"I Can't Stand That Woman!" / Rob's Mississippi

A day or so after (9/11/01), my parents and I had dinner at a local Mexican restaurant here in Jackson with a dear retired couple (now deceased) that had served to mentor my folks during the early years of their marriage.  To be more specific, my parents had served under them (when I was in middle school) within our church (First Baptist Church Jackson) as Sunday School directors within the class they taught.  This particular Sunday School class was relegated to singles, and as such, it was duly popular.  So much so, in fact, that many of the attendees who'd "marry out" of this class would find ways to stick around (in spite of their betrothal).

This older couple were retired educators, both having served within the Jackson Public Schools district as teachers and administrators / coaches.  Hence, they were astute, articulate people, who were incredibly down to Earth and loved by many.  I have a queue full of great memories of them and my parents as they came alongside each other to serve at our church during those 3-4 years of my childhood.

During our dinner, there was a nationwide minute of silence, in honor of those who'd perished within the terrorist's attack.  Therefore we, like so many others, sat awkwardly in silence at our restaurant booth after the din suddenly halted.  From there, our conversation couldn't help but turn to the attack / politics, the latter of which wasn't a topic that I'd ever remembered broaching with this older couple during all of the fun-filled dinners before.

At this time, I was in my late 20s, and politics simply weren't of interest to me.  Growing up with my two parents, neither of which had any interest / real understanding whatsoever in / of politics, relegated me too to turning a blind eye towards it.

But I soon discovered that this wasn't the case regarding this dear older couple.  Instead, they were both obviously quite vested / interested in the politics of the day.

At this point in time, despite my overall disinterest, I couldn't help but take note of Hillary Clinton's political ambitions.  To the point of admiring her poise and obvious intelligence.  As such, back in 2001, Ms. Clinton was continuing to vie for elected "opportunities" where she might flex her specific leadership skillset (independent from her husband, Bill), and frankly, I admired that.  

For whatever reason, I interjected her name into the conversation (post minute of silence) as we munched on tortilla chips and salsa, and this is when the unexpected happened.

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A month or so ago, my sweet wife and I shared "our final meal" with our oldest dependent.  This was at a Cracker Barrel restaurant prior to moving her into a freshman dorm room in south Mississippi.  It was a sobering experience for us, knowing she was now officially out of the nest.

About ten minutes in, a multi-generational clan were seated adjacent to us.  What struck me about this family was what was displayed prominently across the tee shirt of the +/-30-year-old daughter (or perhaps daughter-in-law).  It said the following: "PROUD TO BE A DEPLORABLE".  

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I was born and reared within the great state of Mississippi.  My parents are from a small Mississippi Delta town dubbed Belzoni.  My mom was reared in rural Humphreys County (outside of Belzoni), and her upbringing was impoverished.  Her family didn't have indoor plumbing 'till she was 9 or 10 years old.  They did eventually obtain this (within the "new" house), but they (family of four) were still confined to +/-900 square feet of (non-centrally climate-controlled) space.   

Their existence was typical for Mississippi in the '50s and '60s, and many, many Mississippians live within these similar conditions today.

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During my teenage years, there were two things that made the most endeavoring impact.  One was my being heavily involved at First Baptist Church Jackson, and the other was the privilege I had of befriending two older teenagers (older peers at my high school), both of which were similarly atypical as I was (ambition / temperament).  The latter happened during the summer before my tenth grade year.  Since both of these new friends were a year older than I, that gave me two solid years to enjoy that companionship, and let me tell you:  it was awesome.  

From there, my two friends exited Mississippi and neither looked back (except to be in my wedding in '96).  One of those two does still have family here (perhaps), but the other's family moved away decades ago.

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Mississippi represents the clear and present underdog within this US of A.  So long as you're taking stock of economic indicators, educational milestones, healthcare availability, and so forth.  In tandem with that is our geographic mundaneness and muddy, waveless coastline.  

But growing up as I did, around the folks I did, these uncompetitive attributes weren't at all on my radar.  Instead, it was the aforementioned influencers that had my full attention.

Therefore, that was my Mississippi.

Samson Society guys make up the core group of men that I allow to influence me today.  Most of those are Mississippians at the present, but many of them are from Florida, Tennessee.  And it's important to know that this has not always been the case.

Taking all of this into account, most of us wish not to be reduced to a label.  And certainly not then ushered into an assumption by default.  This is discriminatory behavior that is in no way in line with the gospel of Jesus Christ.  

There are a LOT of people in Mississippi who live lives that are vastly different than people within other states, and as such, there are many Samson guys from those troupes who are ushered in therein - no questions asked.  It's what makes our groups unique as representatives of this state.  

Politicians, through their words, are meta-influencers.  And those words are birthed within their thought life prior to being unleashed as sound bytes.  Yet, so many of everyone's words (whether politicized or not) are often said with little to no consideration as to their impact.   

I don't wish to see people through the eyes of other's observations / labels, but it is sure hard to NOT do this at times.

This is why I try to steer clear of politics, though unfortunately, it's seemingly everywhere these days.  

Be wary of generalizing or applying labels.  Instead, turn your criticality inward and keep it there 'till your arrogance is effectively reset.  Or better yet, study your roots.  To the point that you never forget exactly where you came from.

Recommended Viewing

Territorial / Take The Opportunity To Yield Within Your Samson Society Friendships

Negative push back is possible whilst attempting to convince your Silas to alter course (change of plans, etc.) on your behalf (or on behalf of someone else).  

Let's say you're interested in seeing him join up with you - a few days ahead, but he's already got plans and isn't willing to alter them.  And despite the fact that the - a few days ahead event - isn't anything particularly noteworthy, you may just not appreciate, much less want the negative push back (for such a time as that)..  But this may be especially true if you've been apt to alter course on behalf of your Silas in the past.

Samson Society is double stacked with Type A personas.  And I suppose this is akin to us types preferring / gravitating towards isolation.  Hence, our need for Samson Society, a formalized friendship-making (whilst in recovery) machine.

