Do You Fear God?

When I began to realize how deliberately indulging lust was (at the precipice of middle school), this is when I began to truly fear God.  Up until then, I had no real reason to fear him, though I did believe he existed and that our world had been / continued to be ordered via his will.  

My bio father was an enforcer of rules within our home, though most of those were unspoken expectations that simply centered around me being obedient to my parents' commands (sans any sardonic commentary).  As I aged, he understandably pulled back therein (in proportion to my teenage emotional retreat), becoming more and more distant as any sort of active guidepost / leader within my life (he was consistently present / reliably routine). 

Therefore eventually, my then new fear of God also morphed into need.  That being direction for not only managing my depravity but for my life overall.  For my penchant for lust was only ramping up / becoming more pervasive as a go-to private entertainment escape.

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We've had the good fortune to spend some quality time with new friends over the holidays.  One of the distinct differences that I've clued into therein is the lack of God fear within these lovely human beings.  And as a Christian, this is hard for me to relate to.  For I begin wondering, am I more depraved than most, or is this simply tied to me attempting to be God (judge) with or without any true accuracy (or some combination therein)?

I read my Bible regularly.  I pray regularly.  I enjoy both of these things immensely.  Right now, I'm reading through the book of Ezekiel.  In fact, I just finished chapter 23.  If you've never read Ezekiel 23, it's essentially a brutally descriptive / explicitly pornographic allegory of two people groups / physical places and God's utter disgust with their chronic debauchery (lack of fear).  

In tandem with this, I'm undergoing some very intense personal recovery work right here during the holidays.  Recovery work inspired by some of Mr. Andrew Bauman's teachings at the '24 Samson Summit.

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In closing, church is really important to me as well.  Why?  Because of its representation as Christ's bride combined with all the good (that I've experienced) from being involved within a local body of believers.  Much of the book of Acts focuses on the early Christian church.  If you're a Bible-loving Christian, wouldn't you work hard to find / invest within a local church (even if you're single) that serves you / allows you to serve others well?

I'm certainly not anymore depraved than the average Joe, but I am much more prone to ruminate on this part of myself (I have to believe).  

At times, a deep-seated sense of worthlessness has taken root, over the years, as a result of this.  

Were I less inclined to follow This Path, I don't believe fear would ever reside within the same sentence as God, therefore I'm very much at peace with remembering my need for salvation and, in turn, how deliberately rebellious my heart can be as any sort of almanac for my life.  

Lagniappe:

Identify / Identity Through Observational Contrasts. Embracing / Celebrating God-Given Opportunities For Discernment Regarding Who You Truly Are.

There were so many positive attributes to working for the state of MS ('06-'12) as a Staff Architect, but one of my favorites was the opportunity to befriend / work with architects / engineers, that I'd never met prior, from all over the Magnolia State.  And I'll say it again:  All architects are very unique (before getting into specifics).

One local (Jackson Metro) architect I worked alongside on many a bond-monies funded project was +/-15 years my senior.  This elder statesmanish, laid-back sole proprietor worked from home and had recently passed the finish line pertaining to rearing his two (then young adult) children (they were more or less up and out).

This man was a closed book personally.  In other words, all business all the time.  As such, we talked a whole lotta shop.  But, because of my influential position (owner's representative), he couldn't comfortably shun my interpersonal inquisitiveness.

Therefore, I'd make calculated moves in order to query him regarding his faith, career path, upbringing.  And eventually, he even warmed up to me enough to make some (religious) book recommendations (he was one of the first Reformed Christians I've ever had the privilege to meet - in person).

And I'm so glad I took these platonic risks.  For this was one unique dude.  And so, so very sharp.

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One of the most interesting aspects of his story had to do with his own unique relationship with his faith / the "outside world".

I vividly recall him admitting to walking into a professional partnership eyes closed (very early on in his career), only to soon realize his untimely vocational mistake.  Nevertheless, he'd no easy way to walk back from this now mixed-morality marriage (his words), therefore he stayed put (in South MS, no less) 'till a clear exit path presented itself.  

His children were small during this season, and his wife, the ever-subservient homemaker.  Hence, he no doubt was in that 360-degrees-of-pressure-cooker stage of adulthood.  

All-in-all, I quickly got the sense that they'd chosen to readily own the part of the dutifully suffering, faithfully clandestine pariahs, ever determined to survive this ordeal resolute.    

As you probably already guessed, this architect was deeply religious, and prior to him packing up his young clan and moving to Hattiesburg for this shareholder role, they'd been faithful churchgoers (I'm willing to bet a dollar he was likely a young deacon / elder) within the Jackson Metro. 

Now here's where his story truly becomes insightful as to his identity.

Instead of this young family becoming a member of a local "Hub City" church (immediately following their move), they chose instead to super commute to the Jackson Metro very early each subsequent Sunday morning in order to attend (their) church - as they'd done prior to relocating.  From there, post morning church services, the children would nap on the church pews (after eating a packed lunch) in order to be "fully refreshed" for the evening church service / activities.  When that had concluded, this architect would pack up his clan and return forlornly to Hattiesburg (90 minutes by car).  

And this went on for years.

I can remember how earnest he was as he revealed this to me, and it was obvious he had no regrets therein.  I was left speechless.

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Covenant Eyes has been a lifesaver for Rob.  It's been my digital training pants for a decade now.  

When I consume gay porn, I gravitate to a laptop / desktop PC (I don't have access to a tablet PC).  On the other hand (thankfully), my pocket computer, due to its small scale, simply isn't equivalent.

Covenant Eyes, as a smartphone app, was very recently replaced by their "Victory" app, yet I haven't downloaded this successor program.

Why?

Because of what I admitted to earlier.  My pocket computer is moreso an email management, Slack, weather app, telephone, text messaging device.

And I knew this day was coming.  For as of yesterday, (9/28) my smartphone is unmonitored by CE due to this software phase out / upgrade.

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I'm very fortunate to be able to say that in spite of the countless hours of consuming gay porn, I've never had the urge to imitate / engage in what I was seeing.  Hence, Angie (my wife) is the only individual I've been sexual with.  Ever.  

And even today, with Angie's disabled, broken body as my helpmeet, I still consider the notion of engaging sexually with another man as not of interest in the least.  Conversely, my love for my physically broken wife continues to deepen.  

What this tells me is the following (& I clearly heard this commentary last night post consuming gay porn on my now "unlocked" pocket computer):  There's a huge difference in consuming porn and engaging in homosexual practices.  To be a bit more granular, if I were to encounter the gay porn models who're engaging with each other sexually, I have no doubt that I'd back away heavy hearted.  Not because of me finding myself between a rock and a hard place (sexual identity vs faith in Christ), but due to the abject brokenness / dead end that's there on full display.

Can I daresay that Jesus has clearly reminded (tempered?) me, as of late, that my appetite isn't for homosex between me and some hot guy(s).  Not at all.  And this truth has been amplified / concretized via my - now (thankfully) quite sporadic - consumption of gay porn.  

And not because I've "had my fill" (believe me, I'll never have my fill of gay porn).  No.  Instead, it's due to the very explicit www education I've been given.  One that's allowed me to come to grips with / rigorously adjudicate a practice that's now wholly celebrated / normalized throughout the entire western world.

Can I say wholeheartedly - Thanks be to God for my exposure to / struggle with gay porn?!?  Not only in line with growing my faith but with growing my understanding of myself?

