emotional gutter as they watch their families - completely out of their control - fall apart due to divorce.  Children having to cope with not only the stressors of childhood but also the trauma of the emotional gutter many times end up with tremendous scars.  Those children, if they stay here in Mississippi, will eventually as adults, (thankfully) find themselves in an environment that's much easier than most (economically) to sustain oneself within.  But unfortunately, adults who were reared as children within broken homes are at a higher risk of also ending up introducing their children to the same toxicity.  Therefore, many times, it creates a viscous cycle of emotional gutter living - for Mississippians.

And just a quick side note here.  If you're dumb enough to not recognize that being reared within a broken home isn't equal to being thrown into an emotional gutter, just ask the children to honestly tell you of their experience and how they've had to cope in order to survive it.

Finally, Mississippi is the cheapest place to live within the US.  Everything here (relatively speaking) is cheap.  Therefore, it takes very little money to survive.  Plus, there are so many impoverished Mississippians (most of which are collecting Social Security Disability) that if you have a decent amount of intelligence as well as a GED, you can actually be (with some providential assistance) quite successful (again, relatively speaking).

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Angie and I have three daughters, all from our sole 23 years of marriage (by God's grace).  Our oldest is a junior, middle a freshman, and youngest, a 4th grader.  All of these attend public schools, as I said earlier on.

Our daughters dialogue much about their relational travails with their Mississippi classmates at their respective schools.  Just this past week, our freshman relayed an interesting tale of how some of her missing clothes (out of her backpack during PE class) waltzed into school a few weeks later.  She was aghast to see one of her favorite T-shirts on a fellow 9th grader, and similarly, her gym shorts being modeled by another freshman.

The 4th grader too has tales to share.  Kids who bully by calling names or using profanity.

And too, there's the drug use, or at least what many of their fellow students objectify as such relative to their chosen identity within that regard.  Is it legit?  Who knows.  Acknowledging the fact that (most) teenagers do love to run their mouths.

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One evening this past week, having tallied up most of these tales over the past 30 days, I sat the Turner girls down and explained the realities they're being asked to face by being students amongst all the other Mississippi students within Mississippi public schools.

Thankfully, they took both my commentary in stride as well as (once again), their situation(s).  In fact, they wouldn't have it any other way (as if they knew otherwise).

Now, how does this relate to Samson Society?

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The biggest deterrent to buying into a Samson Society community is stigma, and in many ways, it's an adult version of the exact same stigma that motivates many a Mississippi parent to eschew public schooling (in Mississippi) for their children.

Often men walk into a meeting, and they adorn their haughty eyes.  Eyes of criticality.  Pride.  Arrogance.  And, it's all downhill from there.

Satan's greatest victory is deceiving a newbie into believing that Samson Society MUST BE ADJUDICATED AS A PLACE WHERE HE HIMSELF CAN BENEFIT EXCLUSIVELY.

And when said newbie determines / decides otherwise, he's out of there.  And this is because he's deceived into believing that it's all about his needs / his healing being met.  Exclusively.

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Why do we send our children to public school?

For a number of reasons, one of which is to have them positively influence our beloved Mississippi - for the better.  And no, the Turner girls aren't perfect, but they are fully engaged yet reticent enough to endure whilst giving back / loving well - both their public school teachers and fellow students.

Do our three daughters come from picture perfect homes?  Of course not.  In order to prove that, simply read about their father (me), the author of this SS blog.  Though Angie and I have longevity on our side relative to our marriage, it's no less fragile / vulnerable to our propensity towards sin of every kind.

Public school is hard.  Samson Society is hard.  But both should be because real life is hard - particularly when we're faced with other Mississippian's shit head on.  But, that's okay.  God can and does work in and through those difficulties.

In closing, one sizable differentiator between participating within the Metro Jackson Samson Society and being a Mississippi public school student is there's no parental influence in the background to encourage / motivate you to stay committed.  Therefore, you must rely on God instead, remembering all the while that it's not just about you and where you happen to be at for such a time as this.