Your Bike Just Got Stolen. These Vigilantes Will Get it Back. - WSJ
Thursday, February 29, 2024
Wednesday, February 28, 2024
Tuesday, February 27, 2024
The Samson Society Multiverse
When I first stepped into a Samson Society meeting in August 2014, there was only one meeting (in-person) for me to attend, and that was the Wednesday at 6 PM CST meeting at First Baptist Church Jackson (Summit Counseling suite). That in-person meeting is still going strong. It introduced me to a men's ministry that's changed my life for the better.
But I didn't stay within that group. Eventually, I migrated to the Grace Crossing Samson Society group (Gluckstadt), attending there for +/-1 year.
The initial FBC Jackson group had a particular flavor that was quite therapeutic while the second group I attended was more relational. Neither group was better than the other, though the contrast opened my eyes to just how different Samson groups can trend.
From there, I started my own group (Lakeside Pres). And, of course, mine became somewhat eclectic. A combination of what I'd witnessed within the previous two, inaugural Jackson Metro Samson groups.
That Lakeside Pres Samson group continued on for almost four years (2017-2021). We met on Saturday mornings at 7 AM.
Two in-person groups spun-off from the one I facilitated. One in Brandon (39042) and then Pearl.
I then dived into the virtual Samson Society groups in December of 2021. "Make Thursdays Great Again" was unlike anything I could have imagined. It was the Price Is Right version of a Samson Society meeting, all thanks to the electrifying facilitator, Mr. Justin Schwind. It literally became one of the highlights of my week (Thursdays at 7 PM CST). And it's still going strong.
After royally pissing off a newbie Samson brother who too was a regular "MTGA" attendee, I made a discreet exit (I did not want - in any way - to hinder his recovery via my continued presence). I pivoted into "Brain Changers" which meets on Sundays at 5 PM CST. "Brain Changers" was a familiar return to what the Lakeside Pres Samson meeting (that I facilitated) felt like, all those years earlier.
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I hear more and more of Samson guys committing to multiple Samson meetings over the course of one week. Many of these men attest to attending a meeting every single day.
If you're familiar with the virtual Samson Society meetings, this commitment is doable (there are multiple meetings on the schedule for each day of the week as well as multiple types of meetings - some that allow cross talk, book studies, etc.).
Why do this? Why commit to attending a Samson meeting every single day?
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I believe the best answer to this question is as follows:
To directly combat compulsive sexual sin.
What does that mean exactly - compulsive sexual sin?
Compulsory: Required, mandatory, obligatory
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When you're in bondage to compulsive sexual sin, you need solid grounding / commitment to recovery, therefore a once-a-week Samson Society meeting likely isn't going to suffice.
Let me repeat that:
When you're in bondage to compulsive sexual sin, you need solid grounding / commitment to recovery, therefore a once-a-week Samson Society meeting likely isn't going to suffice.
What's the true benefit of this approach to recovery?
It's twofold.
Firstly, during every 24 hours, you're spending one of those within a Samson Society meeting. It serves as a recovery datum / opportunity to reset that's difficult to ignore.
Secondly, it forces you out of your own head. Exposing you to fresh faces each day. Faces that bring a specific color to the meeting. Countless, unexpected hues drive away boredom, feelings of repetitiveness. Think of it as the Samson Society multiverse.
This rigorous approach is highly effective for those who are just "too far gone".
Think of attending a meeting a day in the same light as prioritizing an hour of exercise each day relative to being in tremendously poor physical health (& therefore on your death bed).
It's exactly the same tenacious, turbocharged approach.
For those of you who're in bondage to compulsive sexual sin, be encouraged to intentionally counteract this frame of mind by exploiting the availability of Samson Society meetings - to your recovery's advantage. You will not regret the time invested / commitment therein.
Saturday, February 24, 2024
Friday, February 23, 2024
"A Calm & Quiet Tension" - JR Everhart
It just never goes away. It’s always there sleeping. I can feel it breathing inside me. It seems as if no matter how much healing and personal growth I experience, it’s still there. It’s patient and quiet, never rushing in. Instead, it just waits for the right moment and then plays to any number of my arousal templates. It’s never made me do anything that didn’t already live in me somewhere. It only presents opportunity to fail. Its power is in manipulation and based on lies that only bring death and decay. That’s why it’s so hard to fight. I can’t blame it for anything because I am the one choosing to step over the line. But it never misses an opportunity to remind me of my poor choices. That is the vehicle these things travel in throughout my mind. It constantly reminds me of my past failures seemingly eroding my self-confidence. Not once has it ever allowed me to enjoy any true victory because it’s always telling me I’m still not enough. This makes it next to impossible to ever truly find satisfaction in anything.
