Desperation To Be Seen

I often ask Samson brothers who're just beginning the recovery journey, "What is it that you're truly looking for whilst consuming pornographic content?" 

For me, as a teen who found himself deeply entrenched in same sex attraction, it was the notion of being seen that hooked me deeper and deeper in.  Of course, all manner of physical beauty (photographed / filmed beautifully) certainly tapped into my artistic eye (as described in detail within my last post), but the deep-seated void, if you will, was centered on a desperate loneliness / feeling of isolation that was well beyond typical teenage angst.  

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One of my first architect bosses was genuinely interested in being seen in his own right.  I don't know what exactly drove this behavior, but it manifests itself via his constant attempt to visually impress his fellow man (& too, like me, was his ever-present penchant for the beautiful - clothes, shoes, automobiles, homes).  Specifically, my boss always wore the nicest clothes (shoes especially), drove the finest automobile, and lived in the poshest home (within the far upper end of his specific budget).  As such, these items were upgraded quite often.  To the point that every time you looked up, a new (spotlessly clean) vehicle was parked in his reserved space at the office.

I used to pity this behavior, but today, I realize how similar he and I truly were / are.

Being seen is really, really important to some, if not all men.  For those chronic feelings of isolation / loneliness truly suck.

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I began to know Jesus intimately early on as a teen, but mostly this knowing came from Scripture / (excellent) preaching and a boatload of fairly homogenous Mississippi (deacon body within our church) men.  

To segue from there, I also knew a boatload of pagan Mississippi men (extended family, friends' dads, neighborhood fathers, teachers) as a boy, and though there were distinct differences in persona / demographic, I had a tough time relating to any of them.

As such, becoming a man scared the hell out of me, knowing so little collectively from the representatives within my viewpoint. 

As an aside, I believe most men within earshot of me (as a young man) mistook this fear for arrogance / piety which only isolated me further.

There was only one man (besides my sweet, sweet grandfather) who saw me with any real clarity.  And that was my first boss at Chick-A-Fil.  In so many ways, he was a surrogate dad, and what a gift to me he was!  For not only did he see me unabashedly, but he lived his life in such a way that reflected his peace of mind as it pertained to being seen well himself.  Chris was amazing.

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Consuming gay porn, to me, was the safest ("protecting" those around me) means for me to feel seen.  It involved no other (real) men.  Plus, I could "control" the relationship since it felt so very one-sided.  

My desire to never harm anyone, in spite of my desperate need, kept me laser focused on this private approach.  

When the Internet hit the scene though, its (porn content) voracity instantly became unmanageable (a small creek bed instantaneously became the Mississippi River).  

Of course, Satan knew he was setting me up for bondage whilst inevitably taking the leap from analog to digital.  All the while making me that much more vulnerable as the Internet became more and more mainstream.

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I discussed veneering within my last post.  In many ways, identifying that has been my salvation.  I've watched the Holy Spirit hack away (at the veneering) therein, exposing the idol for what it truly is, roots and all.  

All of this is now coming together to deeply impact my understanding of my boyhood self.  To resurrect him, so to speak.  

In line with that is the reminder of all my past sin.  Sin rooted in lust.  It's daunting, for sure, but I will not allow it to trip up my progress.

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In closing...

How is it that God chose me as his child?  Why would he care enough about my core needs (being seen) to bring me into Samson Society back in August of 2014?

The Christian men I've met (many of which I've closely befriended) see me and in turn, I work diligently to see them.

And they just keep coming.  Thanks be to God for this ministry.  It's been and continues to be how I best manage my needs.  

Privately Lusting After Muscled And Hairy

My Covenant Eyes Ally had me laughing a few weeks back.  He's an attorney with a sharp wit.  Around that time, I had found myself being rebellious, therefore throwing caution to the wind, I'd been delving into smut (mostly via my pocket computer) in spite of CE's consistent monitoring (thankfully, this was not typical behavior for me).  

