How The Ease Of Access (www) To Gay Porn Changed The Course Of My Life (Sans A Buzz From Booze)

My first Silas had / has an addiction to alcohol (& porn) that resulted (2015) in him receiving his first (& only) DUI whilst traveling for work within beautiful Louisiana.  Interestingly enough, it was his son who'd originally attended a Samson Society meeting, and as such, this fortunate juncture (between his son and the First Baptist Church Jackson Samson Society group) resulted in the perfectly timed referral. 

Years ago, a client of mine from north Mississippi admitted too to receiving a DUI (also his first & only).  I couldn't help but ask him for permission to tell my story in response to his quagmire (he'd just applied for some individual insurance coverage via my family business), and thankfully, he was open to that.  From there, I asked about his porn use, and this question took him aback.  I asked specifically if it was chronic - to any degree - whatsoever.  He stated that he only used porn whilst drinking alcohol, and this piqued my interest as to the deeply effective means alcohol has of lowering one's inhibitions.

Me being a teetotaler - in contrast to my first Silas' lifelong relationship with alcohol (& subsequently porn) - forced me to do a lot of soul searching relative to what exactly was behind my chronic use of online smut.  For I wasn't under the influence of any drug whilst consuming, yet I had no inherent revulsion to it.  Instead, it was almost as if I'd literally struck gold.

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Gay porn is photos / videos of men having sex with either themselves or each other, and having lived within Mississippi all of my life, I'd never witnessed this 'till the Internet came on the scene in the late '90s.  It's heady stuff that's repulsive to many men, but not all.  Before I encountered it online, I'd only imagined sexual activity between men, but I'd never witnessed any version of it - live or Memorex.  Therefore, the Internet opened a doorway for me that should never have been opened, yet because of that exposure, many good outcomes were the result as I'll describe in short order.

Two powerfully evocative emotional responses happened at once when this door was opened for Rob.

1.  I no longer felt alone as a man with my particular sexuality.

2.  I was mesmerized by the infinite amount of pornographic imagery available online combined with the unbelievable beauty and captivating nature of those images.

What number 1 primarily did for me was invoke deep seated sadness and confusion that was rooted in how obviously vulnerable men like myself were to sexual sin and exploitation.  All the while, number 2 spurred me on to consume, consume, consume.  As if I was making up for lost time / opportunity.  Combining these two was heart wrenching for me to take.  For I consistently realized that I was neither helping myself nor these gay porn models in the process.

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I was working at an architecture firm back in the late '90s when all of this Internet porn exposure came to fruition within my life.  And the work was interesting and rewarding, but when Angie and I had our first daughter, I needed an additional job to make our budget work each month (she chose to become a stay-at-home mom).  That side job came in the form of janitorial work (at the same architecture firm I was employed at full-time).  This, combined with a horribly demonic newborn baby girl (who didn't sleep completely through the night 'till she was well over one-year-old), did nothing to stave off my thirst for Internet gay porn.  

These were back during the days of dial-up Internet access, therefore we're talking here about very constricted consumption compared to today.  Nonetheless, even this slow-as-molasses access was enough to wrangle me into a seriously emotionally drained mess - day after day - as it harkened back to what I described above.

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The first sizable course correction for me - which came as a result of the ease of access to Internet gay porn - was my desire to find a job that would relinquish me from sitting in front of a computer all day doing nothing more than repetitive grunt / layman's work.  It wasn't that I minded grunt work nor looked down on it.  In actuality, grunt work was peaceful and low, low stress.  But, I couldn't give it the focus I needed to with an Internet browser icon staring back at me seductively.  

Therefore, this resulted in me taking the necessary risks involved in moving jobs, and for Rob, this just happened to result in a move from the private to the public sector.  And this move enabled me to embrace a much more administrative role that was anything but repetitive.  And I really loved and felt proud to be doing this work (for my home state, no doubt) as a 34-year-old Mississippi architect.

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The second sizable course correction for me had to do with courage.  Seeing the scores of naked men participating in all manner of sexually charged poses / activities inspired me to cease hiding what my true needs were.  I believe that the majority of gay sex - whether it's photographed or not - is an outgrowth of men needing / longing for community at its most basic, animalistic, instinctual level.  Men emote most efficiently in and through sexual activity of any ilk.  This is how God made us.

I've heard stories from young Samson guys who've experienced difficult heterosexual romantic breakups, and as a result, driven to NOLA in order to frequent gay bars in pursuit of hookups.  Hookups to placate their implied "now & forever" loneliness funk.  This may sound extreme, but it points back to men's "special connection" between their brain's emotional core and their genitals.

Too, during this time, I was happily married, yet not known - truly known - by any other men.  

Therefore, I began looking online for a friend.  Someone that God might bring my way who could relate to Rob's situation / identity.  And that person came in the form of an Aussie name Scott who blessed me tremendously with his loyalty and encouragement as a Christian friend for +/-18 exuberantly joy-filled months.  From there, I began to talk about my story with more and more Christian (and eventually pagan) men.  Thankfully, the reactions I received were supportive and helpful if not completely demonstrative of genuine respectfulness towards my situation.  This, in turn, convinced me to expand my horizons that much further.

Eventually, I did find that just having one, two or three men - in the know - regarding my story, wasn't enough.  The circle needed to be ever widened.  Hence, I began blogging, and that's when The Architect's Garage blogspot was born.  By the time that blog (5-year lifespan) gained traction online, I was having close to +/-75 visitors (hits) a day from readers all over the globe.  It was a phenomenally effective and super convenient mouthpiece for Rob and his unique story.

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The third sizable course correction for me had to do with my physical health.  Gay porn blatantly reminded me that men were image bearers of God, therefore there was a responsibility there to take care of one's physical self.  At age 36, I began strength training regularly, and at age 37 or 38, I segued  into combining that with distance running.  As a result, my physical body changed for the better alongside my health.  Plus, it gave me credence to work towards overcoming my anxiety relative to the gym / locker rooms.  And over time, I did overcome that anxiety by God's grace, but it was not at all easy.  

On the flip side of this, I absolutely DID NOT go overboard here.  I knew by overdoing it, (more than twice a week in the gym) I would torpedo my goal of lifelong longevity.  And though I'm likely not the sexiest, swolest guy as a result, that's okay.  Consistency / longevity should be every man's end goal when it comes to physical fitness.  Not specific results or gains.  I believe this wholeheartedly.

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The fourth sizable course correction for me had to do with constraints.  Gay porn opened my eyes to just how certain situations weren't workable - on any level - for Rob, no matter how hard I tried to make them work.  And this pointed back to my vocation.  In particular, the setting therein.  