I'm ruminating on these interrogative sentences even as I type this.

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When our two oldest daughters were preschool / toddlers, Angie and I warmed up to the notion of homeschooling.  Especially considering how smart my wife is / her love for our children.  And we jumped headfirst into this even though we had access to great traditional school choices (both public and private) near our home.

As such, when our oldest daughter aged into kindergarten, Angie homeschooled her.  And it went superbly.

But when we attended the homeschool co-op kindergarten graduation ceremony with our 6-year-old in tow, I was immediately struck by the air of entitlement / tremendous lack of diversity (keep in mind this was 2009).  Therefore, by the end of the ceremony, I was equal parts nauseated and livid.  For it simply felt way too much like a white bread Christian fringe group. 

As we were walking across the parking lot upon exiting the church annex, I made it very clear that there'd be no further homeschooling going forward.  From there, I asked Angie to reach out to our assigned public elementary school in order to schedule an audience with the principal (regarding 1st grade).  She did so begrudgingly, but man oh man, God used that meeting to clearly demarcate the educational path forward for our girls. 

Homeschooling, upon our research, looked so appealing.  Noble even.  But once we engaged, we quickly realized the mistake we'd made (for our particular family / identity).

(BTW, if I remember correctly, the aforementioned elder statesmen architect homeschooled their children.)

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I've taken Safari and banished it from my lower level "convenient apps" zone on my pocket computer.  My hope for this week is to simply not browse - at all - on that Internet capable device.  

Can I not piss in the bed sans training pants?  We'll see. 

Here's hoping I can hang tightly to my true identity whilst being tempted.  

I'm not sure what takes longer - finding / accepting one's true identity or recovery in general.  Molasses flow.

As a Christian, You're Going To Get Hurt Within Samson Society. Why Expect This? Because You're Called To Serve Firstly & Feel Secondly.

Prior to losing my Campus Architect / Facilities Director position at Delta State University in 2013, I was surrounded by men day in and day out via the demands of / setup within my vocational role.  I did my darndest to treat everyone fairly, but since I was only there one year prior to my termination (thanks to me violating their IT policy), I really only had time to grow close to a handful of these blue-collar blokes.  Overall, though, I felt this experience was literally the zenith of my career as an architect.  And I felt this at day one.  It truly had all the makings of a dream job.

My leadership approach was as follows: open-door, listen and try to help without in any way pretending to know better than they did (because I usually didn't).  My predecessor had taken the exact opposite approach, therefore the change in leadership style, for my minions, was like a breath of fresh air.

Therein, what dragged / wore on me constantly was how one-sided this setup was.  Especially as it pertained to both me and my family being transplanted into this very new, very isolating small-town MS setting.  For my minions had been starving for respect, therefore my appointment was soon met with all that pent up demand.

Ultimately, no one there knew Rob - warts & all. Nor did I have any friends (outside of work) that served me within the same open door, subservient capacity (as I was day-in-and-day-out serving my men).  As a result, as each work week passed, I felt more and more like an outsider through and through. 

Nonetheless, Rob's respectful modus operandi was appropriate and helpful to all of these men, and this provided me with peace of mind.  For it represented me not being - in the least - overstepping of the supervisor / minion relationship.  For I'd experienced that myself when I too was a minion (within other vocational settings), and it was neither fair nor in anyway helpful therein as it pertained to me doing my minion job to the best of my ability.

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My introduction to Samson Society in August 2014 (11-months post job termination) felt like the "mirror universe" version of my aforementioned Campus Architect / Facilities Director role at DSU.  And this was absolutely apparent, within that first in-person Samson group, due to the fact that I simply wouldn't / couldn't be called upon to "hold the professional line" (put up or shut up).  Therefore, no matter what I happened to say, either within or outside of a meeting (after meeting / retreats) I was allowed to test this assumption repeatedly, yet never once did anyone pull me aside and say, "you might want to tone down the authenticity rhetoric a little."

For such a time as that, I was desperately in need of this weekly orgy of truth-telling / being heard and listened to, for I had so much anger, shame and desperation, with no idea what to do with it.  Plus, I simply wasn't interested in really hearing or knowing otherwise about anyone else's situation (though I certainly pretended to).  My own pain was simply too big to look away from - 24/7/365.  So much so, back then, that it came close to pulling me under completely (thanks to PTSD).

Eventually though, it became more manageable as the pressure eased within my mind.

As such, I did begin to heal.  And from there, I truly began serving / giving back to this community in droves.  I'm here to testify to the fact that Samson Society absolutely worked its magic.  From there, I hit recovery cruise control via service to those who'd have me.  And oh, how much fun that's been. 

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Consider this memory of note:

My breakout attempt to extend an intimate hand of friendship within Samson Society took place right before Christmas 2014.  A younger man who'd been faithful (at that point, longer than I had) to the First Baptist Church Jackson Samson Society piqued my platonic interest in light of his exuberant, outgoing persona (super fun guy).  I'd been fortunate enough to hear bits and pieces of this Samson brother's story throughout the five months I'd been attending said meeting and had even attended a few Bible studies over at his apartment  

What I didn't realize was how my attempts to extend a personal hand of friendship would be reacted to via the other men or at least one, in particular, who'd long since crossed that particular relational bridge (w/ fun guy).

This was when I quickly realized that my involvement within Samson Society was in no way happening inside a vacuum, and that I was just as blokey as all my peers.  And running headlong into this now wedge hurt, but it also didn't deliver reciprocally anything other than a strong reminder of how absolutely okay it was for me to stand up for my own wants and desires within this sacred space of brotherhood.  

Or this one:

I poured mucho time and energy into a guy who'd, like me, come to a Samson story retreat.  This was my second of these, and mostly, I was there out of respect for the facilitator (who was my first "Silas" - pre-Samson Society).  This (fellow retreat attendee) AL native and I agreed to continue dialoguing into the future, and he was extremely faithful to that agreement.

Eventually, the stars aligned, and from there, we were set to both attend a Samson Society National Retreat.  I'd been to many of these prior, but this was his first.  I vividly recall comparing (to him) my previous Samson National Retreats as vampiric feeding grounds.  In essence, fantastic opportunities to make new connections and therefore "drink in" stories 'till one's heart's content.  

Disappointedly, he failed to engage.  In fact, he spent the majority of his time - throughout the weekend - text messaging his wife back in GA.  For she was his codependent female "Silas", for lack of a better word.  As a result, not one Samson guy benefited from befriending this dude (besides brushing shoulders with him during the lunch line).  And that was because he made zero effort to invest as he'd invested in me (& vice versa) throughout the lead up to this endeavor.

We continued our ongoing bi-monthly chats, but it took a long while for me to settle back into our routine emotionally unscathed.  

Nonetheless, I'd realized from the get-go, whilst walking into that second Samson story retreat, that it wasn't going to offer me a whole lot (repetitive) unless I made the most of this syndication.  And that's what motivated me to pursue new connections.  For this, I had no regrets.

Or this one:

Young guy shows up to my Samson meeting at Lakeside Pres church one Saturday morning.  Since he's a newbie, I immediately follow-up with him out of respect for showing up.

The deep-seated respect that returns to me is noble but also uneasy-ly blind.