Type A's like to maintain control, and as such, they prefer for those around them to yield in reaction to their lead.  (& yes, I too am a Type A.)

Considering this truth, somebody's got to yield at times, or forward movement simply isn't going to happen and bitterness will likely take root.  That being said, let's not discount the fact that there are men (my Silas is one of these) within (& outside of) this community whose value is implicitly linked to carrying out their set schedule to a tee. 

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I used to believe that men who struggled with same sex attraction were more stigmatized by the notion of platonic rejection, but I've come to discover that this was muddled thinking (Rob's abandonment issues) on my part.  It doesn't matter what a guy's sexual orientation is, if he's invested in a relationship with another man, it's unlikely he's not at least somewhat fearful of losing it.  As a side note to this, posturing amongst men, I find, grows out of these fears.  For posturing (kid's glove bullying) reinforces the notion of rank.  Even when rank isn't supposed to exist.  It is a weird dynamic that often keeps me in awe as more of an observer-type.

Now, circumstances being what they are (particularly for the younger set), guys can "level up" into new vocational, geographic arenas, etc. that might bring more (convenience, in particular) opportunities for platonic connection.  Hence, his established friendships may lose some of their luster.  Nonetheless, rejection is still rejection (whether by circumstance or not), and as such, it is by far one of the greatest fears of men relative to the process of seeding new, healthy friendships (whether you're recently leveled up or not).  

Within the reverse vein, as men age, investing in new friendships could perhaps become more and more repetitive.  This combined with the assumptions that come with middle / old age.  Those being that preexisting "old friendships" (perhaps as far back as childhood) are no doubt superior grade and therefore surely are sufficient to endure the long haul.

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There's a young man YouTuber, that I've featured within a previous post, who positions his videos on the notion of attempting to cope with his loneliness / isolation (that's a result of his friendless existence).  This guy has professional good looks, always with the perfectly styled hair / trimmed beard.  Not to mention tee shirt defining muscular physique.  Yet, he claims to be friendless.  To such a degree to be making rambling YouTube videos about his solitary existence.  It is a weird watch but also enlightening (taken with a grain of salt).

I'm convinced that were he not just another normal guy (like the rest of us), he'd not be experiencing this problem.  That being, the terrific trepidation tied to potential rejection.  To such a degree that it's simply keeping him on the safe side - which is the isolated side.  In fact, if you screen enough of his videos, you'll notice how he's also adept at manly posturing (as mentioned above), yet it's done to relegate / justify his isolated position.  

The takeaway:  men are weird when it comes to relating to other men, and at times, scared shitless.

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As Christians, our main relational squeeze is our Heavenly Father.  That relationship should always be number one.  But it takes work.  Prayer, Bible study, church fellowship.  

Here's an observation:  A boatload of Christian men refuse (or simply don't harbor the skillset) to read.  And what I'm referring to is reading comprehension.  Therefore, they won't delve into Scripture because it's a waste of time for them to even try.  And this presents a problem.  Seeing how God gave us himself within the writings of those 66 books.

For Rob, a sizable part of my approach to friendship has been trusting that God will see to it that it's sustained so long as it's his sovereign will to do so.  Too, I trust that he's a provider of future friendships as well, either serving to enhance (quantity) existing friendships or replace entirely.  

Therefore, this is why I choose to almost always yield and, in turn, actively work to disrupt the notion of platonic territory (for I own nothing within these relationships).  As such, I simply feel no obligation to protect myself from rejection at this point in my middle-aged existence.   

Help Me Lord With These Feelings

Greek yogurt is yogurt that's essentially in a concentrated form.  It's like drinking orange juice concentrate in lieu of fresh squeezed orange juice.  If you've ever eaten it, its consistency is like that of spackle, therefore as such, it's a much less appealing dairy treat to most than traditional Yoplait.  

If you were to consider the ingredients of Greek yogurt, you'd find a LOT more milk is needed to concoct it than its much less pricey (& mainstream) cousin.

The benefit to choosing Greek yogurt though over regular is the added nutrition.  It's like running versus walking (for the same period of time) relative to the exercise benefits.  Of course, running is much harder (I love to hate to run) than walking, and similarly, Greek yogurt is much less palatable (sans added sugars) compared to regular yogurt.

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My first Silas (pre-Samson Society) came into my life sometime during 2010, and it wasn't long before he made an insightful statement that made quite the impact.  And that was that I felt things deeply.  Deeper than most, if not every individual he'd befriended within the past.  

I didn't dispute his claim for deep down I think I'd always known this about myself, yet it was unsettling to consider.

When I was a teenager, I banked all of my emotions into popular music.  My pride & joy, back then, was my component audio system - consisting of amplifier, CD player, dual cassette deck, and two Bose speakers (which I still use today).  God love my parents for putting up with the ruckus day in and day out coming from my 110 sf bedroom.  I absolutely have no idea how they stood it within our +/-1,800 sf rancher (their bedroom was adjacent to mine).

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Lakeside Pres is hosting a 2021 fall / spring book study that started yesterday evening, and the selected tome is sort of a modern day encyclopedia of false religions.  Last night's meeting was centered on the theology of Jehovah's Witnesses.  Next month's will be on The Church of Scientology or some such.

As expected, the presentation was affably cerebral in the truest Lakeside Presbyterian fashion, but unexpectedly, taking the subject matter at hand into consideration, I came away feeling quite the hollower for it.  Hence, I felt there was just too little (if any) heart (compassion) whatsoever pertaining to the lost souls indirectly referenced throughout the subject matter.  In spite of the fact that personally, Jehovah's Witnesses are about as familiar to me as Freemasons.  

Needless to say, I'm willing to bet a dollar that D. James Kennedy would have been none too pleased at the tone.  As such, I have to ask myself, why does that matter specifically to me?  

I have to believe it harkens back to Greek yogurt.

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Taking all of this into consideration, me thinks I've spotted a huge misnomer (mistake) relative to the massive pull I have at times towards consuming gay porn, and that may just be the word community.  This being a word I've often utilized in the past to describe some form of justification relative to porn consumption.  Instead, I'm beginning to wonder if this pull has more to do with emotion or feeling and the aforementioned "banking" of said feelings.  