I experience a sort of emotional nirvana whilst surrounded by men (very similar to a much greater degree to the short circuit available via the consumption of gay porn), and this state of mind allows me, at times, to clearly see myself.  And this is AWESOME.  Yet, though these experiences are fantastic, they take their toll if they're prolonged.  Why?  This state of emotional connection with men allows me to see / feel what they're seeing / feeling, therefore these experiences must be rationed.  Otherwise, I get overwhelmed to the point that I can't process much of anything except what these other individuals have given me the opportunity to "upload".  Because of this, I've been dubbed "highly sensitive".  Perhaps that's a true descriptor.  Whatever it is, I cannot handle certain situations but for very controlled lengths of time before I need to return to my sarcophagus.  Alone.

In summary, too much of this masculine groupthink results in me experiencing emotional overload, and when I reach that state of mind, I'm unable to find my center under just about any circumstance.

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Do I thank God for Internet gay porn?  No, of course not.  But I do believe he's used something meant for so much evil to my advantage.  At least relative to my refinement as a man.

Many years ago, I had an online Christian friend who explained to me how his participating in a handful of gay sex trysts had firsthand opened his eyes to the abnormalcy of homosexual practices.  Now, I realized then as well as now that hearing this wasn't / shouldn't give license for me (or other Christian men) to sin.  Instead, it was speaking to the sovereignty of God - even over evil itself.  And it encouraged me to recognize that shame must not become so consuming that it blinds us to God's goodness and faithfulness even within the hardest of places to discuss / admit to / ruminate over.  

God is no prude.  He's not the church lady.  Plus, he's knows how terribly vulnerable we are here within this fallen world of ours, and I believe we forget how sensitive he is to that truth.  Therefore, never underestimate how holistically clever he truly can be within his pursuit of your heart / faithfulness to him.  It is mind boggling to chronicle, if you'll just take the time to do so.

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Should Samson Guys Serve As Deacons / Elders?

It depends.

The Bible clearly qualifies deacons / elders, therefore those qualifications must be considered first & foremost.  

Being involved within the Samson Society can bring about stigma, but involvement therein shouldn't disqualify a man for one of these aforementioned positions by default. 

Every Samson guy is on his own personal journey relative to recovery.  And, his recovery may be focused on something that's not even qualified Biblically as sin.  For example, loneliness or grief.  Those are very different struggles than sexual sin, gluttony, drunkenness, etc.  They're not any less difficult, just different from a Biblical perspective.

When I was a much younger man, I was approached twice relative to being nominated for the position of deacon at First Baptist Church Jackson.  And similarly, I've been approached a handful of times (within the same vein) at Lakeside Presbyterian Church.

My litmus test for how I responded to that approach was as follows.

Was I - at that point in time - still actively engaged (regularly) in Rob's struggle with chronic sexual sin (gay porn consumption / lust)?

My answer to that question - each time it was asked internally - was a resounding "YES"!

Therefore, I politely declined each invitation.

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I'm thankful to report that I haven't consumed any gay porn since December of 2020 (thanks to The Path).  There's only been one other time within my life where I've put this much "distance" between myself and gay pornography, and that was +/-10 years ago.

Most men - who attend church (and pastor churches) regularly - consume Internet porn at a similar pace (as their church attendance).  And when I type "Internet porn", I'm not referring to just porn available via the tube (YouPorn) channels (which tends to be hardcore).  I'm referring also to social media, YouTube, Netflix, etc. (which tends to be softcore but no less effectively titillating).

Here's Rob's definition of Internet porn.

Internet porn is any imagery that promulgates lustful thoughts within your grey matter.  And more often than not, these lustful thoughts lead to eventual illicit sexual activity between the individual and someone other than their spouse.

In closing, many Christian men (in leadership positions or not) are on a spiritual trajectory to hell because of their marginalizing these unfortunate decisions.  Therefore, a fair number of men who serve as pastors, elders, deacons within our churches need our prayers for not only wisdom to lead but for the conviction to also extract themselves (repent) from these poor choices.

The Toxicity Of (Samson Society) Slander & Gossip / Strive To Stay At The Bottom Level Of The Ziggurat Pyramid

This past week I manned a trade show booth at an annual summer convention that caters towards one of the professions my family business (which is where I'm employed) gravitates towards.  I've manned this particular booth (almost always within the same venue) for seven years.

Prior to this annual event, I establish goals for myself relative to the efforts I'm slated to put forth there, and one of those goals for this year had to do with Rob making a professional connection with one - in particular - (out of four) of the gatekeepers of this particular national organization.  This particular gatekeeper is the newest to the group, having been appointed +/-3 years prior, and subsequently, the last one to having a working relationship with Rob.  

But unfortunately, perhaps due to my big mouth, that newly hoped for professional connection (& subsequent goal) didn't come to fruition during the event.  To be more specific, I let a slanderous comment slip immediately prior to the opening reception on Thursday night.  And this comment was relayed to very much the wrong individual (the gatekeeper's employee) at the wrong time.  

Stupid Rob.

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I offer the following truth.

All of us adjudicate others by default.  It's essentially sizing up, and it's especially prevalent (easy to execute) amongst individuals who're - more or less - established within the same plane.  And keep in mind that everything within our culture - as well as the very economic system we reside within - as Americans, is coded within the language of performance-based judgement / rank (which by definition runs counters to the gospel).  Case in point are Samson Society facilitators and how their personas respond to the roles they've volunteered for.  These men, no doubt, are each distinctly different in their approach.  Yet, they've chosen to take on the responsibilities embedded within facilitating which makes them easy targets.

Another facet of being a member of the Samson Society community is warranted, consistent attendance (sometimes many years of attendance) to a particular group(s).  And this can fuel what I call ziggurat (stepped) pyramid judgement - with each level of the pyramid (ascending from bottom to top) representing less and less doubt -  relative to your sizing up of an individual, setting, etc.  And this ziggurat pyramid construction "process" (moving upwards towards a more concretized opinion or point) tends to happen faster / with less effort the older (more experienced) you are (I speak from experience here).  As such, once you reach that pyramid's zenith, one's opinion is no doubt established, and that's when you're probably screwed.  For I've seen firsthand how no man can benefit from Samson Society (or any other horizontal community) when they've figured everything / everyone else out.  As such, to expound on that observation, this personal "triumph" may also result in potential slander ensuing whilst being within that particularly arrogant state of mind (like I was last week at the aforementioned convention).

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Here's another truth.