As such, on a few subsequent Mondays, a text message would appear subtlety / respectfully asking about my recent poor choices.  Not long after that, my Ally made a follow up that even today puts a smile on my face.  

He said, "You and I like the same thing except for the muscles and body hair." 

Lol. 

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When I was in upper elementary school, I went to an all-boys' summer camp (sponsored by FBC Jackson), and it was there (rural south AL venue) that I was shockingly exposed to my inevitable & archetypical (physical / emotional) future.  What I mean therein is I experienced a distinct encounter pertaining to what my future was pointing me (maturation) towards as a grown ass man.  At the same time, there was young me dealing with an ongoing subconscious disconnect / emotional chasm.  A chasm rooted primarily in shame / uncertainty.  For I understood clinically (in my head) what I was destined to grow into, but I absolutely, positively could not relate / understand / comprehend on any level what that meant for me specifically.  For I simply could not see myself as anything other than an unprepared, uninitiated boy.  It was as if I was stuck or frozen when it came to all things related to Rob's potential, celebrated journey into manhood. Therefore, when the time came for me to face the truth of what was on the horizon for me as a male, it understandably threw me for a loop / short-circuited my thinking.  As such, I quickly began idolizing therein that which I could not fathom albeit was desperate to fully understand / respect.  

I'm now ready to admit that there was sexual abuse involved in my lower elementary days.  It went on throughout one summer (Saturdays specifically), and though it didn't involve physical touch nor any malicious coercive intent (that I sensed at the time nor recall), its situational age inappropriateness (between me and the adult male party involved) was subtlety apparent to me even then.  I recall feeling powerless to speak up for myself during these instances of abuse disguised as "male peer bonding".  As a result, I began to equate MAN with a future I couldn't / refused to relate to.     

To circle back to my summer camp story, the exposure occurred whilst brushing my teeth before bed on the first night we were there.  Our bunkhouse chaperone (young adult male college student) nonchalantly stepped out of the shower naked and wet right in front of me.  His muscled (very adult-like), hairy, tanned body was in its athletically built prime.  And his junk looked absolutely enormous despite the mass of damp pubic hair crowning / partially obscuring it.  

Whilst looking back, I'm absolutely sure it was his junk that was the most shocking.  For it truly looked like a horse / donkey dick and balls (to my 5th grade eyeballs).  

I spent most of that week privately fixated on this reveal as we went about doing your expected Christian summer camp travails (such as singing "Kumbuya, My Lord" around the evening campfires).  But what truly kicked this fixation into high gear was when our Chippendales-like chaperone ushered a select few of my 5th grade colleagues to bunk with him within his adjacent private room (throughout the remainder of the week).

Oh, how I secretly longed for him to have chosen me.  As you can imagine, my imagination went into overdrive as a result.  

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Yesterday, whilst at the Y, there was a high school newbie strength training alongside.  He was not properly dressed for the gym, and that may have conveniently been due to his lean build (he was wearing slacks).  I silently admired his chutzpah for braving the space (at his age / with his build) for I knew exactly why he was there.  To actively work towards becoming more muscular / strong / "man-looking".  And like so many newbies, it was obvious that he'd no clue as to what he was doing.

Full disclosure:  My time at that stage of my life was spent lusting after muscled and hairy men.  And even moreso if they were golden tan whilst sporting a handsome mug. I did this with so little thought that it was almost as if I spent sizable portions of my adolescence within a sort of homoeroticized lust trance.   

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When the Internet came on the scene (within the first few years of my marriage), I'd found my private, digital honey-hole.  The salacious imagery, particularly the stunningly executed images of beautifully tan, hairy, muscle men only served to suffocate me with lust fodder.  

Eventually, considering the I.T. inevitable, the maturation of the Internet (dial-up to DSL to T1, etc.) ushered in a much broader spectrum of captivating smut.  I watched as photos became videos became HD videos.  

But eventually (in large part due to my decade-long participation within Samson Society), the intense salaciousness wore off and this type of imagery simply became a repository for cheap thrills (it all began to look the same).  