He continues attending (like clockwork).  Eventually, I tell him to let me come alongside and intentionally assist in his recovery (over the course of the upcoming calendar year).  Months pass.  From there, we agree to meet once a week.

I become his very intentional big brother cheerleader, attending his side hustle events, gifting him at birthdays / promotions at work, and ever steadily continuing to meet regularly. Our friendship is richly rewarding. 

I even loop him into a movie night ("1917") with my father at the newly opened suburban MoviePlex.  Fun times.

Then very unexpectedly the relationship exploded violently.  And of all places for this to occur, ironically, it was during an in-person Samson meeting.        

Within just a few minutes, our friendship / brotherhood ceased to exist in spite of it being bookended on either side by this very ministry.  

A few weeks later, I followed through with (yet again) attending the National Samson Society retreat.  This was never an option for my previous Samson brother.  For anytime I brought up the notion of him accompanying me was met with swift refusal / rebuttal.  

It was during that retreat that I asked Mr. Justin Schwind about attending the virtual Samson Society meeting he facilitated (I'd never prior given serious thought to attending a virtual Samson Society meeting).

And that formally segued me from in-person to virtual literally overnight.

And finally, this one:

A newcomer to this "Make Thursdays Great Again" virtual Samson meeting caught my attention.  I DM'ed him via Slack and before long we were off and running.  He'd attended intensive weekends within other men's parachurch ministries, therefore Samson was serving him beautifully as an everyday reminder / placeholder of that / those sacred event(s).   

We talked A LOT for weeks on end.  The alignment pertaining to our intellect, personas, faith were undeniable. Plus, he was just so hungry for attention.  As such, the attraction was building between us. 

By this point (this was February of '23), I had amassed quite the impressive resume of Samson stories.  So much so that I truly thought I'd heard it all.

But with this guy, that was most definitely not the case.

My reaction therein was blunt.

Needless to say, he was deeply offended.

And that was the end of that.  

But, in the end, it was this offense that motivated me to reposition myself in (virtual Samson meeting) "Brain Changers" on Sunday afternoons / evenings.  And eventually, from co-facilitator, I became sole facilitator ("Transparent Training Union").  

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Last weekend, my wife and I bumped into a guy I often see at the Y.  At the time, she and I were at the local grocery.  This man's younger than me, but due to his build, looks a good bit older than his biological age.  I'd been praying for an opportunity to give him my business card in hopes of us having lunch someday.  And lo and behold, here was my opportunity.  

Why pray this prayer?

Because he's right there in front of me, and he's got a story I want to hear.  That's why.

Plus, he knows my name.

Seriously, I can't not take the chance to see where an extended hand might very well lead.  I love men.  God loves me.  It's full circle.  

Lagniappe

More lagniappe

Even more lagniappe

Rob's (Adolescent) Self-Pleasure Hidey Hole

You've heard the trope.  "I'm taking / claiming sanctuary / asylum here within the church house".   

During the previous US President's administration, a number of illegal immigrants took this approach (as a last resort to being deported).  

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When I was in high school, my family faithfully attended First Baptist Church Jackson.  At this time (1989-1990), the church had just completed a massive Fellowship Hall / Sunday School classroom addition.  This was a multi-story building (5-6 floors) which served to (architecturally) completely fill the urban city block (immediately to the east of the State Capitol Building) the church resided within in downtown Jackson.

Oftentimes, on a typical Sunday morning, I would drop my parents off at one of the church's many covered drop offs prior to parking their car (in light of us inevitably running late).  We lived in Madison (in the country!) in an average-sized ranch house, therefore the drive to our downtown Jackson church was a very repetitive (boring) +/-25 minutes.  

All of my peers that were also - for the most part - faithful churchgoers (11th / 12th grade Sunday morning) went to other schools than I did.  And these schools weren't just different than my own, they were far better (academically superior) than my own.  

I especially loathed arriving on-time to Sunday School and having to endure the dead space prior to the class starting.  For everyone knew each other from their school(s), therefore in spite of their late-night grogginess, small talk came easily for them.

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At this time, I knew I wanted to pursue architecture as a college degree / career field.  As such, this interest empowered me to explore buildings with an "eye for design" / out of curiosity.  

Not long after the massive Sunday School / Fellowship Hall addition was occupied by the church, I took the time to explore it from stem to stern.

This afforded me the opportunity to find some "off the beaten path" one-hole restrooms that were perfectly suited to steal away to.

And this became my cathartic routine.  Every Sunday morning.  Prior to Sunday School.  

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This was me rebelling against a situation that I felt powerless against.  Having to repetitively face the uncomfortableness of Sunday morning (high school Sunday School) stood in stark contrast to my budding desire (as a new believer) to learn about God's word / be at church.  For I had no doubt that I had been positioned well, particularly at that age, to reap tremendous spiritual growth via First Baptist Church Jackson.  

To expound on that word powerless, let me offer up the following.

My parents were attending this church, at this particular time, due to their fierce loyalty to it.  This loyalty was borne out of the love and care they experienced whilst being ushered / invited into this fold as a (very) young (not at all locally sourced) couple.  From there, just a few years passed before my dad found himself as an (very young) ordained deacon.  This too solidified their place amongst the Protestant throngs within this thriving '80s mega-church.

I wasn't about to complicate the situation / rock the boat by voicing my frustration related to one dumb weekly hour of Sunday School.

Yet...

each rebellious sexual-fantasy-fueled act seeded my Sabbath day conscious with immense guilt.  And even though I would regularly find myself consistently tardy to my assigned high school Sunday School class (way up on the 5th floor), no one seemed to notice.

For I was Rob Turner.  That effeminite-acting (gay?) kid from Madison who went to that outlier private school.  

Who sincerely gave a shit about him anyway?  Especially amongst the dressed-to-the-nines northeast Jackson throngs.

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Fast forward to today.

Angie and I attend Lakeside Pres.  Of note, for almost four years, I facilitated an in-person Samson Society meeting there on Saturday mornings.  It was a wonderful opportunity that's imbued a tremendous amount of loyalty of my own towards that church.  The facilities at Lakeside Pres are lackluster.  Hence, there's simply not enough church building to properly accommodate the church body (I am keenly aware of this due to my background as an architect).  It's the exact opposite of what Angie and I experienced at First Baptist Church Jackson (growing up) where space was plentiful / thoughtfully designed to accommodate / serve that '80s church.

I really enjoy Bible study.  Sunday School is one of my favorite ways to delve in.  The class we've been attending for a few years now found its origin as an offshoot of a much larger class.  Today, this class is bursting at the seams (considering the room we're assigned to).  Plus, it's simply starting to feel stale / repetitive in spite of the quality teaching / friendliness of the group (Rob's blue ocean itch).

Yesterday, Angie and I agreed to take a bit of a sabbatical from Sunday School (only) in order to think through and pray about where God might lead us next relative to Sunday morning Bible study.  

Within this class, we're very well known.  And mostly due to how unabashed I am at providing commentary / asking questions.  Therefore, it's become a very, very comfortable experience amongst very familiar friends.  

But, it's important to remember that God is good and effectively orchestral.  

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I workout at the Y twice weekly.  The facility I frequent typically hosts middle to Medicare-aged folks (relatively speaking).  Over the past few years though, there've been a handful of high school boys who've become faithful gymgoers.  This generational variety has been welcomed wholeheartedly.  