Tension exists between certain men.  It's inevitable.  And that's not necessarily a negative truth.  Sometimes there's even tension between Samson Society facilitators because, they too are men.  At times, this tension is managed with relational distance coupled with an intentioned reduction in communication.  And I would argue that this tends to be a risky approach due to the fact that solid communication is always, always a key to success relative to relationships, organizations, etc.  Satan will undoubtedly use this easy out to his advantage in weakening the relationship.  

I write all of this primarily for me myself to read.  For I'm no better than any other man at keeping my head clear of judgmental thinking.  One of the primary attributes (character traits) of Mr. Nate Larkin is humility (I'm so fortunate to know him and to have witnessed this personally).  He literally reeks of it.  And as the author / creator of the Samson Society, I continue to bestow much admiration on him because of that particular approach to leading / modeling towards involvement within (how to) the Samson Society community.

In closing, the best way to not commit slander is to steer clear of filling your noggin with judgment about anyone or any group.  And if you cannot cease from doing this, it may be best to remove yourself from the community 'till you mature a bit more within that vein.

For once it's out of your mouth, it's not ever going back.

Lagniappe

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"To Bloom Where You Are Planted" - Finding Peace In The Places Where Life Takes You

 

We Should Bloom Where We Are Planted...

In the video clip above, two friends are standing on a bridge. The character of Lee has been trying to encourage his friend, Griffith, to abandon his family and to leave the state of Mississippi in order to pursue better opportunities. Griffith, rooted firmly into the soil of Mississippi, is very reluctant to leave, and ultimately ends up staying in his beloved Mississippi. This clip is one that has always resonated with me.

When I turned 40 years old last September, it didn't really hit me all that hard. Really, my 40th birthday came and went just another day in my life. It was nothing special, and I had previously requested no parties, accolades, or surprises from my family. Of course, being in the middle of the Covid 19 pandemic help to ensure that any birthday celebrations would be at a minimum. For months prior to my birthday arriving, the thought had been lingering at the back of my mind that I would soon approach 40 years of age, and would soon embark on my 40th journey around the sun. Longevity does not seem to be in my favor, as all four of my grandparents passed away before ever reaching their 90s. My longest living grandfather was 87 when he passed away four years ago, while both of my grandmothers passed away in their 70s. Arriving at my 40th birthday served as a sobering reminder to myself – I am more than likely halfway through living the earthly life that God has blessed me with here. Of course, I very well know that none of us are guaranteed tomorrow, and I could very well die at any moment, a victim of any number of maladies. But when I take into consideration that my natural lifespan (Lord willing) is most likely going to be the mid-80s at maximum, it is indeed a sobering thought.

I spent so many years of my life living in anger and denial, repressing things that had happened to me and not knowing how to process those thoughts, or even understanding that I should begin to process those thoughts. Thoughts of guilt, shame, anger, hurt, bitterness, and betrayal; all these thoughts were packed up in the boxes in my attic, and I was determined to never go up in the attic and bring those boxes down or to let anyone else see the contents of those boxes. Being a part of Samson has forced me to make several trips up into the attic began to take the boxes down and go through the pieces – shattered pieces of my life – and look at them and figure out what the heck to do with them. Since becoming involved in Samson back in 2014, I have been on a journey of self-discovery, examination, acceptance, healing, forgiveness, and just allowing myself to be loved by others. It hasn't been an easy path, and there have been many times where I have slid back. But with the help of others and with God, I've made a lot of progress.

Due to the nature of my dad's job, we were very mobile when growing up. Over the course of my K-12 years, I went to any number of schools within three separate school districts. By the time that I arrived in Petal, Mississippi in the summer of 1993, I was shutting down. I was angry, bitter, incredibly hurt, and unable to express myself to anyone. Growing up in a relatively rural area in the 1990s, there was no one to open up to and even if there had been, I certainly would not have known how to even begin to do so. The older that I grew, the harder that my heart grew. By the time I reached the end of my high school years, I was drifting. To intensify an already rough situation, my family dynamics were extremely strained during my 11th to 12th-grade years. At the beginning of my freshman year in college, my dad's job transferred him to Louisiana, and he, my mom, and my younger brother all moved off and left me to attend college in Mississippi. I was not sure what I wanted to do when I got out of high school, but my parents absolutely put their foot down and insisted that I must go to college. Looking back, I think that it would've been a much wiser decision if I had taken a year off between high school and college to work and to just find myself and to just find my way in life. But I didn't.

It is a long story, but straight out of college I was hired by a national corporation that ran the largest store in Grand Canyon National Park on the south rim. Originally, I was set to begin teaching overseas (my college degree was in English) in the fall, and I simply wanted to go out West for the summer just to get away and to experience life someplace other than Mississippi. Little did I know, but when I arrived at the Grand Canyon National Park store, they would like me so much that they put me to work upstairs in the accounting department on a permanent basis. What was intended to be a summer job turned into a two-year gig which found me living at the National Park on a full-time basis. My time there was bittersweet, and I was haunted for so many years upon my return to Mississippi by the experiences that I had out there and some of the things that I had done.

My beautiful bride and I met when we were in college together. We dated for two years in college, then went our separate ways after we graduated from the University. We decided to stay together long-distance while I was in Arizona, though I will be the first to tell you that it is incredibly hard to maintain any type of relationship over a long distance. After two years in Arizona, I received news of my beloved maternal grandmother's failing health and so I made the decision to leave my job in Arizona time back to my home state of Mississippi to start graduate school for my first Master's degree, get married, and spend time with my grandmother. My wife (then fiancée) moved to Clinton, Mississippi in the fall of 2007. We were married that December in 2007, and only intended to be in Clinton for the duration of the time that I was in graduate school.

I had such grandiose plans for our lives – we were going to go to another state (preferably somewhere with less humidity) and live a beautiful life blissfully happy in a place that was anywhere but in Mississippi as most of my other relatives have done. But something really strange happened along the way. We somehow got stuck in a time warp, and it is now 2021 – nearly 14 years later. And guess what? We are still living in Clinton, Mississippi. Not only are we still living in Clinton Mississippi, but we also have a house, a kid, three dogs, and many, many friends here. I was thinking about that the other day. In a mere few weeks, my son is about to start his second-grade experience in elementary school. Even as recently as a few years ago, my wife and I struggled with trying to figure out what in the heck we wanted to do with our lives. While we both have great jobs here, we have family scattered all over the United States. Aside from my mom and dad, we are basically the only ones still here in Mississippi. Well, that and I also have an eccentric great aunt that means the world to me and that we love dearly. During the time that we have been married, we have buried all four grandparents, a great uncle, another great uncle, and my wife's grandmother. So we really do not have that much family left here in Mississippi.