In line with that, my libido dramatically diminished simply due to my middle-aging.  

Internet porn blandness + middle-age reduction in sex drive = Reason to celebrate!

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Today, I'm really pleased with my physical self.  For I'm muscled and hairy in my own right as a 52-year-old man.  I especially like how I feel whilst casually dressed.  Specifically, I don't feel as if I'm hiding my body via my wardrobe.

Consistent strength training / running combined with healthy eating habits, over the past +/-18 years, has paid off in droves.  And, of course, genetics have benefited me too.  I'm very thankful to God for these developments.

When you loathe yourself, whether it's rooted in some form of childhood abuse or not, you know that such a negative outlook makes you decidedly vulnerable.  Vulnerable to rejection, criticism, failure.  Things that are inevitable life experiences.    

In order to survive, I had to commit.  Both to Samson Society (once I stumbled into it in 2014) as well as a healthy, very active lifestyle that was the antithesis of normal for a Mississippi man.  It's been a long-term commit.  In order to protect / honor myself.  For I remember the hurt and the abuse like it was yesterday.  Those scars will never be erased. 

 

I'm Just Another Man. Or Am I?

Years ago, during the pandemic, I wrote a letter to my Silas' (then) boss, asking for permission to "surprisingly visit" their workplace (in light of the lockdowns).  If I'm remembering correctly, I was attempting to gain permission to do this on my Silas' birthday.  What I didn't realize at the time was his boss (along with his beautiful family) were visiting our church.  Once he did eventually respond to me (letter), via email, he informed me of that (in line with an apology related to not being able to honor my surprise visit request).

My Silas' boss is now a formalized leader therein and loved / respected by the majority of the Presbyterian throngs (within our relatively small community church), and (I'm assuming) he and my (now former) Silas are still close friends.  This man is a VERY NICE, no doubt godly, All-American male.

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I've been doing a lot of unconventional recovery work ever since the '24 Samson Summit.  Blame it on Dr. Andrew Bauman, the shaman.

Recently, I've been listening to a long-form podcast that's shed an intense light on the actual men (day to day / historically) who participate in creating gay porn.  It's been a most deconstructing experience for Rob as I've now been given the opportunity to see "up the skirt" of these fellows.

The best way to describe it is disconcertingly healing / disarming / disenfranchising.  

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A business owner (same business as my father and I are in) approached me last year regarding his intent of formally acknowledging me as his heir apparent (he'd recently, prior to that dialogue, had begun realigning his book of business in anticipation of this).  

This notion of me being identified as his successor took me off guard.  For I'd only spoken a few sentences to this man over the previous decade (despite the fact that we worked four of those years within the same suite within our building).  

From that point, we chatted casually a handful of times more as '24 progressed, and then, last week, we finally had our first sit down discussion pertaining to laying out a roadmap.  As a takeaway, it was as if we'd known each other most of our lives (in spite of the 30-year age gap).  I'd never experienced anything like it.  

What possibly could have motivated him to choose me?  I likely will never know.

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My former Silas' (former) boss is a longstanding neighbor and friend of our church's Senior Pastor.  Arguably, it was that friendship that laid the groundwork for him and his clan to begin visiting our church all those years ago.  Our pastor knows my story well, and so do numerous other men (in leadership roles) at Lakeside Pres, but what (obviously) stands out is the part about my (homo)sexual identity.

I remember well my former Silas mustering up the courage to divulge to me that "your sexuality doesn't matter to me" out of the blue.  We were driving back from Laurel, MS, having spent most of the day at a CrossFit Box where I supported him therein during an all-day competition (he & his old friend won!).  I wasn't sure what prompted him to say that to me and didn't feel so moved to ask.

Today, at the Y, I ran into my former Silas' (former) boss.  I'm in that particular facility twice weekly and have been for years and years.  Never had this unexpected collision happened before.  Perhaps he was attempting to fulfill a New Years's resolution.

Man, was it awkward.