Presently, one young man has been very regular for close to one year.  

I introduced myself to him late last year, and from there, it's been delightful to know him on a first name basis (though we rarely speak if he's there with his posse).

A month or so ago, I overheard that he was slated to move away, and I confirmed this with him last week.  

My heart hurts for him.  I can't imagine having had to start fresh as an 11th grader in an entirely new place / setting.  Particularly where he knows no one.

I had him try on my workout gloves this past Saturday in hopes that my size would fit him too.  It didn't.  

I have two unboxed pairs (my size) at the house, and I'd hoped to gift him one - as a wellwisher gift.  

Unfortunately, this particular glove is no longer made, therefore purchasing a smaller size - for him - is off the table.

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Powerless is a feeling that I keenly sympathize with.  In fact, I'd argue it's a bit of a theme of my life that's rooted squarely in my teenage years.

Nonetheless, God is good and effectively orchestral.  I believe that with all my heart.  

Feeling powerless doesn't mean we necessarily are.  God is good and effectively orchestral.  He is always advocating on our behalf as his adopted sons.

That being said, especially whilst considering our inner child, those negative feelings can effectively disrupt / hijack our intentions if opportunity presents itself.

Happy Easter!

 HAPPY EASTER 2024!

Hamstring Yourself (For Your Own Good) While You're (Still) Young. This Will Best Prepare You To Re-Prioritize Entertainment Tech Well Into Middle-Age.

I broke my Californian Morman Silee's heart last night by bearing down on him for recently snapping up the latest & greatest pocket computer.

He couldn't answer logically why he'd justified the purchase.  Instead, he just laughed nervously as I continued to interrogate.  

So, why exactly should he be scorned for owning the latest, most advanced smartphone?

To make him think.  So few people actually do this anymore.

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This is why I'm a card-carrying Samson guy:

There is nothing on Earth I enjoy more than watching videos of gorgeous, hot guys having sex with each other.  Particularly hot guys who are really into each other's bodies.  All along, giving the impression, to the audience (me!), that they have a love for each other that's being expressed sexually.  Too, it's icing on the cake if these videos are well lit ("high" production values), and the set (where the sex is taking place) is seemingly well designed.  

To take it a step further, I like following certain gay porn models by watching video after video of them having sex with various other men or mens (or just themselves).  It's a way for me to privately "get to know" / form a "relationship" these men who're dedicated to their field.  Especially from the standpoint of how they specifically engage with their onscreen lovers.  

In all honesty, watching these muscled, hairy studs orgasm is the zenith of pleasurable experiences for Rob.  Seeing this is like winning the lottery!  Especially when the camera captures their countenance as they're climaxing.  Seeing their eyes roll back into their skulls as they hold their breath / moan in ecstasy...losing all semblance of respectable cool.  This is what I (my flesh) live to see!

And as you know, dear reader, the Internet is / was designed for PORN!

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The absolute first line of defense that I have against satiating my fleshly craving to consume videos of men having sex is to pull back far enough to attack the problem via access.

You cannot run if you're crippled.  It's as simple as that.

Hence, in order to properly advocate for myself, I had to willingly hamstring relative to tech.  And this approach has served me incredibly well.

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So, who am I exactly relative to tech?

The Turners don't own a television other than a 27" Sony CRT that I purchased back in 2000 ($549.99 at Best Buy) when I passed the Architectural Registration Exam.  It's in an entertainment cabinet at the foot of our bed in the master bedroom.  It isn't tied to CATV or an Internet streaming service.  All this behemoth is capable of doing is playing DVD video at 480i resolution (it does have a 16:9 widescreen viewing mode).

My wife, Angie, bought an Internet tablet years ago, but I don't have the passcode to unlock.  We do not subscribe to any Internet streaming service nor are we a member of Amazon Prime.

My smartphone is so antiquated that it's really only suited for calls, texting, and navigation.  It will take photos / videos, but it has so little memory that it won't hold too many.  I am not engaged in social media at all.  The notion of using my pocket computer to make video / photo selfies sounds about as interesting (& productive) as watching (or starring in) episodes of Teletubbies.  

I do not and would not ever own a computer watch.  

The laptop I have at home (to engage in the virtual Samson Society group, "Brain Changers", on Sunday afternoons) is a dinosaur.  Surfing the Internet is possible, but it's very laborious.  I often get the "High Memory Usage!" warning whilst having multiple tabs open within the browser.  

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I came to adjudicate early on as a young man (pre-Internet) that it would greatly benefit me to become a contrarian to westerner's passionate pursuit of media consumption if I wanted to live any form of a fulfilling, Christ-centric life.  Having been reared within a household where television broadcasting (CATV) was consumed nightly (weekdays & weekends), it didn't take me long to wake up to how much precious time I'd wasted staring at my parents' 20" Toshiba CRT television.  

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Be smart, dear reader.  If you enjoy lust as much as Rob does (& are as convicted as I am relative to its spiritual toxicity), put yourself on a very short (hardware / software) leash today.  It's your first line of defense against being normal.  

From there, use your time to read or write a book / poetry, play or compose a song on a musical instrument, exercise, volunteer, visit a friend, plant / tend to a garden, etc.

Anything is more respectable than staring at a screen, consuming mind-rotting content that will do you no good down the road.  

Lagniappe

Sympathizing With That Invisible Man (Let's Not Forget That Every Guy Isn't Necessarily Destined To Become A Samson Guy)

I have become a Samson guy through and through.  How do I know this?

I desire to spread the Samson Society "Good News" to most every new friend I make.

Even if they're not foreseeably "qualified" (in crisis) to be involved within this community.  

And that's a problem (relative to my friendship track record) because it proves I'm not being sensitive to my friend's needs / wiring.  Instead, I'm behaving more like that pyramid-scheme zealot friend who's looking to make a quick buck.

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"Hi, I'm Rob, and I'm a freak.  I actually lost my dream job as a campus architect (back in 2013) by breaking the institution's IT policy (looking at gay porn online / oversharing on my personal blog)."  

Yikes.  No thanks.  There must be a better way to respectably making an intro relative to my story.

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I'm working to streamline my testimony sans mentioning some of those details.  

Here it goes:

Invisibility has been a place (mindset) I learned to become comfortable within early on in life.  Being a covert mistake (illegitimate child) forced my teenage parents to survive (monetarily, relationally, emotionally) relative to the burden of responsibility / demands my very existence placed on our (almost overnight) 3-person family.

I had to have instinctively (subconsciously) known too that our survival stats would increase if I cooperated (obediently stayed out of the way).  Hence, as an outgrowth of that, I learned early on to inject humor into every feasible though often tense situation.  As such, I naturally became that kid who submerged himself into all manner of fantasy in order to garner that much more creative inspiration therein whilst also seeking escape from a "long shot survival" familial setup.  

All the while, my true feelings were locked away as I manifested my dramatic antics for most any audience available to me.  And this was fun to do due to the fact that I garnered laughs / support therein (I was very humorous).

And then I hit puberty.

From there, my secret weapon (zany antics) became moot as teenage self-consciousness kicked in with a vengeance.  

And this is when the glaring reality of my (up to that point) lifelong invisibility truly reared its head.  As such, idol worship (in the form of lust) which targeted the seemingly "less invisible" (peers, teachers, pastors, and so forth), took root within my psyche at full throttle.  