Nonetheless, I march on - day in and day out - via my faith in Christ's work on the Cross of Calvary, and I do this because there is no faith in me except my own evil desires. I am broken beyond repair in so many ways. I’m not saying Jesus hasn’t healed many layers of my dysfunctional life, because he has. I have some satisfaction in this world in this regard, but it pales in comparison to where I'd like to be. Heaven calls out for me and on days like today, I feel the distance between my forward-looking heavenly home and this world of death and decay. I will never be free of this fallen nature until the day I meet my Savior, Jesus, face to face. Resisting this world is exhausting even whilst leaning into the warm comfort of a loving Savior. I have as much victory as any believer can hope for, but growing in wisdom only reveals just how little that victory truly is, considering the war against one’s selfish desires. No matter how far I travel on this road to recovery, I’m still just one decision away from the ditch. This knowledge does bring more sorrow to the wise and struggle to the addict. The moment you realize that your flesh didn’t get actually get saved and will always fight against you - to some degree - is the moment the real battles begin. There is no magic incantation that fixes everything. No holy remedy that makes all your struggles go away. There is only faith in the promises of Jesus being entirely enough for the repentant sinner. Outside of that, there is no hope for any of us. It’s just another form of control rooted within (y)our own pride, candy coated with self-sufficiency. But deep down, the fallen nature is still driving.
The only confidence I have is in knowing I’m redeemed through Jesus. I’m enough because he is enough. The rest of life is just about not focusing on the lies and failures that make up our lives. One purpose of this fallen nature is to keep us humble, walking close to God. But that road can be full of stumbles and failure as well.
Thank you, Jesus for doing for me that which I cannot do for myself. I trust you with all my soul and recognize that the only good found in me comes from you residing within me. The rest is evil that hides in the dark corners of my fallen nature. God help me as I navigate through the dark carnival of my fallen nature. Help me to stay focused on you and quick to repent when I find myself lost in the forest of my flesh. My only hope is in you and your grace toward my failures. Grow me Lord, and comfort me along this road of insecurity. Restore my soul and realign my field of vision toward your love for me. Strengthen me when I am lost, lamenting the horror of this world, and re-establish me in my walk of faith. Ignite faith inside my doubts and create a slow burn of holiness in my life that no trial can extinguish. Plant trees of life where there is no life within me whilst shining your love into the dark corners of my brokenness. Remind me of the foundational victory that is the pillar my world is built upon. Open my eyes to your understanding and rescue me from my pride. Cover me with your wings of acceptance and protect me from the winds of whispering lies that try to steer me back to the faceless darkness that is my fleshly desires. I belong to you Lord, I am not my own, and I’ve been purchased with a high, high price. Mold me Lord and restore my soul. Establish me so your glory can shine even through my failures. Take what was meant for evil and use it for good. Humble my pride and soften my heart. Without you I am nothing. I belong to you Lord, I belong to you. In Jesus I believe, amen.
Thursday, February 22, 2024
Simply Feeling Circumstantially Unsafe As A Boy Can Have A Long-Term Impact
I run twice weekly. Once during the workweek and once during the weekend. Each run is 5K broken in half by a one-mile brisk walk. I run slowly sans a fitness tracker, and I only glance at my watch once in order to see the time. I do not keep tabs on pacing, heartrate or any of that other nonsense. I simply run away from home before coming back, the exact same route twice weekly.
I love to hate to run.
Last week, I ran one weekday evening, and upon my return home, it had become dark out. As I made my way into our 'hood, I could see a Chevrolet HHR parked just inside the property of one of the three surrounding churches - Episcopal, Assembly of God, Presbyterian (circumnavigating our neighborhood).
Despite the fact that the intensely smoking (it was on fire) retro-styled automobile had emergency off-ramped at the Episcopal church, it was just as vacantly quiet as their religious competitors' property (at the time).
If I'm remembering correctly, it was around 8:30-8:45 PM when I first noticed the smoldering vehicle and its distressed occupants (mulling about).
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My parents got pregnant with Rob when they were 17 (mom) and 18 (dad.). (90) days later, they were married in rural Humphreys County (Gooden Lake Baptist Church), not far from where my grandmother (Darlene's mom) still lives (she's 92) within her 900-sf rancher to this day.
My parents were children who unintentionally had a child together. The year was 1972. Both the era as well as the Mississippi setting presumptuously placed a shotgun wedding within their crosshairs.