Nonetheless, I could feel the truth in the air:  "Your sexuality does matter to me.  Keep your distance, you (& your family) freak."

I'm willing to bet a dollar that he'll never step foot back into that facility.

What a week of contrasting adjudications.        

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.

A Sincere, Intelligent, Handsome, Christian Young Man (Husband / Father / Son / Brother): Dead

Our church's Associate Pastor sends emails out regarding prayer requests.  One such email landed in my wife's inbox last night.  It was fairly late, therefore there was no doubt an urgency to it.

Young Will Webb had unexpectedly dropped dead in Little Rock, AR, therefore we were being asked to pray for his family (& especially his young wife who's currently pregnant with their first child).  

Will's parents reared both Will and his brother superbly.  In fact, I'm so pleased to report that these boys' 'rents continue to be active members of Lakeside Presbyterian Church, and they fit right into our Island of Misfit Toys there on Spillway Road.  They're in attendance Every Single Sunday.

I had the privilege to befriend Will (immediately prior to the pandemic) when he was pursuing his graduate degree from Reformed Theological (both of his parents are also graduate-degreed from RTS).  He was single at the time, and he shared with me that it was his dream to counsel children (troubled teens, in particular) post-graduation.

Both of Will's parents have striking physical features combined with undeniable physical stature.  As such, both he and his brother were blessed to receive similar physical beauty / stature.

As such, Will's sweet, helpful spirit was seated beautifully therein. 

And just so you know, Will achieved his dream.  He was pro counseling within group homes in AR and loving it (up until his untimely death).

Please pray for the Webb family during this tremendously difficult time.

How very difficult it will be to attend his funeral.    

Lagniappe

Jesus Loves Boobs

Northpark Mall in Ridgeland, MS was such the petri dish of maturation throughout my teenage years.  I spent hours upon hours there from ages 15-19 frying chicken at Chick-A-Fil on the second floor (right down from Dillard's).  The years were 1988-1991, and at that time, this particular MS mall was almost at its heyday.   

Spencer Gifts was downstairs from the Chick during this initial Northpark era, and this is where I began to discreetly obtain a collection of sexy greeting cards / calendars.  The photos therein were of muscular, handsome men posing / being photographed in order to capture / capitalize on their masculine beauty.  It was these photos that served as Rob's sexual fantasy reserve.  

Today, Spencer Gifts is located within an adjacent wing of Northpark Mall.  I was reminded of this Wednesday, (8/21) whilst walking down memory lane (& returning some clothes to Dillard's).  

On the Spencer Gifts' storefront was a T-shirt design that read "I Love Boobs!" (the word "Love" was a heart symbol).

I immediately was taken aback (which was the whole point of the display) for I couldn't imagine such a storefront during the late 1980s.  

But hey, this is 2024.

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When I run, I almost always wear a tank top.  I do this because it's a shirt that I wrestled mightily with wearing years prior.  Mucho shame had to be overcome.  But now, I find them to be my go-to for the gym, running. They're comfortable and a reminder of the importance of milestoning small victories.   

Our 'hood is filled with retirees, and they're out and about constantly walking their dogs.  One man (former runner) I encounter often (whilst exiting / re-entering our 'hood from a 5K run).  Years ago, I noticed how subtlety taken aback this mid 60s retiree reacts whenever I raise one of my arms (as if to scratch my head / wipe my eyes / point at a bird passing over) if and when we've paused to chat. For when I do this, he can't help but be exposed to / get a clear view of the defined / sculpted muscle mass within my shoulders / upper arms.  

My grandfather (dad's dad) died when my father was 9-years-old.  He was a chain smoker and was dead in his early 40s from lung cancer.  If you look at photos of the man, you can clearly see the broadness of his shoulders.  Bizarrely, he was +/-20 years younger than his oldest brother, therefore all of his siblings (he had three older brothers) looked more like grey-templed uncles than siblings.