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At this point in my life (early middle school), I had drawn the conclusion that the gospel of Jesus Christ was anchored in the notion of the invisibles being seen.  Accounted for.  Pursued even.  

Moreso than salvation (though it was a very close second), I wanted that kind of clarity with God.  And in line with that, I desperately desired to be lead.  Especially so from the standpoint of someone who I was visible to (inside and out).  

But ultimately, it was me being cognizant of how survival instinct dependent I'd become relative to my idol worship that set me up beautifully to be lassoed in by the gospel.  

And that's exactly what happened to me during the summer prior to my 7th grade year.  Specifically at church camp.  In Mount Lebanon, TX.  Surrounded by close to one hundred other middle / high schoolers from First Baptist Church Jackson who were integrated amongst the throngs of other youth (groups) from all over Texas / the Deep South.

I vividly remember calling Darlene (my mom) from a pay phone, late into the night, post public profession of faith (walking the aisle) there at the camp.  She replied with, "I thought you'd already done that!?!"

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Had I not been able to faithfully bank on Jesus' "intimate knowing of Rob" (visibility) throughout middle / high school, all of the loneliness - brought on as a result of both the inarguable invisibleness itself combined with it as a demoralizing identifier - would have been too hard to bear.  

Yet, throughout, I was convinced his hand was consistently working on my behalf.  Hence, it provided hope / optimism towards the future whilst helping me manage this tough season.

As a student, I was fair to middling, but what gave me an edge was my confidence as a vocalist / singing from the platform.  Due to the fact that a sizable part of our (high school) youth ministry experience was tied to (Christian) choral music, I quickly found my place.  Whilst looking back, I believe this was one sizable example of God's providence.

At age 15, I was adamant about owning my own car.  My father insisted I get a job to partially fund said car / car insurance.  The effort in finding a job was laughably minimal, and the rewards therein were off the charts.  And though I worked an awful lot, it kept me busy / focused / taught me how to manage time well.  Plus, whilst working alongside a diverse set of other teens, I quickly learned an awful lot from their choices (both good and not so good).  This was not unlike, what I imagine, having a horde of siblings.  

During my senior year of high school, I applied and gained entrance into architecture school.  From there, music continued to provide a cushion as I also joined the MSU Maroon Band as a freshman.  And though church wasn't a priority whilst living fall / spring in Starkville, MS, I met students who were deeply devout who thankfully too became reliable friends.

Now, my penchant / comfort-level for / with invisibleness ushered me into the most important relational decision of my life.  Marriage.  For my one and only girlfriend, Angie, too dealt with this same phenomenon, but in lieu of skillfully masking it behind self-deprecating humor / sarcasm, she simply allowed her inner situation to reflect outwardly.  And oh, my goodness, was she ever that much more beautifully delicate because of it.  

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It didn't take me long to fall in love with her.  From there, I felt compelled to talk to my parents about my idol worship and how it was weighing me down morally / spiritually.  For I'd never addressed that with anyone.  I was so grateful that they pointed me towards therapy that was specific to my issue, and from there, I divulged to Angie.

Now, let me stop here and expound on who I was attempting to be at this time.

As an early 20s young man, I knew I'd matured into an adult and was ready for a steady job / marriage, but I also knew that I was continuing to attempt to manage the fallout from my invisible childhood / teen years in ways that were wreaking havoc on my soul (shame).  Because this was a battle that I fought privately, I optimistically sought out opportunities (post marriage) to find support (mentorship / parachurch men's groups, Christian men's retreats, etc.) amongst Christian brothers.  

Whilst doing so, what I found instead was only more situations which promoted me feeling invisible.  

So, what did I do to cope?

I turned to humor / entertaining once more as I worked reflexively to deflect my true feelings in order to survive (plus, there were bills to pay, a marriage to support, career demands).

Unfortunately though, as a result, I eventually lost the ability to see any of my self.  Instead, if I chose to look inwards, I only could see a void.  Hence, in many ways, I became detached from my moorings due to the fact that I had no idea where I truly existed within the rank & file of men.

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When the Internet came on the scene, Angie and I had only been married for a few years.  We were actively involved in church / a young married Sunday School class, and Angie was just beginning to emerge from a 2-year struggle with general anxiety disorder (thanks be to God for her wonderful therapist).  

For me, the Internet immediately represented an opportunity to take my idol worship to new heights.  As such, I knew not where else to turn but my sweet wife for help.

And she did until eventually, the availability of the Internet became ubiquitous.  Being too hard to hide from, I succumbed habitually.

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At this point, I found myself in a technology-focused culture that I loathed due to how powerless / even more invisible it made me feel.  I instinctively shunned involvement within mainstream tech trends (social media), but Internet porn had a vise grip on me that I simply could not loosen alone.

But then there was a significant turning point in the form of a friend.

My first truly authentic (vulnerable) Christian friend proved to me that relational accountability was far more potent than the allure of my "digital fix".  This younger man came into my life in 2010.  I was in my late 30s at the time, and he was four years younger.  We both had small children, both loved Jesus, but were both in the aforementioned digital vice grip.

Up until early 2012, he and I were as close as brothers.  As such, we met weekly, savoring every moment of our time together.

Later on that same year, I was presented with the opportunity to uproot my family and move to small town Mississippi in order to take an administrative position at a university.  Naively, I believed I'd find friendship there as I'd just experienced back home.

When that didn't occur, the vise grip returned with a vengeance.  In response, I cried out for help online (oversharing on my personal blog).  Help didn't come.  Instead, judgement and demonization were doled out unremittently via my now employer.  There was nothing left of me after this occurred.  At this point within my life, my feelings of invisibleness reached paralyzing new heights.

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As a result of this rejection / termination, I developed Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.  This lasted +/-18 months with me having to endure flashbacks of my firing at least once daily.  Our young family returned to the Jackson Metro immediately following my job loss, and from there, I began working for my parents (October of 2013).  

I cannot begin to describe how blatantly unseen I felt at this point in time.  As such, I fell into a deep depression which fostered suicidal thoughts.  The emotional pain I was experiencing was suffocating me.  As such, I simply wanted it to stop by any means possible.  

After complaining about this to my sweet wife, she encouraged me to dialogue similarly with my dad.  From there, he triangulated me into a relationship with a local renowned counselor, Mr. Don Waller.  

This was August of 2014.

Unbeknownst to me, Don had been facilitating the first Jackson, Mississippi Samson Society group for close to one year.  After meeting with him one-on-one, he encouraged me to attend the very next week.

That first Samson Society meeting was the hardest to walk into.  There were 8-9 local men in attendance, each with various backgrounds / from different stages of life.  Afterwards, and I'll likely never forget this, we attended a Mississippi Braves baseball game together.  It was the most fun I'd had in close to one year.

What I discovered through the Samson Society was communal visibility unlike anything I'd experienced prior.  Hence, I stuck with attending this weekly meeting combined with going to each and every after-meeting.  From there, I attended my first localized Samson intensive during the summer of 2015.  Additional intensives followed in 2016 and 2017.  Not long after that, I even organized my own intensive for a handful of Samson guys to experience (February of 2018).

The National Samson Society retreat too became part of my pursuit to be seen.  I began attending those annual events in 2018.  

Throughout all of this, I watched as the local Jackson, Mississippi Samson Society expanded as Samson guys felt compelled to start their own groups throughout the Metro.  