But you know, it really is a funny thing. You don't have to be related by blood in order to be family with people. My wife and I have a wonderful church family that we love dearly, and I have never had a chance to be a part of the same church for more than 13 years. Prior to moving to Clinton, I had never had the opportunity to live for nearly 14 years in one location. My Samson family is here, my friends are here, my job that I love dearly is here, and my church family is here as well.

People knock on Mississippi all the time and say what a horrible place it is to live. But they just don't know. I have lived out West, and I have also had the pleasure of visiting many other states. While the weather here is warm in Mississippi, the people are even warmer. You just don't find the graciousness, kindness, and generosity in a lot of people in other states as you do in the people of Mississippi.

I am 40 years old, and there are still times when I feel like I am stuck in a rut – I have lived in the same house, been married to the same woman, gone to the same church, had the same dog, and lived in the same town for nearly 14 years now. Part of me thinks that it shows a lack of ambition on my part to not want to advance past the confines of Mississippi and find a better life elsewhere. But then it really hit me all of a sudden last year when I hit 40 years old during Covid – it is an absolute blessing! When my wife and I asked our son the other day if he ever wanted to move, he said no, "I love my church, my friends, and my school!" And then I thought to myself – the grass is not always greener and what a wonderful gift it is that God has given me to be able to provide my son with the stability that I did not have when I was growing up. My wife was born in El Paso Texas, the daughter of a high-ranking military official. Although her parents eventually got divorced, she spent her early childhood being bounced around from city to city and she and her brother both have PTSD as a direct result of this. My wife and I directly attribute our respective childhoods as a contributing factor in our hesitancy to move in our adult years.

My wife and I talked a few weeks ago and we both realized that at some point over the past year, we both individually came to the conclusion that this is home. Perhaps there is more money to be made in other states. Perhaps there are better opportunities in other states. Perhaps we have grown complacent and become stuck in a rut. But you know what? That is okay. God is good, all the time. And all the time, God is good. He has given me so many opportunities here in Mississippi to continue to pour into others, as well as let others pour into me. The wounds of my childhood have finally begun to heal. The comfort that I feel living here in my house with my beautiful bride, wonderful son, and three annoying dogs is never something that should be taken for granted. Nor is it something that should be seen as a sign that I am stuck in a rut. I heard God say last year very clearly: live where you have been planted my child and enjoy this gift that I have given you while living the life that I have blessed you with.

My wife and I have always loved to travel. These days, we don't travel nearly as much as we did before the days of having a kid, as we are bound by the constraints of full-time jobs, the kid's schedules, dogs, and a household to manage. But we do travel, it is usually to visit relatives in other states. But you know the funny thing? Whenever I am returning to my home in Clinton and I hit the home stretch of road, a huge smile slowly spreads its way across my face and I think to myself "I am home."

I finally understand that whether it's the life I had imagined, I am living the life that God had planned for me in the place he decided to put me. And there, I have found healing.

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Taking Stock Of What Satan Has Done To You & Yours

Anger towards Lucifer (Satan), I have found, can be quite the distiller.  And sure, we all should be generally angry towards him and evil overall.  This generalized approach can serve to provide clarity as to (in opposition) the believability of God's character.  In other words, a sizable number of individuals recognize their need for Christ / comprehend the gospel as an outgrowth of their distinct run-ins with evil (& more often than not, this manifests itself within childhood) either within or outside of themselves.

But what I'm referring to here by saying "taking stock" is specific disgust / vitriol towards the ruler of this world as we know it.  Specifics pertaining to you and yours - both historically and present day - and how / what damage has been wrought.  

Why?  Why embrace that justified anger towards a being we as Christians clearly know is there but we cannot see?

For me, I find it serves to defuse so much of the machinations he's used and continues to use - specifically towards me - relative to his consistent accusations.

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The Bible clearly states that Satan is an accuser, and that he's the ruler of this world during this present age.  But, we also know that Satan is leashed by God due to God's overarching sovereignty and will.  

We know that Satan was one of many fallen angels who were thrown down from heaven as punishment for an attempted insurrection that was centered on the notion that Satan arrogantly considered himself superior to God.  

We know that Satan was the most beautiful of the angels (with no doubt an ego to match).  

The Bible states that Satan is bent on stealing, killing, and destroying, and that he prowls around like a roaring lion anticipating his next victim.

Satan is a spirit (bodiless), therefore he's unable to age or die of natural causes.  

Satan's reign of terror has a definitive endpoint according to God's word during the last of days.

When Jesus ministered during the final three of his 33 years here on Earth (before ascending to heaven), he engaged often with individuals who were possessed by demonic spirits (both singular and plural).  Too, Jesus, prior to the official start of his 3-year ministry (but after he'd been baptized by John the Baptist), engaged directly with Satan during a lengthy (40 days) period of "testing".

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How do we then, take stock, of Satan's wicked influence within our lives?  Here are my recommendations. 

I believe the only way it's truly possible to accomplish this is to humble yourself firstly.  For it's through humility, I believe, that you can see with more clarity behind the "veil" of this emotionally charged existence of ours.  

A humble heart takes the bottom-up approach.  Think of it as observing life whilst lying down at the bottom of a deep swimming pool.  Whilst there, you're cognizant of the weightiness of the water and the pressure differential between you and the surface.  Hence, you're keenly aware of your quite vulnerable "place" within the grand scheme of things.

In short, we can dub it fearful and therefore nonjudgmental observation.

From there, it's all about asking the Holy Spirit to open your eyes, and my recommendation therein is to start with those closest to you (siblings / parents / grandparents / uncles / aunts / friends).  All of which, no doubt, have made a significant impact on you yourself from which love has been borne out of.

The end result is to Listen.  And Look.  And Record.  And from there, experience the slow burn that comes with becoming enlightened to / cognizant of Satan's influential track record.

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A lot of Samson guys use the word "triggers" to describe catalysts for "subversive thinking".  It can be anything that gets them mentally / emotionally off track and headed south.  For me, one of the most powerfully armoring defenses against these unscripted events is one's keen focus on / holistic recollection of Satan's wiles - both personally and familial.  Sort of like a manageable, sobering dread.

Take, for example, viewing Internet porn as an end result (breakaway) of a supposed triggering experience.

As we all know, Internet porn, on the surface is incredibly alluring, beautiful, customizable, and so forth.  But if you take into account all that you've witnessed secondhand via Samson Society (or otherwise) regarding the fallout / destruction Internet porn usage can cause to a Christian man, his family, etc.; this may very well serve as combustible material towards the aforementioned incendiary burn.

Another example and one much more personal.