Combined with that, and this almost seems to qualify as weirdly transcendental, could be the notion of concentrating emotionally onto or into the images in an almost empathic manner.  

All that to say, I'm now convinced that its pull is far more emotional than me simply wanting to be communal.  And it likely always has been.

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Moving in a somewhat different direction, though still referencing Rob's (always concentrated) emotional state of mind, I offer this in order to conclude this post:

Dignity is an important, if not the most important term that I find myself always equating to my understanding of / respectfulness towards women.  I'm fortunate to have a mother who's dignified as well as a wife who follows suit.  As such, growing up and then being married to a dignified woman has firmly cemented my point of view.  I pray that my three daughters will someday follow the example of these important ladies.

This factors into why straight porn is so repulsive to me.  The women within these videos / images are so often in line with what I saw at Wal-Mart earlier this week (more on that below), not to mention the disgustingly abusive circumstances they're typically presented within.

All in all, I can think of no more repulsive sight than seeing a woman's face ejaculated on as her blank stare is forever memorialized on camera.  I mean, can you imagine, your daughter's face in that spot without wanting to extradite yourself from planet Earth?  I feel so sorry for the Spielbergs.

To circle back to that woman at Wal-Mart, you should know that she's what served to spearhead this post.  Hence, if you've not taken a liking to what you've read so far, blame her.  

Wal-Mart represents the most convenient, most cost effective means of purchasing just about anything & everything.  Its no-frills approach to retail draws consumers from every walk of life.  Its sister store, Sam's Club, takes an identical approach.  And I frequent both of these retail establishments quite frequently, particularly now that my wife is disabled (traditional grocery stores' footprint is smaller / easier to navigate). 

A few days ago, I spotted a woman moving through the Wal-Mart self-checkout line who was around age 35-40.  She was a white woman, overweight yet average height, and dressed in nondescript clothing that looked shockingly too small for her build.  The shorts she was wearing, in particular, were cut so short and were so tight, that they actually looked painful to my eyes.  Her hair looked like it had been cut with a weed whacker after it had been formed into a handful of dreadlocks that extended down her back.  To add to that, snippets of pastel hair dye had been added to these ratty strands which only added to her completely disheveled appearance.  Had she been 18-years-old instead of +/-35 (on Halloween), this look might have been less of a radical embodiment, but she clearly was no longer a teenager (& Halloween is more than a month away).  

And then there was her skin.  It was almost as pale as my sweet wife's, therefore each of the brightly colored, ginormous tattoos that she'd had imprinted squarely on each limb was impossible to miss.  They literally were glowing with color - greens, reds, blues - against her milky derma.  

I could not take my eyes off of this woman while she went through her self-checkout paces.  The shock was too great.  The disbelief too paralyzing.  

As I was walking out of the store, I actually ran into my Silas' wife who recognized me from her car.  We spoke briefly, yet in looking back, I'm sure my responses were no doubt unusual, having just prior witnessed such the unidentifiable alien-like creature.  

This is what kept coming to mind repeatedly for days after:  If we were to turn back the clock 40 years, would I have witnessed a woman presenting herself as such at my local Mississippi big box retailer (TG&Y)?  Were there women that looked like this woman back in 1981 here in Mississippi?

If not, why are they here now?  What "birthed" these women?  What are their origins, and where are they headed?  Why in the world would a woman choose to present herself to the world as this woman was?

To me, they have zero dignity, therefore all I see when I encounter them is me being helpless towards their situation.  For dignity comes from within.  It isn't like respect or shame that's administered (on)to someone.  Dignity is knowing your intrinsic value as a _______, _______, _______, and so forth.  

+/-18 years ago, a lesbian couple constructed a home within our 'hood, and they're still both living there (within a reconstructed version necessitated by a housefire).  My emotional experience relative to engaging with these women was initially in line with what I've described above regarding this fellow Wal-Mart patron.  

Lesbianism is a complete affront to my understanding of feminine dignity, and it always has been.  Therefore, my heart breaks and is angered / outraged / confused whilst seeing it lived out.  

Especially my Greek yogurt heart.  

Help me Lord with these feelings, and to be more specific, synchronize them with your own.  But especially in magnitude.  For I'm so often at their disposal.  Even as a 49-year-old.

Where do I bank these?

Lagniappe

   

Mother To Child: "You're Responsible For My Feelings. You're to Blame / To Be Celebrated For Me Feeling __________."

I referenced within an earlier post how important it can be that I keep a lid on my emotions here at the homestead (around my wife / daughters), and how that approach has, in the past (pre-Samson Society involvement), been detrimental to me successfully steering clear of lustful fantasies (supplemented by porn consumption or not) from the standpoint of using said fantasies as an emotional enema.   

But I'd like to expound on this a bit from the standpoint of what exactly my wife is forced to emotionally manage day in and day out.

And I want to do this because you may be able to relate either as a husband or wife relative to the dynamics of our situation.

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Firstly though, it's important that you know that my wife's mother is a widow whom lives just 7-8 miles from our abode.  She "stays" (as black people put it) within the same home Angie (who's now 50) and her brother (who's now 46) were reared in (in Jackson) throughout the majority of their school years (as students of Jackson Academy).  

This home was mortgaged by her parents, all those years ago, due to her father moving his brood back here from Hattiesburg - in response to an unexpected job loss - out of necessity to take another job.

This job loss and subsequent move no doubt (as it's been described to me) represented a major demotion for Angie's dad, and as such, her mother went off the deep end as a result.  And when I say went off the deep end, I mean she went batshit crazy over his job loss / demotion.

It's important to know that when I unexpectedly lost my job back in 2013, Angie was very intentional about staying emotionally / physically supportive of our family in spite of the obvious embarrassment / shame that manifested itself as a result.  And I must say, had she not been such a steely, consistently hopeful presence within our family's life during that dark season, I would surely not have endured the situation.  Angie reacted as such the contrarian - for her family - in response to what she'd witnessed from her own mother as a child (within a somewhat similar scenario).