As I began to strength train during my mid-30s (I'm in my early 50s today), I would have guys comment to me regarding my shoulders / upper arms and how muscular they were becoming.  I would immediately dismiss this affirmation on the surface, despite my knowing that it was absolutely in line with my Turner genetics.

My father's youngest brother (who was one of three of his brothers), being just one generation away from Joe Ware Turner, Sr. (my long since lung cancer deceased grandfather) absolutely received that same stocky upper-body build.  

And now there's me (along with one of my cousins).  

There's beauty there.  Plain & simple.  Not to everyone, mind you.  But certainly, to some.

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At Lakeside Pres, Pastor Tyson has been slowly marching us through the gospel of Matthew Sunday after Sunday after Sunday.  We're now close to wrapping it up, therefore he recently preached on Jesus being anointed via perfumed oil via his friendgirl Mary.  If you've never read the passage (chapter 26), I'd encourage you to do so.  

Never would a Protestant pastor insinuate the sensuousness of this tale, but if you read it from that point of view, it's undeniable.

Did Jesus appreciate the breasts of Mary as they brushed against him during this ritual?  Was his reaction therein what perpetuated the callous criticism of the whole affair?  Did he feel his cock getting erect as the liquid flowed from the alabaster flask?  

He had to have been so very pleased with himself for creating breasts to begin with as her bosom brushed his upper body throughout this whole scandalous / selfless affair.  

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(Some) Boobs really are beautiful.  

We've been so pleased to see a tenured couple recently returned to our church, and both have lost substantial weight whilst away.  As a result, the wife's breasts are decidedly smaller.

When they were members years prior, she'd often wear attire that "celebrated" her beautiful boobs.  I can remember on several occasions being stunned by her Sunday morning look.  

I knew her husband well enough to know that he was 100% onboard with her ecclesiastical seductiveness.

He maybe attended one or two Samson meetings overall (when I facilitated an in-person meeting there at the church).

It was eye opening to say the least.

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As Christian men who are looking for help with compulsive sexual sin, so many parachurch ministries decry:  "Look Away!  Look Away!  Look Away!"

I'm not so sure this is truly the most reliable long-term solution.  

Jesus loves boobs.  He created each pair with utmost attention to detail.  Can we not lean into his example by learning to appreciate sans capitulating to default lust?  

Facilitating A Weekly Virtual Meeting Versus An In-Person Meeting

A month or so ago, my co-facilitator of the virtual Samson Society meeting, "Brain Changers", asked that I exclusively take the reins.  It was during early '23 that I began attending that virtual meeting regularly.  Within six months or so, I'd been dubbed a "co-facilitator", much to my humbled delight.  For I found the contrast / volleying between myself and my (now former) co-facilitator to truly set "Brain Changers" apart.

Alas, it wasn't meant to last.  My co-facilitator stepped away in order to partner with a local Samson brother.  They're set to kickstart a local in-person meeting (there in the Hoosier State).

I've spent most of my 500 one-per-week Samson meetings within in-person groups.  In fact, if you look squarely at percentages, this is how the numbers fall:  

In person:  72.6%

Virtual:  27.4%

(having attended since August of '14)

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I know my former virtual co-facilitator will excel as an in-person facilitator, particularly in contrast to his role within the virtual meeting space.  Alec's physical presence will serve him (& the Lord) very well in this regard.  

So, what's the key difference / experience I've witnessed between the two roles?

I was always taken for granted within the in-person Samson Society meeting facilitator role.  As such, I hope that won't be the case for Alec.

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When I was in my early 30s, I was appointed President of our 'hood's homeowners' association board of directors.  There were two other homeowners who were similarly appointed (VP & Secretary / Treasurer).  I agreed to this because I was an architect.  What more qualified professional could there be for said position (other than perhaps an attorney)?

(Keep in mind that this was two decades ago, and as such, our 'hood was demographically much different than it is today.)

In spite of the importance of said position, I cannot tell you how absolutely taken for granted - within this particular volunteer role - I felt during this time of my young man life.  