At least once a year, I stop by to visit an old college friend's gravesite in Louisville, MS.  His death was premature, and more than likely, it was self-inflicted.  His story is desperately tragic, no doubt one of regret and despair as Satan influenced primarily through a massive embracing and wholehearted trust of our entertainment culture.  

And on and on it goes as the bodies seemingly pile up all around (particularly as you approach middle-age).

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In closing, how do we master this taking stock without becoming jaded?

I think the only answer to that is as follows.  In tandem with this measured, curfewed pursuit, staying as hopeful and sure of God's promises towards us as seemingly possible (Bible study / prayer).  Remembering always too his consistently working to save, transform, and redeem us in and through our obedience and faith.  Journaling with this specific focus is an excellent tool to accomplish this.  

And finally, always, always keeping a healthy sense of humor alive about everything (including yourself).  Laughter is a gift from God that works in perfect opposition to the hydration of a callous outlook.  

A bittersweet understanding of life, I believe, is in sync with how Christ modeled God the Father for each of us.  This has been one of my most powerful weapons whilst standing my ground against our greatest enemy.

  

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Bridges, Part Three – “The Dangerous Bridge” Feat. Lauren Daigle’s “Rescue””

Bridges Part Three - "The Dangerous Bridge" Feat. "Rescue"

Happy Sunday, everyone! Stephen here. It has, quite regretfully, been a minute or so since I have posted anything on this blog. In my last post, I kind of semi-shared the seismic shift that my career has taken over the past few years. Although I remain loyal to and quite rooted in the field of academia, I found myself changing gears and heading towards a career as an academic librarian of some kind. Now, I want to assure you that this was not even a career choice that was ever on my radar; however, it is something that I sort of unassumingly fell into. After about four years, I was told that I would have to go back to school to obtain a second master’s degree to stay at my current job and subsequently become eligible for advancement in my career. So back to school, I went; I started the second master’s program in January of 2019. ­­­­Going back to obtain the MLIS was quite the undertaking; raising a family, being a dad, and working full time is a tall order on its own, never mind adding in the additional stress of attending graduate school for 7 semesters straight in a row (Spring, Summer, Fall in 2019 / 2020, and Spring 2021) without a break. But I pushed myself, finished with my 4.0 intact, and graduated this May 2021. It was definitely a very ambitious undertaking and one that required a lot of faith, time, and money. For privacy reasons, I cannot even get into what we went all went through in my job situation, but 2019 and 20 were very tumultuous times for my work family. At the same time that I was competing in my second graduate school rodeo, I was adapting to and feeling the effects of some seismic changes at work. I did not even know if my efforts would pay off in the form of a promotion within my current workplace. There were no guarantees about anything. There was many a day when I would go home at night after work feeling so frustrated and down and angry at the world. I started to go back into a state of depression, and I began to take out my anger on everyone and everything in my path. I was angry at everyone at work and angry at the world in general. Looking back, I’m ashamed at how bad off I let myself get.

My friend Roddy and I go way back – to our high school days even. In my next blog posting, I will formally introduce him, as well as share some of his story and some of the history and back story of our friendship. Our friendship has taken many twists and turns over the years, and it has also had its fair share of ups and downs. Today, Roddy holds the distinct honor of being one of my oldest friends that I keep in touch with as well as one of my best friends. In this season of life, he and I are sharing a camaraderie born of fatherhood; a sort of camaraderie that can only be discovered by hanging out in the trenches of raising children that are similar in ages. Our friendship has gone through many phases; together, we have experienced the mountaintops and have forded the valleys…we have drifted apart at times and grown closer at other times. Over the past few years, we have made more of an intentional effort to cultivate our friendship, and I love the big lug fiercely with a love that can only be shared by the closest of brothers. Our wives and our children are very close to each other, and we just enjoy each other’s company.

 

During a recent visit with his family to Mississippi, Roddy and I had the opportunity to hang out together for several days. Since I was taking some time off from work, he and I decided that we would have an “adventure day” of sorts. He mentioned that he had visited Natchez one time in his early childhood, but always had the desire to go back. So, I said okay, “Why don’t we plan a day trip to Natchez to eat some catfish and look at the river, but make several interesting stops along the way?” My wife and I visited the “Ruins of Windsor” many years ago during the early years of our marriage, but I have always wanted to return for another visit. I suggested that we first make that stop, and then visit another Mississippi landmark that I had never seen before: “the ghost town of Rodney, Mississippi.” Early that morning, we departed from my home in Clinton and set off down the Natchez Trace where we enjoyed a leisurely drive as we headed towards the ruins. We found the ruins easily enough using the navigation system in Elliott, my trusty sidekick of seven years. We enjoyed great conversation as the country music radio station quietly played on the satellite radio in the background, the music only occasionally interspersed with Elliott’s voice as he expertly guided us to the ruins.

Happy 7th Anniversary "Elliot" - The places we've been!

Happy 7th Anniversary, "Elliot" You didn't look this good after Old Rodney Road got ya...

With ole Roddy, shortly before heading down Old Rodney Road

We didn’t stay at the ruins all that long on that day, but we did enjoy looking around as we took a few pictures. Years ago, when my beloved and I first visited the ruins, there was only a small little chain around the ruins serving as a barricade. Now, in 2021, there is a large chain-link fence that encompasses the entire perimeter of the ruins. I heard that it was installed due to idiots vying for the Darwin Award of the year; apparently these idiots had been caught trying to climb the ruins. Now, I am not the world’s smartest person, but I believe that even the village idiot would recognize that these ruins are not stable. Nonetheless, the ruins are still spectacular even surrounded by the ugly black chain-link fence. As we left the ruins, I plugged in the address for the old town of Rodney, Mississippi into Elliott’s navigation system. With George Strait ruminating in the background and Elliott’s authoritative voice occasionally directing us, we left the ruins and set off down the road towards the desolate destination of Rodney, Mississippi.

I must admit that after seven years of driving around in Elliott, I have discovered that he quite often possesses a penchant for routing me to my destination via the most roundabout route possible. In seven years, he has never failed to get me to my destination but has often taken me along the scenic route. These days, I am more inclined to use the Google maps app on my phone since Elliott’s map is the same one he left the factory within 2014. Being the tightwad that I am, I have never felt the need to spend the $200 + dollars that Hyundai demands in order to update the map on his Sat-Nav system. For the most part, this is not a problem unless you happen to be driving around in an area that has been constructed since 2014. As we all know, the area surrounding Rodney, Mississippi has been around since pre-Civil War days, so I felt that it was sufficiently safe to let Elliott guide to Rodney, Mississippi. I must admit that I had been absently driving, following directions as they were given, but not really paying attention to where I was going. Roddy and I were having a good conversation and listening to some Garth Brooks on the radio when suddenly Alcorn State University appeared before us. In shock, I looked at Roddy and said “Dude, this ain’t no ghost town! This is an HBCU!” I had never visited the campus of Alcorn State University, and though being the academian that I am made me very curious to tour the campus, I was far more interested in arriving at my intended destination of Rodney, Mississippi.