My father had no intentions of leaving Belzoni, MS until a wise, older man convinced him otherwise (my father's father died of lung cancer when he was a 9-year-old boy).
From there, he. pursued higher education both at MS Delta Community College and Delta State University (the three of us lived in married family housing during his two years as a student at DSU).
Immediately following graduation, my dad got a job in Jackson. During this time, we lived within an apartment in South Jackson (I was around age 4-5 and my parents were in their early to mid-20s).
We traveled back to Humphreys County regularly to visit my grandparents. It was no secret that my father longed to return to his small-town roots. These weekend furloughs served as the antidote.
I, of course, simply went along for the ride. Back and forth. Back and forth. Always riding in the backseat of our army green Volkswagen Beetle.
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I walked the ROW for about a minute before reaching the young family. The mom was talking on her pocket computer while her young (preschool age) son stood close by her side (tablet in hand). The father was hastily emptying out the backseat of the still heavily smoking Chevy. Clothes and trash were being strewn onto the ground via his reactionary cleaning. The hood of the defunct car had been raised. This served to only solidify the despondency of their situation. I asked the young man, from ten or so feet away, who the woman was talking to. He smugly replied "911" without stopping to look over at me.
I then turned and walked back to the entrance to our 'hood, sensing that I wasn't needed (or wanted).
By the time I reached it, I could hear the screaming of the fire truck approaching fast. As a result, I paused to watch the vehicle eventually pull into the same church entrance drive, directly behind the now - somewhat less smoky - vehicle. Law enforcement also came alongside within a matter of only a few additional seconds.
I felt at peace knowing they were being tended to during this tough situation. For they were so very young and obviously just starting out...
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One evening in the late 1970s, my parents and I left Humphreys County (too) late at night for the 90-minute drive back to our apartment in Jackson. You should know that it wasn't 'till the mid '80s that Highway 49 N was constructed into a divided highway. Hence, at this time, it was two-lane, all the way from Yazoo City to Jackson. Up and over, up and over those massive hills as the opposing traffic whizzed by.
It was on this highway that my parents' VW Beetle ceased operating (we weren't far outside of Yazoo City) whilst traveling south. Overall, we'd been on the road around 45 minutes. I can remember my dad pulling over onto the ROW, and from there, him asking my mom to locate a flashlight within the glovebox. Once she did, it unfortunately failed to illuminate with anything other than a faint glow.
I distinctly remember how dark it was sitting quietly there in the cramped backseat as I watched my mom's motionless silhouette seated just a few feet in front of me. Neither of us spoke. We could hear my dad outside. He'd raised the hood (on the rear of the Beetle), though we both knew he'd no way of seeing anything via the faint glow of the almost dead flashlight. A familiar fear crept up inside of me like some sort of emotional nausea. Yet, there was no means to escape it. Our situation (once again) looked and felt bleak. We were like three sitting ducks.
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As I continued to grow as a boy, my parents grew alongside. Because of this, their perspective matured in tandem with my own. Hence, the fears I faced as a young child were mostly faced alone (as they did their own).
Children rearing children is completely distinct from adults rearing children. I was privy to this, even as a boy. For I was no dummy. Every one of my peers had parents who were much older (& therefore behaved far differently) than my own.
But back to that earlier statement.
Children rearing children is completely distinct from adults rearing children.
And it's especially apparent when families like the one I was reared within face crisis.
Children from those families must find a means to cope with the insecurities that come with being reared by childparents.
For Rob, that coping came in the form of fantasy. Elaborate, commiserate fantasy that was customized to my needs (security) as a boy, then teenager, then young man, then man...
Eventually, at the outset of adolescence, those fantasies became sexualized. And this happened in proportion to hastily accelerating (sizable) insecurities surrounding my sense of adolescent masculinity (or lack thereof). Aligned with that stopgap solution was me being - by God's design - an extremely visual boy who was easily captivated by beauty - beautiful people (mostly masculine men), automobiles, buildings. All of these enthralled Rob, but none had the seemingly tangible allure as them Adonises. For they represented - to me - safety and strength, confidence, gentleness and care. Sexual fantasies revolving around these men served as the ultimate boyRob pacifier.
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My parents & I have numerous stories we can tell relative to our adventures as a 3-legged stool family unit. I love my mom and dad. And frankly, I know that it was only via God's grace that we made it through intact.
I realize I've posted this prior, but I love this photo of all three of us on my parents' wedding day. Enjoy.
Wednesday, February 21, 2024
"The No Bull Briefing" - February 2024
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