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Emotional "flare ups", as I call them, do occur within our household, and more often than not, they're due to the inevitable internal dynamics between my wife and any number of our daughters.  There's a boatload of estrogen there, therefore...

I try hard to take them in stride, but there are times when I too, need to exhaust some emotions out of frustration / fatigue.

But when I do, and it's within earshot of my wife, this represents a problem for her.

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Angie's middle / high school years were filled with emotional torment.  Torment that put her (& her brother) squarely within the sights of her mother's penchant for refusing to take responsibility for her own feelings.  Therefore, Angie's default, even today as a 50-year-old wife / mother, is to blame herself for everyone else's feelings / state of mind.  Even if said feelings in no way involve her.  

It is the weirdest phenomena to experience, yet we're all so used to it, that it's become the norm.

So, here's the interesting part to all of this.

Angie's mother is a fiercely independent woman, yet she's now reached a point, due to advanced age, that she can no longer manage her affairs.  And this means, someone needs to step up.  Someone she should be able to trust (like her deeply scarred children).

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As Christians, we're called to serve.  Go the extra mile.  Turn the other cheek.  And Angie, for sure, learnt that growing up at First Baptist Church Jackson (alongside me). 

Jesus modeled all of these (as chronicled within the gospels) and FBC Jackson's senior pastor throughout the '80s (when she & I were children) both lived it out and preached it eloquently.

Yet, no amount of obedience to the commands of Jesus can come sans the supernatural.  Especially when that call to obedience happens to involve those whose hands have doled out their fair share of trauma.

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Dr. Laura Schlessinger often makes good sense whilst giving advice to her radio show listeners, but it's important to note that she is not a Christian.  As such, were she in my wife's shoes today, her mother's former emotional abuse would result in payback that consisted of a reciprocal neglect later in life.  I know this because it's one of my hang ups regarding her approach to advising her callers.  (Plus, she also lived this out with her own mother.)

Dr. Schlessinger often justifies this kind of response as one which stems from "mom tearing up her mother card".  In other words, mother's disqualifying themselves due to their neglect, therefore deserving to be forever punished by their children as a result.

It's a hardline, militant approach that completely ignores the prospect / joy of potential reconciliation, and one of the best slang terms that I've found for this is delightfully "burning bridges".

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One of my oldest friends just recently returned to the Jackson Metro after being terminated from a fantastic job opportunity within another state.  His former out-of-state employer is also a friend of mine / ours, therefore as you might imagine, this put me in quite the emotional quagmire.  And to make matters much worse (for everyone involved), my friend, who just recently moved back to Jackson, chose to burn the bridge between himself and our mutual friend (his former out-of-state employer) out of disgust regarding the situation that transpired.

And this man has served as a deacon in a number of local churches.

His rationale for behaving this way was rooted in one thing:  his feelings.  Feelings which consisted of outrage, disillusionment, mistrust, and so forth.  And I get that.  Those feelings are legitimate and deserve to be accounted for.

Yet, I disagree with his decision to blame others for those feelings, and in turn, punish them therein.  Especially when those others have such a longstanding track record of support and love.

As Christians, our overarching focus should be, each and every day, on eternity.  Eternity obtained via our inevitable death.  Eternity where Jesus is within our presence always.  

Why?

As our king (today and on into eternity), emulating his humility and care properly befits us as representatives of his grace.  Even within the most accusatory, unfair, debilitating circumstances that embroil us with heady, visceral emotions.

We are not our own.  We are now serving within his ranks.  Heaven will be ours to enjoy because of what he chose to emulate for us.  Christians are not to behave / react / enact like everyone else.

Lagniappe

Recommended Viewing

Have You Too Been Hoodwinked Into Idolizing The Human Body?

One of the first lessons you learn within the Philosophy Of Architecture class is the most jarring, and that is that beauty IS NOT within the eye of the beholder.  As an architecture student at Mississippi State University from '90-'95, Philosophy Of Architecture was a required course as a sophomore.  Therefore, all of us second year students endured this enlightening experience there during our fall semester.

So obviously, this begs the question:  Who then does decide what's beautiful and what is not?  The critics do.  And these individuals have earned the right to do so.  For a great critic is far more experienced in doing so than non-critics.  They're experienced and educated.  And no, this doesn't always make them right, but it does up the ante relative to their adjudication batting average.  

Therefore, if you're ever wondering why a certain fashion trend is hot, paint color, or kitchen motif, you have only to look to the critics to thank (or loathe) for this.

To sum this up, I'll work to make a present day statement that should resonate with many of you.  Chip and Joanna Gaines built their fortune / influence on their roles as critics.  Though it may seem that their popularity is anchored in their million-watt smiles, it is not.  Instead, both of them are incredibly gifted critics, and this means that their ability to adjudicate beauty - within single-family homes, home furnishings / decor - is off the charts.  And to be as equally weighted as they are, in this regard, as a couple, is rare indeed.  

The Gaines have harnessed this talent by packaging it within a super approachable Texan folksiness that's made them a fortune.  Thanks be to God that their show wasn't dubbed Fix-a-fucker, otherwise, there'd be that many more westerners (& otherwise) - then there already are - saddled with chronic porn consumption issues.

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99% of architecture students (back when I was a student) weren't athletic and very few were involved in Greek life.  But, there was one student who was a couple of years behind me that did serve as a male cheerleader, and as such, donned the mascot ("Bully") costume for a handful of seasons.

As such, this young man was most definitely athletically built, and this made him stand out like a sore thumb amongst the rest of us.  But, it didn't help matters that this physically anomalous student was completely at peace with "exposing" his body.  Therefore, during the spring semester, as the temps were beginning to climb, it wouldn't be unusual to see him out sunning himself within the architecture building amphitheater.  I can remember specifically feeling torn between what he obviously saw as naturally pleasurable versus my own powerful - almost instinctual - urge to idolize his flesh.