Surprisingly (to myself), I segued to virtual Samson meetings in late 2021, having met some of the virtual meeting facilitators via my attending of the National Retreats.  

In closing, for Rob, ultimately, it's about being seen.  Starting and maintaining this blog corresponds with that pursuit.  As such, writing has been a huge part of my recovery.

To God be the glory, great things he hath done via Samson Society!  I am truly zealous regarding this fantastic lifeline.

Fool Me Once (Shame On You). Fool Me Twice (Shame On Me). Thrice Me Fool (Shame On Shame).

A lot can happen in two decades.  Gray hair overtakes dark brown.  Roofs get replaced.  As do automobiles.  Minute details related to times past fade into the background, yet the memory of deep-seated hurts remain.

As such, can people who proved their unreliability in the past be trusted twenty years into the future?

As a Christian, this is the wrong question to ask.  Why?  For our very identity is built on transformation via the gospel.  To be more specific (& to mate that word transformation to time), we're being saved (sanctified) day after day after day, therefore we have an obligation to approach others with the same amount of anticipatory potential.  For it is embedded within our very gospel-centric outlook on life.

Now then, the question to ask should be as follows:

Taking into consideration our past hurt / disappointment regarding that person, what can we do to informally promote forgiveness / reconciliation relative to a low-pressure re-approach to connecting (on some level)?

In other words, we don't forget EXACTLY what went down before, yet never lose hope towards pastiche-ing some semblance of a respectful, reset future together.

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We've lived in our small home for almost 23 years.  Within a handful of years after our move-in (we were first-time homebuyers), our 'hood's developer formally decoupled himself (after 3/4 of the 81 homesites had been built upon / occupied) as oligarch over our homeowners' association.  He did this by appointing three (newfound) homeowners as the initial HOA board of directors, one of which was Rob.

As an architect, it made sense for me to fill the role of President, but what I came to realize was how unequipped I was to manage the dynamics between myself and my fellow (voluntary) board members.  For I came into the role as Prez anxious about dealing with homeowners.  That turned out to be the least of my issues.  Instead, it was my Secretary-Treasurer's demanding persona that I ended up losing the most sleep over.

In summary...

My VP was as laid back as a cucumber.  Nothing seemed to ruffle his feathers.  Content was his middle name.  He rarely complained, and only spoke up when issues discussed were of primary interest to him (which wasn't very often).

My Secretary-Treasurer, on the other hand, was combative from the start, and even more opinionated / arrogant than I was!  What gave him an edge (& he knew it) was his intelligence combined with him being ten years my senior (maturation / experience).  

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I have to admit that when it comes to intelligence coupled with curiosity, I'm a sucker for admiration.  That described my Secretary - Treasurer to a tee.  Plus, back then, he was really physically healthy.  Now, keep in mind that I'm describing someone from twenty years ago.  In essence, for a 40-year-old Mississippi man, he had it going on.  I specifically remember complimenting him regarding his physique and him mentioning creatine as his secret weapon.  

I had no idea what creatine was.

I do recall him saying that he and "a friend" regularly strength trained in his friend's garage.  No doubt this was a fastidious regimen.

All in all, he didn't look anything like your typical 40-year-old Mississippi man in 2002, making him that much more intriguing / captivating / intimidating to me.  I felt fortunate, from the outset, to have the opportunity to work with such a unique dude.

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I believe it was during our third year of serving together on the HOA board that I inadvertently caught him (Secretary - Treasurer) embezzling monies from the homeowners' association checking account.  In essence, he was using the debit card attached to the checking account to put gas in his cars.  

At this point within our relationship, things were very tense, and communication, in particular, was practically nonexistent between he and my VP and me.  

His financial situation didn't warrant this crime (which I chose not to report to law enforcement), yet he showed zero remorse whilst confronted.  In fact, in lieu of offering any sort of an apology regarding his actions, he instead regaled me with nonsensical accusation after accusation, all of which ran the gamut from me myself, my wife (who been assisting with filing the HOA tax return), and anything else he could think of that had any inkling of connection to Rob.

Finally, after ten or so minutes of listening to him berate me, he finally relinquished the checkbook / checkcard as my VP and I stood frenchfryed within his breakfast room.  (That truly was a Sunday afternoon I'll never forget!)

I ended up serving as Prez of the HOA board for another 4-5 years sans this man (or really anyone else) serving alongside.  It was a tough road.  Volunteer work like that (if it's done well) takes a toll on one's emotional health.  I learned firsthand that it truly is a thankless job and that you're absolutely not better off managing it alone.

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Now, fast forward to today.

My former Secretary - Treasurer is now 60ish and I'm 51.  I've not served formally on our 'hood's HOA board since 2010, though I do sort of hold a President Emeritus consulting role.  

Unsurprisingly, my former Secretary - Treasurer no longer sports the creatine-enhanced muscular bod, though I must admit, he also doesn't look like the typical early-60s (grossly overweight) Mississippian.  And (strangely to me), he now owns a dog.  As far as I know, he's still married, and his (now adult) only child is likely still living at home (she's mentally handicapped).

How do I know this?

Over the past six months or so, starting out very sporadically, but now once or twice daily, this former volunteer colleague has been walking said dog religiously throughout our tight knit 'hood.  

It's important to keep in mind that I haven't seen this man face-to-face (despite the fact that he & his fam continued to live one street over) in over 17 years.  

As such, our cul-de-sac is one of nine stubby appendages that he ventures down.  And regarding our abode, we've considerably more frontage than most everyone else therein, therefore his opportunity to steal a passing glance is - due to sight lines - unimpeded.  

During the first few times we encountered each other (as he briskly strolled by), I didn't even recognize him.

But then he politely said my name during one of his walk-bys.  

"Hello, Rob."

?!?!?

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In summary, I'm trying to stay focused on the good that came from knowing / volunteering alongside this man - versus the hurt - whilst remembering that I too am not the same man I once was.  

At the same time, I'm leery.  For I never imagined he would have the gumption to show his face again, all these years later, much less make a regular routine of walking by my house.

It's as if he simply cannot get enough of me.  But why?  I'm the one he heaped all that blame on before.  Couldn't he simply choose to not traverse down our cul-de-sac?

This is truly the weirdest blasts from the past I've ever encountered.  

Here's to our respectful future...what might it hold?  I'm very thankful to have this opportunity to reset at this very different stage of life.

What is God calling me to do now relative to this past relationship, particularly from the standpoint of who I was back then versus who I am today?  I've been shaped (re?) by so many circumstances / relational forces (Samson Society, etc.) throughout our time apart.  My outlook therein is dramatically different as a result.

Perhaps his too has experienced similar upgrading.  Will I ever be privy to knowing or will he simply be a regularly scheduled program (he and his pooch) as he traverses his daily route through our 'hood?

Happy Easter !

 HAPPY EASTER 2023!

Lagniappe

More lagniappe

Cruelty In Samson Society (There Are No Referees)

If you've been engaged within Samson Society for any length of time, you've likely been the victim of some cruelty.  And on the flip side of that, you've likely instigated some regretful words / actions you yourself onto your Samson brothers.  

I can recall the first time this happened to me.  I'd attended a funeral - out of town - with a Samson guy who also knew my parents (Bob & Darlene).  As we were driving back to Jackson, he asked me a rhetorical question that was so heartless to receive.  I remember simply sitting there within the passenger seat of his SUV stunned speechless.  