Back in 2002, our 81 lot 'hood was made up of mostly first-time homeowners (the 'hood was, by far, mostly small spec homes).  Most of which were purchased during a period of less-than-scrupulous lending practices made manifest by lax regulation / rock-bottom interest rates.  

Needless to say, we were a motley crue living in a brand-spanking new development.  A development situated within a changing (who knew which way exactly) suburb of Jackson.

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I never once assumed my parents would continue forward with their financial / physical support post college.  My dad had made it clear that there was $$$ to pay for my higher education (inheritance from his deceased father), but beyond that, I was expected to, you know, take a permanent leave of absence post college.

It was during my last year of architecture schooling when my parents stepped up to help my deadbeat uncle in light of his addiction to illegal drugs.  Essentially, he moved in with us (I was living at home since the 5th year of architecture school resided in Jackson) for many months - post institutional treatment.  I remember all of this maneuvering feeling incredibly clinical and contrived as it pertained to the contrast between his own plight and my ready-to-launch young, professional man perch.

What I was too naive to realize was just how much of a sucker I absolutely had been.  For my uncle was only playing my parents - this time around, as he did whomever he saw fit - pertaining to his wants / needs (this has gone on ad nauseum ever since).

It was that entitlement that I simply couldn't - under any circumstances - relate to.  

Whilst looking back, there was compliant me simply being me taken for granted (& I was perfectly fine with that).

As an early 20's guy, my point of view came with that innocent (ignorant?) season of life.

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The Bible speaks - Jesus specifically addresses - of willingly turning the other cheek.  This being the position of submissiveness that is tied to meekness.  According to Scripture, its primary purpose is confounding one's enemies via Christ-like kindness.  

In line with this, perfectly in line, is one's innate understanding of salvation / transformation in and through the gospel and therefore the gospel's command towards demonstrative evangelism.  

This is not taking oneself or Jesus for granted.  This is obedience.

In a nutshell, it's commanded that we be allow ourselves to be taken for granted in order to leave plenty of room for the Holy Spirit to convict.

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In-person Samson meetings, at least around these parts, mostly reside within churchhouses.  Most of these meetings exist "under the radar" of the church membership.  Others are simply shelved (tolerated) alongside the "Celebrate Recovery" set.  The one I facilitated for four years at our church found little to no respect amongst the family of God.  And this was no fault of anyone's except the church leadership itself.  

For deep down, deep, deep down, the church leadership didn't want us there.

Why?

In-person Samson Society meetings that do their good work within the churchhouse are "unstable elements" that are rooted in very deliberate, emotional recovery work.  And church leadership knows this.  The meetings can therefore attract the mentally ill and those who're in serious personal crisis.  Folks that mainstream churches aren't typically comfortable serving.  And this is understandable.  I do not admonish nor look down on the church therein.  

Yet, the church pews, each & every Sunday, are filled with men who need Samson Society.  For I would argue that even a touch of Samson Society can benefit a man's soul.  No matter their season of life.  

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There're multiple virtual Samson Society meetings available for guys to attend each and every day.  Most follow the standard meeting format, though some aren't traditional in that regard.  There're book studies, prayer groups, large form intensive Q & A meetings to choose from.

Particularly during the summer, some of these calendared meetings unexpectedly don't happen.  For sans a facilitator to open the Zoom meeting, there won't be a meeting during that scheduled date / time.  And this leaves Samson guys out in the cold.

Therefore, when a virtual facilitator is faithful to show (or coordinate a substitute), there's a deep-seated sense of respect for that man.

Respect?

Did I really say that?

I did.

& I love it.

It's such a nice change.

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Our 'hood is completely different demographically today that it was decades prior.  Our neighbors understand and overall respect the homeowners' association / board of directors and their good / necessary work.  Too, the area where our 'hood resides is on the up & up in spite of its '70s / '80s roots.

I look back on the seven years that I served as President - at its outset - with pride.  For I know the example I set was foundational to its current success.  