Fitness magazines, published for men, which were readily available on magazine stands during the mid-'80s, offered me the opportunity as a middle schooler to idolize those images therein.  And, of course, the publisher didn't care who purchased the periodical or whether someone was idolizing their photos.  All they were interested in was sales.  

I can vividly recall the shame I felt in having to explain to my mother (she couldn't help but notice the grape purple bag) that I'd purchased an "Exercise For Men Only" mag from our local K&B drugstore.  

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Paul Freeman is an Australian photographer whose repertoire is nude or semi-nude men.  And more often than not, the men he photographs aren't within a studio space but within much more naturalistic environments.  If you look at his work, it's apparent that he's a superb critic of the male body, yet the images that he publishes aren't - at least to me - titillating in the least.  

So what separates his work from what I was exposed to as a young boy within the aforementioned fitness mags?

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Pornography's sole purpose is to illicit a titillating response.  Early exposure to porn versus non-pornographic imagery that respectfully celebrates the human body can short circuit a boy's embracing / understanding / appreciation for the beauty that lies within both his own and others' flesh, particularly if he's unsure of his own "fleshly worth".

More often than not, this exposure occurs during adolescence, and as I alluded to earlier, this can be a decidedly unbecoming development within the life of a teenager.  For he knows he's being taken advantage of, yet his hormones (& perhaps his home life, etc.) are seemingly working in favor of this private curse.  It's a bad, bad scenario that's especially prone to screw up a kid's head if it happens to be within a vacuum.

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As a side note, all forms of body augmentation from anabolic steroid use to breast implants to tattoos, I would argue, stem from man's idolization of the body versus appreciation.  And this is because, these augmentations are "permanently" enhancing the body to be more in line with someone else's ideal (either real or photographed).  

For example, an athletically built man who sees an anabolic steroid using athlete is likely going to immediately notice the size differences between his own drug-free body and that of the juiced dude.  Similarly, a woman with regular sized breasts, encountering her artificially endowed sister, can't help but notice her silicone implanted chest.  And finally, an ink-free individual, rubbing shoulders with someone he admires - who happens to be expertly tattooed - may very well soon obtain his own first tattoo.

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So what's the recipe for success in recircuiting our brains to see pornography for what it is (cheap, intrusive, disrespectful, debilitating, harmful, poisonous, toxic, explosive, robbing)?

I would argue the first step is recognizing where you were (& how exactly) initially hoodwinked by Satan to elevate / idolize the human body as you did.  And from there, invest a boatload of time in unpacking that deceit (perhaps alongside a trained professional) prior to working hard to forgive yourself for so much shame and guilt that you really weren't solely responsible for experiencing.

In closing, remember that God created man in his own image (including his sex organs).  We are image-bearers.  God too, created sexuality, from the reproductive process itself to arousal and everything in between.  We are not meant to be ashamed of our sexual desires, nor are we meant to not see each other through a sexual lens.  

Lagniappe

Recommended Reading

 Thousands of bodies go unclaimed in the United States every year - The Washington Post

Recommended Viewing

Recommended Viewing

Recommended Viewing

What Might Serve To (Figuratively) Prompt A Wife To Consider Divorcing Her Husband? Loss Of Her Personal Datum

An architect friend, whose first husband died a number of years ago, willingly endured the instability he brought to their marriage 'till his untimely death.  Her husband was the opposite of a fixed point in her life.  Instead, he was reliably unstable in most everything he did / committed himself to.  And it wasn't that she was expecting perfection, material success, etc.  Not this lady.  Her love for him ran far more deep than that.  

I vividly remember traveling with both of them (decades ago) early on within my career as an architect.  I'd been invited to attend an architectural lighting expo on the west coast, and therein provided the opportunity to get to know them as a couple (for she'd been also invited).  These type events were always exciting (in part because us designers were the guests of honor), yet this particular trek quickly opened my eyes to some bizarre marital dynamics between my two new friends (her and her husband).  I came away feeling sad for this beautiful and intelligent woman who'd been saddled with such a loser.

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Earlier this year, I was delighted to be contacted by a female business owner client of mine out of the blue.  She was interested in learning more about her options relative to Defined Contribution Plans for her quite successful / quickly growing business.  Specifically, she wanted an "upgrade" from her company's existing plan for 2022, and she'd chosen me to obtain the facts well in advance.  

This particular business owner client is both highly intelligent and tough as nails.  Her persona is progressively masculine overlaid with a temperament that's aloof to the nth degree.  Therefore, were it not for my middle-agedness, she'd simply be too intimidating for Rob to work with.

As such, I love working with her.  It's such a cool privilege.  I always attempt to get at least 8-hours of sleep the night before any meeting I have with her in order to improve my chances of being as sharp as I possibly can be.

Therefore, by mid-May (soon after her contacting me for assistance) we were off and running, and to my delight, we met repeatedly with my "A Team" of experts via Zoom / teleconference in order to answer her and her partner's many questions.  

Interestingly enough though, sometime in July, whilst beginning to conclude our ongoing "educational sessions", she relayed to me her desire to loop in her personal financial advisor (who she's been close friends with since high school) relative to some of what my "A Team" was proposing.  Initially, I found this request to be a little strange, but I took it in stride.  

But then her personal financial advisor left me a voicemail message, from which I returned his call the following afternoon.

And this is when I came to realize that I was not nearly the professional fixed point I had assumed I was to her.  

In the end, losing that business opportunity resulted in me solidifying a deep respect for something that's often so very difficult to describe.

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I've written in previous posts about wives needing security from their husbands.  But, if I were to expound on that here, I'd add the following:  wives need an anchor / fixed point moreso than anything else - from their husbands - within their marriage.

Back when I was in architecture school, I used to hear our professors use the word datum quite often.  This is a great word.  A datum is a reliable known point in space that you can utilize to site / build all manner of things from.  Datums do not change nor do they move.  They are fixed.  Immovable.  Solid.  Think of a rusted iron rod (pin) that's referenced on a survey.  One that's utilized as a starting point to identify boundary lines.  That is a datum.  It's an object that's been anchored deep within the Earth in decades pasts that everything around it is referenced from.