And unfortunately, it changed my mindset regarding this trusted Samson guy forever.  For I knew exactly where his pointed question had originated:  envy / mistrust and cruelty.  

And it hurt intensely to be his vulnerable target on that day.

But cruelty is fun.  You have to admit to it.  Especially when you're tired or bored or simply becoming annoyed of someone's mundanity / quirks.  And I believe that's what happened in this case.  For my Samson brother was / is from a big bio family (brothers galore) where the expected posturing was no doubt prevalent.  I'm from a tiny family (only child), and I loathe / condone posturing of any ilk.

Have I forgiven this man?  Absolutely.  Yet, I won't (& haven't) be spending much (extended) one-on-one time with him ever again (unless absolutely necessary).  For I feel so moved to protect myself from his cruel interrogation bent.

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Thanks to Samson Society, I quickly befriended a young Alabamian who'd been transferred (with his young family) to the Jackson Metro due to this vocation.  This young AL Samson guy was initially invited to the Lakeside Pres Samson Society meeting (which I was facilitating) and chose to attend.

With just a handful of Samson Society meetings under his belt, it became apparent to me that he'd became mesmerized by Rob.  And when I say mesmerized, I'm talking he put me on a pedestal that was stratospheric.  

Yet, he loathed Mississippi(ans), his work in Mississippi, the church they (he & his wife & child) were attending, and he'd no real interest anymore in his faith (in spite of the fact that he was a homeschooled pastor's son).  

But there was one thing that he could not stop ruminating on:  the exceedingly sexy Human Resources Officer at his work who he'd slyly befriended.  For this intoxicating relationship was unlike any he'd ever experienced.

I can remember reaching out to one of the Elders of our church in order to schedule times to pray specifically for this young Alabamian.  I also prayed with my mother (this was a first) in the same vein.  For my young Samson friend's marriage was in tatters due to this "emotional affair", and he was so incredibly despondent / conflicted overall.  Yet, throughout, he was unusually bright and articulate.  Funny and kindhearted.  All of which drew me to him.

And then further down the road he admitted to being clinically depressed.  Or so he thought.

I concurred, strongly urging him to seek therapeutic help.  At this point, I was exhausted as his friend.  The constant negativity / hypercriticality was overwhelming to bear.  "GET PROFESSIONAL HELP!"  "GET PROFESSIONAL HELP!"  "GET PROFESSIONAL HELP!"

As a result, all regularly scheduled communication ceased.  No more emails.  No more meetings (draft beer drinking) in my garage.  Eventually, he took the opportunity to benignly chew my ass out relative to his now shunning prerogative (to protect himself from demon Rob?).  He even went so far as to tell me he'd be happy to meet with me further, at any point in the future, so long as it wasn't one-on-one.  WTF?

Now, keep in mind, he did thank me respectfully for my time / effort invested whilst making it clear that my platonic services were no longer needed.  Thank you very much.

You're welcome?!?  Good riddance.

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Seething within Samson guys is often hard to continually stomach.  Particularly when it's aimed upwards.  A lot of guys have such a difficult time resisting the temptation to rank themselves against each other (out of anger).  Especially if their past travails are far darker (within their own eyes) than your own.  Pettiness can grow out of this imbalance therein.  And it can metastasize slowly over the years.  I've had to decouple myself from Samson men as a result.  Men who'd become childish with their quips and petty overcorrections.  Thanks be to God for the ability to block contacts on smartphones.  It's the Steve Jobs' equivalent of a discreet exit.  

I realize that may sound cruel on its own accord, but keep in mind that I gave these Samson men years and years of rope to either hang themselves with or build a bridge (between us).  Per my experience, anger bequeaths the former almost every time.  It is a tough, tough emotion to bear within friendship.

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The wives of local Samson guys can torpedo friendships within the Samson community.  Especially if they found themselves responsible for steering the familial ship during their Samson husband's "acting out" (neglectful) years (decades?).  

Suggest to that Samson husband (as his Silas) his need to NOW (accounting for his active recovery efforts) take the reins relative to shoring up marginalized areas of his clan (sans the wife's blessing), and she may very well demonize you in an effort to fortify her comfortable leadership perch.

And this being no matter how much time / effort / resolve you've poured into her man.  Her control (or sense thereof) may very well take precedent (out of fear).

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And finally, there're simply bad days for every Samson guy.  Days where fatigue and emotional exhaustion are too much.  Align those conditions with two (or more) Samson guys who've known (& trusted) each other for many years, and you can potentially have a recipe for relational fallout (of the most intense sort) in just a matter of minutes.  For the tongue is full of poison.  

I had this happen to me at the last in-person Jackson, Mississippi Samson Society meeting I attended (October '21).  In fact, the situation escalated so quickly that my heart absolutely breaks whilst thinking back on it.  

So many painful words.  So much rubble left behind relative to that / those friendship(s).  

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During the live podcast recording at the 2022 National Samson Society Retreat last weekend, one of the Jackson, Mississippi Samson guys who attended cited (in general terms) his own hurtful experiences within the local Samson Society here within the Jackson Metro area.  In doing so, (I believe) he'd hoped forlornly (from Mr. Nate Larkin & Mr. Aaron Porter) for some antidote to these horrible relational failures which cause such tremendous pain / disappointment.     

I silently appreciated (I was in the audience) this young man's courage to bring this to our fearless Samson Society leaders.  For it's what instigated me to finally write this post.  

Genuine Samson Society relationships are hard.  That's why most men aren't interested therein.  There're no guardrails.  There're no referees.  In fact, the Samson Society charter doesn't address any sort of "Code of Conduct" for a Samson guy.  And that's intentional, for sure.  

As Christians, we're called to put others before ourselves.  Yet, even within scripture, we can see friendships between Bible characters pivot or sour altogether (sometimes violently).  

What I've found is God uses these developments too.  For I've never become bitter, only further hopeful, motivating me to anticipate what's next relative to platonic connection and love within this ministry.   

Be forewarned.  Don't adjudicate the ministry of Samson Society itself solely through the lens of your inevitable Samson guys' relational heartache.  Jesus' disciples fought / loved hard, yet they never lost sight of their purpose in following their Lord together.   

This photo was taken during last weekend's 2022 National Samson Society Retreat.  It represents the current lineup of Samson guys who attend "Make Thursdays Great Again" on Thursday nights at 7 PM CST (virtual Samson Society meeting).  As you can see, our virtual Samson group was well represented amongst the 150+ Samson guys who attended this wonderful retreat. 

Lagniappe

"I'm Fed Up With This Church / Pastor / Congregation!"

Here in Mississippi, there's a Protestant church on almost every corner, and this is especially true in the metro suburbs / small towns.  

Why is this the case?

Churches are a dime a dozen here for numerous reasons, but one (typically unspoken) reason that can't be ignored is the infamous church-split.

Churches splitting or splintering can be quite the acrimonious affair.  An affair that's often rooted in either theological, pastoral or stylistic dissonance amongst the parishioners.

Many church offshoots (as a result of a split) die within just a few years (if not months), but others find their feet and grow notwithstanding their Zero Hour.  Hence, splitting or splintering off happens every so often as parishioners feel so moved to take - what they believe is - necessary risks to get what they want.