And I think the same regarding my role in "Brain Changers".  For I am a better facilitator there due to my in-person Samson Society facilitator experience at Lakeside Pres.  

Thanks be to God for Samson Society and the blessings that continue to come my way, as a result, each and every day.  

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.

A Hard Funeral(s) To Sit Through

Out of respect for my father, I attended a funeral (unrelated to family) today.  This wasn't the first time I'd done this.  When I was in high school, I attended a funeral with him.  I remember it clearly, for the deceased had killed himself via suicide, leaving behind a boy who was only one or two years older than I (the boy went to my high school and the divorced dad had attended church with us).  

That was my first hard funeral due to the tragedy tied to the cause of death.

This one today was tough, but mostly it had to do with the tragic, longstanding narrative tied to the deceased's family life.  

The pastor who officiated (who was a family friend of the deceased) beat the drum of his dead mentor "loving Jesus" to the maximum.  We mourners heard this over and over again.  All the while, everyone there knew the dead man, nor his family members had not darkened the door of the church in decades.  And the setting clearly spoke to this dichotomy.  For the wake and funeral was held in a tee-ninny suburban funeral home parlor where the overflow crowd of mourners were all squeezed in like sardines within the repurposed pews.

At the outset of the service, the officiating pastor cited the book of Samuel, quoting scripture which captured David eulogizing Saul (post his suicidal death).  That was fitting, but I don't believe many mourners picked up on the subtleties therein (is there no more anticlimactic Biblical figure than Saul?).    

Not long after that opening salvo, the pastor used the word chaos to describe the deceased man's family, doing so right there in front of his widow, two daughters and all the grandchildren / great-grandchildren (they were all packed in too).  He even went so far as to specifically cite the bastardization of the man's first grandchild (borne from his youngest daughter) as if it was yesterday's news.

Most of those in attendance likely knew the family when that particular shit hit the fan.  The year was 1989.  Understandably, his daughter's future (& their family's trajectory) was forever changed as a result, but what had to have made the greatest specific impact was the unshakable stigma they were now saddled with.  Particularly considering their place as a well-established, upper-class Jacksonian family.

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What I'm going to say next is going to sound like a cop out, but I'm going to say it anyway because I believe it (& lived through it).

The 1980s weren't good to any of us white folks, and this family was (like so many) right within its crosshairs.  I'm not blaming this decade of excess for their specific missteps, but you must realize that families were hit from two (if not more) sides during this decade.

1.  Enormous economic success that was unparalleled.  Especially for those who were put together and Dale Carnegie extroverted (as the deceased had been during that era).  Most professionals were making money hand over fist (both earned & unearned) which precipitated enormous buying power for these.  Constraint / "quiet living" along with temperance were ideas from the past that were outright mocked during this era.  Everything, and I do mean everything was hinged on excess and immediate gratification, no matter the risk.

2.  Massive shift in societal norms as it pertained to the prioritization of class / cliques / relational circles of influence.  Autonomy was so very out.  Country club status quo was everything and everywhere in the '80s.  There was more chrome and hairspray, Porsche and Winnebago than had ever been seen prior here in America.  For all of these veneers / brands screamed, "LOOK AT ME!"  Arguably, all of the upper / middle-class family's identity was classed directly to these pleasurable platitudes, leaving it particularly vulnerable to headship neglect / distraction. 

Considering both of these, time and energy to play within this particular arena massively downplayed what once was the bastion of familial importance:  

The husband / father's role as protector.  And not just via shielding but via exposure / knowledge / insight that's used to educate / shrew the family of cultural / societal deception risk(s).

The familial chaos cited by today's funeral pastor, I'm convinced, found both its origin and virility during this powerfully influential decade.

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Two distinct funerals.  Considering both this one today and the one from my teenage years, both were tremendously hard to sit through but for different versions of tragic.  

My dad thanked me at the conclusion of each for taking the time to attend.  Because I was there to stand with him, I'm glad I did.   