As I pulled up to the guardhouse, a very nice employee came out and peered at us curiously. “Good afternoon, ma’am,” I said. “We’re trying to find the town of Rodney Mississippi with the old Presbyterian Church and this crazy car has done brought us to your university instead!” “No, honey,” she said, “this car has brought you to the exact place you need to be.” “If you follow the directions, your car is going to take you to the very back of our university where you will find old Rodney Road which starts on the backside of our campus.” “Oh, okay,” I said. “Thank you very much for your help.” “If I was you, I’d be really careful, honey” she said. “I’m not sure that a little old thing like that will make it down old Rodney Road!” she said, giving my car a dubious glance. “Women!” I said, glancing at Roddy. “They sure do have a flair for the dramatic sometimes!” Slowly, we navigated through the lovely campus of Alcorn State University when Elliott suddenly said, “turn right and proceed straight.” Suddenly, I put on the brakes and stared in utter shock.

The relative safety of the blacktop suddenly ended as we left the university behind us. Before us, stretched a one-lane, dirt logging road that looked to have not seen any traffic since the heyday of Rodney in the 1800s. “Oh, hell no, we’re not going down this road in Elliott,” I told Roddy in a horrified voice while patting Elliot’s dashboard reassuringly. We will never make it. In absolute frustration, I turned off Elliot’s Sat-Nav system and got my phone out and pulled up Google maps. After surveying the map, I determined that the only other alternative we had would be to leave the University going back the way we had come and take another roundabout way that would eventually get us to Rodney. Or, I could grit my teeth and say my prayers while driving the 6 miles down old Rodney Road. I look at Roddy, and he said “I think we will be fine, man.” “I’m sorry, buddy!” I mentally whispered to Elliott as we set off down one of the worst roads I have been down in recent years. Now, if I had been in old Henry, my 1988 F150, I would have gone all out pretending that I was Uncle Jesse Duke in the Dukes of Hazard. But as it was, we were stuck in Elliott with his approximately 2 inches of ground clearance going down some of the roughest terrain he has ever been down. Slowly, I moved back and forth all over the road, weaving in a manner that would have made the drunkest of drivers proud. I wish so badly that I had thought to stop and take a picture of that forsaken country, but as it was, my white-knuckled hands were so busy gripping the steering wheel in a death grip that they did not have much time to do anything else such as taking pictures. Suddenly, I came to an abrupt stop; before me lay an obstacle that I simply could not circumnavigate no matter how much I tried.

I don’t know how many of you have ever had the absolute pleasure of navigating old Rodney Road, but if you have by any chance been down that road, you will know that it is barely wide enough for even a small sedan like Elliott. With its steep embankments on either side, there is simply nowhere to turn around and nowhere to go except forward or backward. All I could think about was Lord help us if we meet anyone coming down this forsaken road. One of us would have surely had to drive in reverse all the way back to the place where we had started. We have had an enormous amount of rain this summer. I, for one, have never seen my grass stay such a beautiful shade of emerald green in the midst of July! Normally, my grass is half-dead by this point because I simply do not water it as I should when there is insufficient rain. This year, it is an absolute half an acre of lush emerald carpet that must be cut every week. Apparently, old Rodney Road has seen the same amount of rainfall! Before me was this enormous mud puddle/mudhole that spanned the entire width of the road. No, there was certainly no circumnavigating that one! I looked at my map and determined that we had gone approximately 3 miles at that point; we had approximately three more miles to continue to Rodney. I looked up at Roddy and said “I don’t know about this, man!” He looked back at me and said “What are you going to do? Go backwards all the way to the University? I decided at that point that it would be way too difficult to navigate all the potholes in reverse; certainly, it had been hard enough work navigating them going forward! With no choice, I hit the gas, closed my eyes, and said my prayers.

I had absolutely no idea how deep the mudhole was; indeed, deciding to proceed forward was an act requiring equal parts of blind faith and stupidity. I felt the car dip down and start to slide all over the road. Now, you should know that Elliott came from the factory with low-profile 17 inch, extra wide, high-performance tires. They were never intended to tackle anything like old Rodney Road threw at them. As I continued to press down on the gas pedal, I felt the wheels spinning and the car sliding and I looked at Roddy and said “Oh, snap! I don’t think AAA will ever find us out here, much less be able to tow us back!” About the same time that I said that the tires once again caught traction on the dry land on the other side of the mud hole and off we continued. We made it to Rodney without any further incident, and I lifted a prayer of thanksgiving once we had safely parked and exited Elliott. Our time in Rodney was rather uneventful; we could not actually go up to the old Presbyterian Church to see it as it is currently undergoing renovations and structural repairs. We did get a lot of pictures and never saw another soul from the time that we left the university until we arrived in Natchez except for one old man plowing a field on a tractor right outside of Rodney.

As we prepared to leave Rodney, I once again consulted my Google maps. I noticed that there was a bridge up ahead on Muddy Bayou Road listed on the map as the “Wooden Bridge of Death.” “Roddy!” I exclaimed. “We have to go see this bridge.”

As Roddy scanned the horizon ahead and looked down the ominous dirt road which seemed to disappear in the bushes, he said “Haven’t we tortured your poor car enough for one day?” “Yeah, probably so” I replied. Since it only looked to be a quarter of a mile down the road, we set down the road on foot. Suddenly, we came to the Wooden Bridge of Death which did look kind of spooky as there were no guardrails at all to be seen on either side of the bridge.

Hmm...doesn't look too dangerous....

Scary???? Or not????

We Survived! Didn't die.

The "Wooden Bridge of Death"....say what?????

After taking the obligatory selfie to offer up as proof to our wives that we had indeed survived walking across the Wooden Bridge of Death, we headed back to Elliott where we proceeded to set off in Natchez under the expert direction of his Sat-Nav system.