All in all, if you're a parishioner who's "Fed Up!" with some aspect of your church home, you're by far not an original trope.  And I think it's important to realize this.  For there's often a sense of vigilance (versus humility) that's the true source of "fed-upness".  As such, the ramifications therein need to be taken holistically into account.   

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Going a little deeper relative to this topic, before you decide to walk away from a healthy church body, forgoing your / your family's membership there, consider how your doing so will long-term impact your family.

If you're a father to children between the ages of 8 to 21 (assuming you have parental rights intact), your aforementioned decision MUST TAKE THEIR SPIRITUAL WELL-BEING INTO ACCOUNT if your desire is to see your children / grandchildren grow in stature via Christendom.  

That being said, I do realize there are fathers who completely decouple themselves from this "spiritual responsibility" towards their children, but I believe it's important to realize that their approach isn't at all biblical.  

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My family's (Bob, Darlene & I) involvement in First Baptist Church Jackson, being pastored then by Dr. Frank Pollard (throughout the '80s), was pivotal.  This church taught / nourished both my parents and myself (throughout my "growing up" years), meeting each of us where we were as individuals.  No doubt, it was / has been a foundational life-changing experience for each of us.

Bob & Darlene (my parents) were completely spiritually hands-off as parents, and this was because they simply didn't feel comfortable mentoring their only child in that regard.  Mostly, that discomfort was rooted in neither of them having the necessary spiritual / biblical foundation to execute, taking into account their youth (both of them were teenagers when I was born).

And this is where our church (First Baptist Church Jackson) mightily stood in the gap, on their behalf.

Whether it was Sunday School, youth ministry, college ministry, worship services, youth choir involvement, youth ministry trips*, youth ensemble involvement / experiences - all of these week after week after week - MADE A DECIDED IMPACT ON ROB.

*I was lassoed in by the gospel during the summer before my 7th grade year in Mount Lebanon, TX.

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Lastly, I know too there are parents out there who encourage their teenagers to be involved within a church's youth ministry (of their choosing) sans their parents.  But I would argue that this isn't the same setup as what I experienced.

Most teenagers who attend church regularly are doing so alongside their parents / grandparents / guardians.  This is the norm, and teenagers benefit from this normalcy.

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In closing, if you're "Fed Up!", I'd argue that it may be best to swallow hard before you jump ship.  The spiritual future of your children / grandchildren / great-grandchildren will no doubt be greatly impacted by your reaction to your feelings about your church.

And let's all remember this truth:  Feelings rarely can be trusted (especially when we're in bondage to chronic sin patterns).

Very Personal. Private Blessings.

This is the year I turn 50.  Going into '22, my goal was to take stock primarily of how God had blessed me through service to him.  And I've done a good bit of that work, and it's been wonderful to look back.

As you know, much of what I'm ruminating on personally - in real time, is written about here within this blog.  Because Samson Society is such an integral part of my life, much of it is pigmented as such.

Considering that, this is a season where what God is doing specifically - within my life - simply cannot be documented here.  And my reasoning behind that is my emotional state of mind therein.  That being awe and deeply affecting humility. 

We serve a God who knows us down to the very last cell.  He wants to bless us personally in line with his understanding as our creator.  No portion of our humanity can portend to expect how these blessings might pan out.  So often, these blessings are relational, and at times, those relations can be mind-blowingly catered and timely.

The last thing I'll say here is about preparedness.  Be expectant.  And allow that joy to carry you through the worst days.  

Those Wounds Are No More

Earlier this year, I was appointed to serve on a volunteer board for a local nonprofit.  All of our active board members (6 individuals) had to take part in some overarching (annual) training yesterday, (4/29), and that training grouped us together with a number of other "affiliate (localized - statewide) boards" that duly represent this national org throughout the Magnolia State.

The training was most of the day, starting around 8 AM at a local community college's workforce training center, and overall, there were around 50 volunteers present, representing most regions of Mississippi.

Within the first minute or two of finding my seat, I realized the former Human Resources Director from Delta State University (the institution I was terminated from in September of 2013 for breaking their IT policy) had also sat down.  Her table was at a 90-degree angle to my own, therefore I was literally within her direct line of sight.  No doubt she was there representing the Cleveland, MS affiliate as a volunteer board member herself.

I hadn't seen this woman but for just a few short minutes since my termination, and that was in 2015, therefore A LOT of water had passed under the bridge since then.

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This past Thursday, (4/28) during my weekly "Make Thursdays Great Again" virtual Samson Society meeting, an old friend (I met him at Lakeside Pres in '09) also attended.  Having never had anyone else from Mississippi join this virtual group, it was so cool having him there.  Especially considering his abode is only +/-3 miles from my own here in Rankin County (where he too was Zooming in).

Mr. Justin Schwind, "Make Thursdays Great Again" facilitator, made my invited friend feel welcome, and as usual, it was a great Samson Society meeting (+/-25 attendees) with the word being "false self".

What's really special about this is me, taking into account how long I've sang the praises of Samson Society to this friend, is now seeing both his schedule (allowing him to participate) and desire coalescence.

Too, this man was the first parishioner at Lakeside Presbyterian Church that I told my story to.  And as a result, he didn't shun me.  In fact, the opposite actually occurred which was very unexpected at the time.

As such, for many years, he and I would make a point to supplement our time together at church with a lunch or two, on occasion, but after the Turners' return from Cleveland, MS (immediately following my termination in 2013), I found that his life circumstances had ratcheted up considerably.  That combined with my shame over what had gone down in the immediate past, made for an easy series of excuses to leave him be.

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I immediately rose from my seat and made my way over to my former Delta State University colleague.  Today, this woman is in her mid to late 60s, and as I was doing so, I remembered sending her an apology letter (not long after my termination and subsequent return to the Jackson Metro) where I revealed how intimidating she was to Rob.

Yesterday morning, she wasn't intimidating in the least.  In fact, she actually looked really tired.  Almost to the point of concern.  

It took her a few seconds to recognize me (my stick-on name tag helped) before she cracked her stock wry smile.  We spoke our pleasantries, and then I returned to my seat, nary a blip in increased blood pressure.  

Surprisingly, I didn't think one additional thought about her from that point forward.  

Throughout the all-day training class, with her sitting just a few feet from me, it was as if we'd almost never worked together during that very challenging year of my life.

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After the "Make Thursdays Great Again" virtual Samson Society meeting concluded (around 8 PM CST), I sent my old Mississippi friend a few follow-up text messages before signing off for the evening.

And just a quick sidenote:  Earlier this week, I was really missing some of the face-to-face Samson guy interactions I've had conveniently available to me in the past.  As such, I felt God speak into my life regarding this, reminding me to trust him with it completely.

Of course, I have to wonder where all of this is leading with my newly reconnected Mississippi friend.  Will he take to Samson Society as I did - long-term?  Is the timing truly right for him to in this regard?  What about our friendship?  Will it blossom further, for such a time as this?  

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Having had the powerfully humbling experience I had Friday with my former colleague from DSU, I wouldn't be able to doubt God with my decried needs (nor my aforementioned questions) even if I tried.

It is remarkable how closely our God knows our true self, mediates for us, heals us.

My faith continues to grow as he demonstrates his hands-on care for Rob.  His love for me is more real than it's ever been, and I can only have expectant hope for more to come.