I suppose our culture woos us with the notion that wives long for romance or material wealth, and I'm sure there are a sizable number of wives who enjoy anticipating / imagining (& perhaps receiving) those perks, but most, if not all, insist on reliability and fortitude which promulgates deep seated trust between her and her man.  Otherwise, many will hit the road.

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In closing, I work hard to be as consistent as possible for my wife / daughters and even my parents (who employ me).  Therefore, as such, I keep an awful lot of my feelings close to my vest day after day after day.  Why?  It gives all of them plenty of safe space to emote between themselves and also to me.  And I like this setup.  It makes me feel correct as a husband.  Plus, it gives me opportunity to yield to their needs in this regard.

There is an individual though who's privy to Rob's feelings.  My Silas.  Especially if I'm really struggling with some heady negative feelings (for whatever reason).  

Whether it's via text message or a phone call (or both), he's going to know what's in my heart.  Otherwise, I'll eventually turn back to false community via Internet porn consumption.  

For me, he's my datum.  Reliable.  Fixed.  Solid.  And I love him for those attributes.  

Lagniappe

 

Recommended Reading - Desiring God

 The Power of Your Personal Testimony | Desiring God

Recommended Reading - Desiring God Post

 Ten Words That Changed Everything About My Suffering | Desiring God

"There So Few Christians There"

My oldest daughter is slated to return to her college dorm later on this afternoon, now having accomplished her initial 3-weeks as a freshman (& being home for this long holiday weekend).  I had breakfast with her on Sunday morning, and she let me know how surprised she was to experience a community of students & faculty - at her chosen university - that was so very (relatively) pagan.

Her response instantaneously returned me to my freshman experience back in the fall of 1990, and back then, I was also "being educated" at a public institution here in Mississippi. 

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Arguably, the college experience's biggest liability is the spiritual vacuum students are so often faced with.  And I'm not referring to curriculum or campus life.  I'm referring to the true influence - peers, professors, etc.

This is, of course, unless the student respectfully recognizes and subsequently maps out her situation, knowing full well whom she belongs to all the while.

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For Rob, it was the architecture school professors, whom I respectfully yielded to, that surprised me the most.  Their outlook was always so clinical and devoid of any sort of eternal perspective.  As such, I would especially appreciate those who'd make a point to smile and crack jokes in order to lighten the ever ominous (who's going to change majors / "double D" next?) mood.

I remember - particularly as a freshman - feeling like I'd been caught up in an entirely different world.  A world of ever present academia, amongst leadership that was far more knowledgeable than anything I'd ever witnessed.  

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But then there was marching band.  What a godsend it was.  I played clarinet and marched with hundreds of other students - every late weekday afternoon for practice and at most weekend football games.  The band directors were down to Earth and no doubt Christian.  Polar opposites of the majority of my professors.

It was there that I could simply exhale (literally) each and every day, no longer having to take notes, worry over project deadlines or professors' expectations.  Instead, it was simply a maximized (massively scaled up) experience of high school band which is where I'd felt most comfortable simply being myself during the previous five years of my life.  

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Samson Society is a similar reprieve for me today.  Tuesday evening (tomorrow night), I'm anticipating attending (for the first time) the Pruitt Baptist Church meeting.  Especially from the standpoint of me not having the honors of facilitating the meeting.  

It's nice having that reprieve.  That opportunity to exhale.  Especially when you're subject to - as we all are - the real world.  A world where there're so few Christians.  I am so thankful God ushered me into this community of men.   

Lagniappe

More lagniappe 

Theology Of The Turners' Bodies (With Particular Attention Paid to My Own)

I described Rob's body politics within my last post as such:   complete unrecognition / avoidness / blindness.  To sum that up, I like to use the word void.  This is absolutely the best word I've come up with to describe what happens when I attempt to see my physical self.

Therefore, it begs the question:  How can you love something you simply cannot see nor have ever seen?

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When I was a teen, and please know that what I'm about to say simply didn't grow out of teenage angst, I did not feel as if my dad was truly my biological father.  Now, as a result of this, I also didn't believe my mother had become impregnated with little me via another suitor, therefore overall, I sort of made the assumption that I couldn't possibly be a "natural born citizen" within our fam.  Now, I'm not going to go into all of the why behind my feeling this way, as it pertained to Robert, Sr.  But trust me, in many ways, he reciprocally felt the same about me.  It made for a childhood where I would find myself enviously looking at my friends' relationships with their dad's (& more than likely the same was occurring with my father enviously looking at his peers - & especially his brothers' - sons).

Therefore, with no siblings to parade around with (or seek counsel from) whilst growing up, I was left to wonder why I felt like such the oddball - particularly as a teenager.  

And to expound further regarding this, I also naturally looked hard at my uncles (my dad's three brothers) / cousins (each & every one of them male children) and was unsuccessful in locating a reprieve.  Though I loved these men / boys and enjoyed spending time with them (& of course, still do) as my known family, I just didn't BELIEVE that I fit into the group.  At all.  BUT IT HAD NOTHING TO DO WITH HOW THEY TREATED ME.  They truly were (& still are) really wonderful family members to have.

(I feel obligated to interject THAT.)

My hunch today, whilst looking back, is that the similarities / pedigree were / was absolutely there; its just that I couldn't see them in me myself.  And I still today don't know why that was / is.

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It is so pagan-feeling going to Wal-Mart on a Sunday morning.  I know that firsthand, having shopped there this AM.  

We've been having Sunday morning church at our abode - over the past month or so - due to the uptick in COVID-19 cases throughout our state, therefore this lends itself to even (at times) executing our family church service on Saturday evenings - if need be (which we did last night).

As I was hurriedly shopping at Wal-Mart (surgically masked), I walked past an unmasked guy whose eyes locked with my own.  A few seconds later, I wondered aloud if I actually knew that guy.  By this point, I was much closer to my big box store destination zone (hardware), yet I couldn't help but continue to ruminate on his face / build, trying to put my recollective thinking into gear.

"Where do I know that guy from?"

After placing my needed items into my shopping basket, I eventually made my way to the self checkout section, and fortunately, I spotted him again.  