            The month of May and part of June were spent in an absolute state of fog. For some reason, I started slipping into a sort of state of depression during the time immediately following my graduation in early May. For so long, I had fought, I had pushed, and I had been through so much at work, all while trying to be a husband, a father, a friend, a son, a brother, and a devoted follower of Christ. I am ashamed to say that much of 2019 and part of 2020 were spent living within the angst that comes from telling God “Hey, thanks, but I got this, I can do this by myself.” Feelings of doubt, anger, uncertainty, and sadness plagued my life for the first part of the time that I was in graduate school. In the middle of 2020, after everyone at my university, had returned to work in person, I recall hearing Lauren Daigle sing “Rescue” on the radio. I remember just breaking down and telling God that “I don’t got this after all. I need you, and I need you to guide me and deliver me through this rough season of life.” From that moment on, I felt like God was telling me “I have you, son. I got your back, and I will never leave you. Just wait on me and I will rescue you, and I will show you what the path that I have laid out for you looks like in due time.” From that moment on, I felt like God was just telling me to wait and be patient. In early 2021, I applied for a different job at a much larger university, but nothing ever came of it. My co-workers really did not want me to leave anyway. Again, I heard God clearly say “sit tight, be patient. I got your back.” In April, God made it clear to me that his plan for this season in my life is just to stay and grow where I have been planted. A brand-new professional position was created for and given to me upon my graduation. All the months that I doubted God, questioned him and was very impatient with him turned out to be all for naught. Whether or not we know it, whether or not we understand it, or whether we choose to accept it, his plan for our lives is unfolding in his own time as he intends for it to, and we are simply powerless to stop it. All we can do is sit back and go with the flow and watch all of the puzzle pieces begin to connect as God puts them into place.

            Just as that trip down old Rodney Road proved to be quite the test of faith, the past couple of years of my life have also been a test of faith. I learned something going down old Rodney Road – sometimes when you have a big ole mud hole sort of obstacle in your life, you can’t stop and give up. You can’t blindly back up for 3 miles. No, the only option that you have in life is to simply put the pedal to the floor and proceed full strength ahead with wheels spinning and tires slinging mud! God will rescue you and see you through. Just like I never gave up halfway through graduate school and continued to move ahead, blindly, not knowing where that path was going to lead me, I had no choice but to move forward down old Rodney Road and trust that God was going to pull me through. Either God or a tow truck driver that he would hopefully send from AAA. In life, it is sometimes far more dangerous to quit mid attempt and to try to backpedal. Even though the road ahead seems dangerous (and full of “pseudo” dangerous bridges), we have no choice but to continue forward and trust that God will pull us through and “rescue” us.

            Roddy and I survived both the trip down old Rodney Road and the “Wooden Bridge of Death” that day! God has been gracious to both of us and individually, has brought us through so much in our respective lives. In part four of the “Bridges” series, I will formally introduce Roddy to you and share some of his amazing story as well as give some back story into our deep and storied friendship. Until next time, Godspeed!
 
Stephen

"Where Have You Been?"

I hope to successfully relay here an experience that took me off guard whilst retreating last weekend in Blue Ridge, GA, and I want to do that to hopefully drive a point home about what can be the healthy, helpful uncomfortableness of pursuit.  

Having arrived last Friday, (7/9) at the beautiful venue there in Blue Ridge with my colleagues, I was dog tired, having been up since 3:30 AM that morning.  The majority of the +/-7 hour drive I'd either farmed out to others (who I retrieved en route) or experienced entirely as a carpooler.  And that made for a much easier trip, yet I couldn't deny my exhaustion mixed with excitement.

A Samson guy from Mobile, AL had agreed to rendezvous with me (& an old Samson friend whom I'd retrieved in Northport, AL), and we did so in Montgomery, AL.  This guy was referred to Rob by one of the retreat co-leaders (my old friend, Mr. Chris Inman).  Being from Mobile, AL (as the co-leaders were), he'd therefore be driving through Montgomery.  As such, it made sense to meet up there.

Upon doing so, I found myself queried a good bit from the front seat whilst en route from Montgomery on up to north GA by my now very new Samson friend / practically a stranger chauffer.  And these inquiries were no doubt promulgated by my initial decision to volunteer an encapsulated version of my story (focused primarily on the past 9 years and my subsequent involvement in Samson Society).  I did this with the hope (as usual) to create some sense of trust / comraderie.  Plus, my new friend, despite his needing to command the wheel of his Camry, was listening with unusual attentiveness as his eyes shifted back and forth between the traffic ahead and backseat me in his rearview mirror.

We arrived at the beautiful retreat venue just a few minutes after start time (5 PM EST).  And from there, delved immediately into the weekend's programming with all 14 very excited to be retreating Samson guys.  That evening, as you might imagine, I slept like a dead man with so much involuntary snoring to annoy all of my three bunkmates.

More retreat programming was to be had Saturday morning after a hearty breakfast until Saturday afternoon arrived.  From there, we had free time to do whatever suited each individual, and as such, some went fishing (Ocoee River), others hiking.  But for me, I went napping (after a hot shower and shave).

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What surprised me were four words that sprang forth reflexively from my aforementioned very new friend from Mobile, AL later on that Saturday afternoon.  Hence, the title of this post.  

After I awoke from my wonderful nap (there alone in the then vacated lodge), I eventually re-engaged with another new Samson friend whom I'd met there at the retreat itself (late Friday evening), and this guy also happened to be named Rob (what luck!).  He'd just returned from an afternoon outing to some waterfall with a small group of retreat guys, and from there, we both agreed to situate ourselves on the rear porch (overlooking the canopies of the Tulip Poplars) in order for him to relay his story to me (I had asked for his permission to hear his tale earlier Saturday morning).

45 minutes passed as he so graciously unfurled his past.  Some tears were shed.  It was a heady experience that I absolutely cherished.

Then we made our way back inside, for we knew we had just a few minutes to reassemble within the primary gathering space to continue forward with the weekend's group programming.  

And that's when the unexpected happened.

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If you know anything about me and how I operate within the Samson universe, but particularly how I tend to operate during Samson retreats, I'm the guy typically doing the [intentional] pursuing.  I do this because I like maintaining some perception of control over my environment, but especially environments where I'm surrounded by loads of masculinity.

Too, I enjoy to the nth degree staying within the background - as much as possible - during these retreat experiences.  For it allows me to observe, observe, observe versus react, react, react.

But there are times when individuals force my hand in this regard.  And that makes me super uncomfortable yet thankful too for their brazenness because as we all know, uncomfortable is good, if not best overall when it comes to seeing God move within our hearts.

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The Samson guy that I rendezvoused with in Montgomery, whom had taken such a keen interest in hearing my story during the ride up on Friday, (7/9) is named Bill.  Bill slept on a trundle bed adjacent to my own up on the mezzanine / loft there within our beautiful Blue Ridge lodge.  He'd poked fun at my terrible snoring Saturday, (7/10) morning, and surprisingly after lunch, he made a point to inquire as to where I'd be spending my free time Saturday afternoon (1 PM - 4 PM).  Upon me stating that I'd be staying behind to shower and nap, he looked surprised and a little disappointed.  But I immediately discounted this.  Though I did find it really generous of him to tell me where the keys were to his Camry in case I did choose to go out and explore on my own (post nap).  I mean, who does that?  I was practically a complete stranger to this guy.