Then I remembered where he and I used to interact!

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Throughout my life, I've had a love-hate relationship with my imagination.  For on the one hand, it's what - in may ways - consistently springboarded me from my adolescent identity vacuum, but on the other hand, wrought so much regret and anger relative to fueling my propensity to willfully sin.

At the center of that chronic routine was what I've dubbed my archetype.  An amalgamation of masculine physical attributes - that embodied for me - a sexualized ideal of what it meant to be a man.  This archetype was, more often than not, (within my sexual fantasies) an imagined big brother, uncle, next door neighbor, teacher, coach, and on and on.  Any of which would eventually work towards seducing me into engaging in homosexual relations.

It was through the "pursuit and subsequent validation" of this archetype that I attempted to endure the void.  For he (singular) was as affirming as any group of ideal athletic teammates might very well be whilst all the while being more comfortable with me (& accessible to me) than I was with my own self.

The aforementioned fellow Wal-Mart patron (whom I eventually recalled was a former friend from over a decade prior) happened to - past & presently - embody my archetype both physically and emotionally.  He was / is the ideal, and this is a significant truth.

And as a side note, the fact that this former friend continues to be so (at our close-to ages), is rare indeed.  For most middle-aged Mississippi guys aren't anywhere near the physical parameters of my archetypical, masculine male (which is a godsent reality for me).

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In the past, encountering my archetype as I did this AM at my local big box retailer would have elicited quite the elicit response.  Particularly taking into account a long since forgotten friendship with the individual.

And as such, days and days, if not weeks and weeks would likely have gone by where me being privately consumed with that encounter were the absolute norm.  

And as a side note to that, when I began consuming gay porn online (back in late '90s), the impetus for that was me realizing how expeditiously / efficiently I could locate (search engines) and therefore harness those salacious facsimiles similarly (sexual fantasy).  All in reaction to the void / vacuum / blindness or whatever you want to call it.

To be clear, it wasn't that I wanted to be these archetypical men.  All I was looking for (through sexual fantasy) was a means to manage the pain of acknowledging the reality of the void itself.  But it was those specific archetypical men who were the key.  And I'm not sure why that was either.

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In closing, it is incredibly difficult to face the truths that I've written about here.  Not only emotionally but intellectually (particularly from the standpoint of there being so many unanswered questions).  As such, I don't believe I even began to truly wrestle with my own body politics 'till I was well into my 30s.    

I do remember, as a much younger man, wishing I had a body that I felt at peace with (self-affirmation), but even as I took action to change my build (age 36+), it had no impact on clarifying my visibility. 

So here's that question again:  How can you love something you simply cannot see nor have ever seen?

The only thing that has even a remote impact today is holding fast to what I believe of God's take on me (as well as all of his children).  His promises.  His narrative.  His approach.  

Otherwise, I'd simply be blind all around.

Sometimes only having a peripheral view of yourself does in fact prescribe an outlook that drives more truth / more faith and less comfortableness with a holy God.

Theology Of The Turners' Bodies (With Particular Attention Paid To My Wife's)

As a couple, & in very specific terms, Angie & I sit on the opposite ends of the spectrum when it comes to making peace with the theology of our individual bodies.  Now, as a married couple, we are - by God's definition - one flesh, and we can both vouch for that.  There's simply no such thing as singular husband / singular wife - within a marriage under God.  As such, she & I are thoroughly combined, and this is the core reason for there being such general richness within our 25-year betrothal.  

Taking that into account, Angie's relationship with her body has always been one of mistrust / suspicion, and as such, this has rightly been validated since her 2020 stroke.  Yet, I can confirm, having known her since we were teens, that she's always wrestled (as opposed to being at peace with / ignoring) by default with all that can come with existing within our God-given bodies.

For Rob, my "bodily" relationship hasn't been so much about mistrust but complete unrecognition / avoidness / blindness of that which I exist within.  Therefore, in its steed has been an unhealthy default towards other's (men's) bodies in lieu of my own.  And this sin laden approach is where my struggles with same sex attraction (particularly as it relates to consuming gay porn - arguably the most efficient means of doing this) grew out of.

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Ever since Angie's stroke (late May of 2020), I've relied on her to tell me if she might be interested in having intercourse.  Before that life altering event, Angie was in (& had been for a few years) the throes of perimenopause (which she still is), therefore with her menstrual cycle being so unpredictable, she was - & this harkens back to her body mistrust outlook - very rarely interested in sexual activity of any kind. 

Here was and still is my take on my wife regarding this:  Sex certainly cannot and will not be something you feel comfortable participating in when you mistrust your body.  Sex is an obvious working in tandem (50/50) with your spouse to execute this very intimate act.  Therefore if 1/2 of that equation isn't at all confident / at peace in its body's ability, that's going to present a problem.

I share that commentary as its helped me come to grips with - at times - a very minimal / oftentimes negligent-feeling sex-life situation.  But Angie's body politics aren't all that's been brought to the surface over the past 1.5 years.  Remember, I am no doubt her lesser half (remaining 50%).

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Because there's so little internal conception / acknowledgement of me my bodily self, I frankly don't fare any better than she at offering up much "sexual assuredness / comfortableness" relative to my 50%.  

Hence, my focus can often be too much on her (or elsewhere), and as such, she's often aware of this, complicating things even further.

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All this oversharing above points back to what the priest summarized within the embedded video and the difficulties we can have as individuals therein with these truths.  Those truths being that we are both spirit and flesh, image-bearers of the living God, embodied by the Holy Spirit.  And as he states, God is love.  And that definition of love is clearly spelled out in God's word.  So how do we love our bodies, particularly if - as a married couple - a sizable portion of our body isn't our own but our spouses?

Angie spent close to a month within a rehabilitation hospital in Jackson post-stroke.  This hospital worked her each (business) day regarding physical, speech, and occupational therapy.  From there, she came home and continued with her therapy, though it was outpatient in nature.  Her reception towards all this therapy was with open arms, and not just from the standpoint of an immediate physical recovery but too, as an educational opportunity.  