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So, as I was saying, after making my way back to the kitchen (from the porch where I'd just spent 45 minutes listening to "Rob 2"'s poignant story) to find some more bottled water, I ran into Bill who'd obviously arrived back at the lodge with his new group of Samson friends while I was "out back".

And it was then that he asked the following of me:  "Where have you been?".

And he didn't ask this in a sarcastic tone with emphasis placed on the word you which is what you might expect from this very jocular guy.  Instead, the entire phrase was stated with some semblance of urgency, which implied care / concern, with the emphasis on the words Where have.  It was almost as if Bill had been anticipating reuniting with me upon his return (prior to our group programming formally resuming) there at the lodge.  

I replied with some off the cuff smartass response before quickly making my way back to my seat in the gathering room, feeling quite uncomfortable, having been caught off guard entirely.

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Often within my Samson Society meeting introductions (& I even did this Friday night during our introductory Samson Society meeting at the retreat), I state that my primary issue is worthlessness.  And I say this because it's the truth.  And as a side note, what I've found, more often than not, is that many Samson guys struggle with the same distorted view of themselves.  

Ever since my only-child childhood, I learned to pursue others with aplomb.  Every friend and therefore most every engagement was arranged by me myself.  And I didn't mind this for it amounted to normalcy for Rob.  Looking back on that, I think it plays homage now by me being a decent Samson Society meeting facilitator.

But, through all of that, I did not receive much of anything (of any real significance) in return (except very controlled engagements with others).  All and all, in spite of the few good laughs and the notion that I did have a handful of "friends", I was expected to do the majority of the relational heavy lifting throughout.

College was in many ways the same.  And as the postcursor from high school friendships, my platonic modus operandi transferred over seamlessly.

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"Where have you been?".  It's that one phrase that continues to resonate with me regarding last weekend.  Despite the fact that it's been just one week since.  I can easily hear it within my head.

Bill and I are slated to chat tomorrow, (7/18) night.  He and I have text messaged most every day this week, and all that I'm sharing with you here, I've relayed to him within a series of iPhone message bubbles (with him acknowledging those and providing reply commentary).  

I'm looking forward to feeling more uncomfortableness.  It's a welcome change and such a blessing received from last weekend's Blue Ridge Samson Society retreat.

Recommended Reading (Desiring God Post)

 Faith Won’t Survive Without Friends | Desiring God

Blue Ridge Retreat Report

The entire weekend was like sitting under an ancient architectural dome, right at the springline.  For I've had the privilege of doing this whilst in Europe during the summer of 1994.  

Sitting under a dome (at the springline) allows you to listen with ease.  And that's due to the dome doing all the acoustical heavy lifting.  Therefore, even if someone's 100'-0" away, on the opposing side the dome, it's as if they're sitting right there adjacent to you.  It is one of the most mesmerizing acoustical experiences you'll ever take part in. 

All fourteen of us were sitting under that dome, right there at the springline, in Blue Ridge, GA this weekend, and it was all about listening with ease.  Total ease.

What a remarkable weekend it was.  Highly recommended.

Don't Allow Others' Harsh, Critical Words To Steal Your Joy

At "opportune" times, my father channels my late grandmother (his mother) with aplomb relative to his harsh, critical words / tone.  And because he's my dad, his words carry far more weight than those from anyone else (besides my wife).  

Our Independence Day holiday was spent with my folks, and it was a delightful, fun-filled day, but Robert, Sr., in turn, thanks to that time spent, was given the opportunity to silently critique that which was available to him (me and my family) therein.

And silently critique he did.

Therefore, yesterday, he chose to relay his criticism to me off the cuff while we were going about our business there at the family business (I work for my parents).

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Harsh, critical words from loved ones, especially older loved ones, hurt like hell.  So much so, that I can see clearly how people who endure this abuse chronically often turn to drugs / alcohol / porn to cope with the emotional scars.  It's only through God's grace that I've never chosen to do this, though I've certainly consumed countless hours of gay porn of my own accord. 

As Christians, we are compelled and commanded to be honorable to our parents.  This is a Biblical mandate.  But, heavens to Betsy, this is tough to follow through with when your 'rents behave like assholes on occasion.

So what can be done?

Two things.

One, protect you yourself from the asshole.  And I believe the best approach to this is respectful avoidance.

Two, pray for the asshole.  Pray that he sees himself clearly and is convicted to repent.

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At times, we all say things that we regret.  We all choose to behave at times - through our speech - harshly and with little to no care.  This is a fact.  

Put your focus on Christ today.  His encouragement.  His grace.  His love for you.  And let go of everything else.  But especially harsh, critical words that have cut into your heart.  Refuse to allow harsh, critical words from the assholes within your life to make any more of an impact than they already have.

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As a sidenote, I perused through the tome, Hope Heals by Katherine & Jay Wolf early this AM.  It's a book that Angie was recommended, the story of which resonates (with both of us) relative to her 2020 stroke.

The book is written alternatively between both Jay and Katherine's perspective as they endure the trauma of Katherine's medical ordeal, therefore it's a very compelling (& easy) read.  Highly recommended.

A section that stood out to me this AM was the patriarchal support Jay received from his pastor dad immediately following his wife's medical diagnosis and the subsequent daylong neurosurgery she needed to survive her specific stroke.  Though Angie's situation last year was far less serious, I felt a bit hollow inside as I read about Jay's time with his dad praying, embracing, and weeping together.  

My experience last year regarding Angie's stroke as it pertains to my dad was altogether different.  Though no one could visit her in the hospital (COVID-19 restrictions), I was blessed to be geographically close by (our office is one mile from St. D.) during the day.  Experientially though, for me, other than my mother asking a handful of questions each day, my dad never prayed with me, spoke any words of specific fatherly encouragement regarding Angie's situation, or even embraced me.  In essence, there was no shoulder offered to cry on whatsoever. 

It was as if what had happened to us was best chalked up to simply bad luck (or perhaps judgement), and as a result, he was now better positioned overall (since it hadn't happened to him).  Or at least that's what it sort of felt like.

People have asked me through the years why I work for my dad once they realize just how pervasive his posturing really is.  And it's hard for me to answer that question.  For you see, it's all I've ever known.  To me, it's Rob's version of normal.

In closing, I know many of you can relate to some degree to this travesty.  You are not alone.  All that being said, hold your head up as Christian men, and remember your Heavenly Father's love, affirmation, and specifically catered care.