The core issue for Angie relative to her mistrustful relationship with her body comes down to magnanimous self-awareness.  This being just an off the charts - in real time 24/7/365 - self examination of herself from stem to stern.  And as such, taking part in certain activities - that are out of the ordinary (her comfort zone) - can amplify this.    

I'm on the opposite end of this spectrum.  For so many years, I solely invested in examining / worshipping other bodies (men's) in response to the void of me being successful in examining my own.  So much so, in fact, that it's as if I'm that guy in the film Memento with the short-term memory loss issues.  Hence, I have a narrative of how my body came to be (from 5,000 feet up) but no relevant experience with it in the here and now (or ever).  Even the protagonist's many, handmade tattoos speak to his detached relationship to his body.

Which, in a lot of ways, makes it as if I don't either have a body to begin with or am borrowing someone else's. 

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Earlier today, Angie and I went to Y and strength trained.  She started joining me in the gym well before her 2020 stroke (for regular workouts), therefore post-stroke (with the aforementioned rehabilitation knowledge in tow), it's not been at all difficult for her to continue forward.

What's no doubt different now (versus pre-stroke) is her slow progression towards making peace with her disabled body.  I can actually see this occurring as she makes more and more baby step gains each week.  And yes, I typed that correctly.  Angie making peace with her now disabled body.  

Perhaps this change of heart is pragmatically tied to progress - tangible progress - within her routine, but I'm convinced too that it has a lot to do with that mistrust (of her body) finally being validated / confirmed.  

This reckoning of her's is the weirdest thing I've yet to witness within our very weird marriage.  Particularly from the standpoint of how it's indirectly bringing about my own.    

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In conclusion, my hope lies today in what my wife is doing now to continue to rebuild strength / mobility within her post-stroke body, and me having the good fortune of witnessing this awesome, multifaceted work.  In the end, as an outcome of this good work, my hope for her is to love her body well as she slowly makes peace (yet not completely trust) with it going forward.

For we both benefit, taking into account our one-fleshness.  

Recommended Viewing

Recommended Reading - Social Media Is A Playground For Men (& Women) Who Obsessively Lust. Countless Hours Are Wasted As They Fuel Their Sexual Fantasies. This Is Another Great Reason To Avoid Social Media.

 Inside dark world of Instagram fame that's seeing MORE stalkers targeting models & celebs as 'fan kills Mercedes Morr' (the-sun.com)

They Follow You on Instagram, Then Use Your Face To Make Deepfake Porn in This Sex Extortion Scam (vice.com)

How TikTok Serves Up Sex and Drug Videos to Minors - WSJ

Facebook Knows Instagram Is Toxic for Teen Girls, Company Documents Show - WSJ

The Insidious, Fake Intimacy of Algorithms (thegospelcoalition.org)

Heritage Foundation research fellow gets fired up on social media's negative impact: 'Ladies, find your worth elsewhere' (msn.com)

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 Your Spouse Doesn’t Have to Be Your Best Friend (thegospelcoalition.org)

Neutralize / De-escalate Reactions To Your Christian Worldview By Framing Your Beliefs Within Your Own Story, & Always, Always, Always Listen Well

A few weeks back, I had the good fortune of meeting a new, very close to my age / circumstance (stage in life) friend.  And this guy, over the course of about 90 - mostly uninterrupted - minutes, poured out his heart relative to various spiritual, personal viewpoints sprinkled with specific anecdotal accounts of his life as it pertained to his upbringing, vocation, overall temperament, role as a husband / father.  By the time we went our separate ways, I sort of felt like his priest post-confession.

The setting in which all of this took place was one of those once-in-a-lifetime milestone events for both he and I (as dads / husbands), therefore emotions were already running high, but too, I did get the sense that he simply wasn't shy about opening up, if given the opportunity.

Nevertheless, it was his emotional state of mind that opened the door, so to speak, for him to be as transparent / forthcoming as he was - for such a time as that.  For he needed my listening ear just as much as I benefited from having the opportunity to meet that need.

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Emotions, I believe, are best experienced whilst articulating or scoring our current state of mind (what's actually on our mind).  And that may be recalling past experience (memories - both good and bad) or reactions to events in real time.  Profanity exists especially to assist us with this, believe it or not.

We're being conditioned though, as westerners, that verbiage isn't worth verbalizing unless they're ears to hear it (besides your own). 

How?

The endless chatter of social media (that gives the illusion of actually being heard).

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Taking that into consideration, one of the most sure-fire means to come across as a potential threat to someone's "perch" (familial / vocational, etc.) is to refuse to spew forth your thought life incessantly.   

Now, 90 degrees to that approach is letting out your thoughts verbally but in due (on your own) time.  

To circle back to my new aforementioned friend, he stated expectantly that I'd reciprocate "my story" to him once he was finished.  And, in order to meet his expectations, I did so, but via a personal email exchange a week or so later (as luck would have it, we ran out of time for me to have "a turn").

And this approach worked to my advantage because my story, though just as raw as his, isn't / wasn't at all like his.  And to take that truth a step further, my story, by definition, can be quite the polarizer.  

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So, let's talk about that word:  polarizer.  For this isn't usually where individuals care to land as it pertains to their identity.

As fundamentalist (Bible-believing) Christians, within this western culture of ours, we are no doubt going to polarize those around us via how articulate we are regarding our beliefs.  And we should.  Yet, I would argue, we can minimize this - to some degree - if we're intentional about framing our beliefs within our own story.

And I would argue too, in order to do this well, you should be giving the courtesy to your (hopefully) soon-to-be listener (of your story) first dibs on telling his own.

Then, once that's complete, you can circle back.  And if you're savvy (& a quality listener), you can interweave contrasting highlights of your friend's story with yours by using them as jumping off points to carry your Christ-centric narrative along.

There is nothing of greater value within a relationship than listening.  Not hearing.  Listening.  For listening takes work.  And everyone knows that.  Therefore, you can truly earn someone's trust by taking the time to listen to them well.

Lagniappe

More lagniappe