Discovery / Narrative, Arousal = Architecture Of Sexuality VS. Longings / Triggers, Fetishes = Mobile Homes Of Lust

"I don't know much about art, but I know what I like."  [This is horseshit.]

Architecture, by definition, wouldn't exist were it not for critics.  Critics use their fine-tuned, scholarly adjudication skillset and from there, communicate to the masses what and why a building qualifies as architecture.  And they do this as an outpouring of their zeal for standout, outstandingly designed buildings.  Buildings which seemingly capture volumetric space in a masterful way (architect = master builder).

A worthwhile architectural critic, by definition, is exceedingly knowledgeable of their subject.  It's this knowledge that allows their critique to carry so much weight.

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Guys who find themselves within Samson Society typically fall into the category of sexuality aficionados.  I would argue many of these men entered into crisis (pre-Samson Society) of some sort due to their individual passion for sex colliding with their (in very simplified terms) longstanding / life-long isolated state (inability to find helpful knowledge / understanding therein).  

Religion undoubtedly can play a role in this cataclysm (the majority of Samson guys are Christians).  As such, I would argue that this then knowledge / understanding vacuum will occur alongside the false accusation that "No one else within the church is experiencing nor is as interested in sexuality as you are...FrEaK".  [This too is horseshit.]

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Porn, phone sex, hook-up & circle jerk roulette sites all provide pitifully unreliable information regarding sex, yet it's devoured by these men. Why?  Ease of private accessibility.  Too, (if they choose to take this step) transactional sexual relations (strip clubs, massage parlors, prostitution) further their woefully biased / distorted thinking.  Why?  Ease of private accessibility. 

And all of this internalization of such their favorite topic eventually manifests ruts within their minds.  Call them fetishes or triggers.  They're deep valleys within their grey matter equating to salacious comfort food of the ultra-processed Wal-Mart impulse-buy caliber.  

Hence, it's cheap, deadly fare.  Would you choose to dine out of a trash heap for each and every meal?  It's important to remember that although this is the least healthy means to find caloric sustenance, it's still sustenance.

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There has to be a healthy way for men - who're like us - to gain needed knowledge regarding sexuality in line with their individual discovery / narrative leading towards arousal.  

Now, what am I referring to when I say, "men like us"?  Go back to what I wrote earlier within this post.  

I'm referring to men who're passionate about sex and therefore deliberately ruminate on it.  Within the same vein as guys who're similarly passionate about other topics of interest such as cars, hunting, video games and so forth.  

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To become an architect, one must be taught via schooling then internship.  That, combined with the assumed extensive knowledge relative to building construction, go hand in hand.  But first & foremost, the individual must be a built-environment aficionado.  Otherwise, there's no zeal to motivate / discipline the man through the maturation process of learning.  

It's an arduous process that's not for the faint of heart.  Requiring time, dedication and a willingness to develop one's own rudimentary beliefs / narrative (ability to see) whilst embracing the high standards of qualified architectural design. 

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Where are plenty of men who've mastered their sexuality / sexual narrative, therefore what exactly should they be doing for the young men within the church / Christian circles who're secret sexual aficionados - perhaps as they too may be?

How do these young sexual aficionados reveal themselves to potential trusted mentors who've clearly mastered their sexuality / sexual narrative?

What exactly does that mentorship look like between this older and younger man?  How much of it is executed via example / posture versus specific instruction?

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At our church, besides the youth pastor, there's typically both a male and female youth intern.  Think of these co-ed interns as assistant youth pastors.  One of our recent (he's since moved away / out of that position) male youth interns took two teenage brothers under his noble wing.  These young men came from a less than ideal familial setup, but both of them were respectfully close (to each other) in line with their dedication to our church's youth program.  Independent, confident, physically impressive, demure.  These were all descriptors perfectly suited to these young men. 

Because of these boys' unconventional family setup combined with their undeniable masculine (stoic combined with physical) presence, engaging with them could be intimidating.  Particularly considering how fiercely protective they were relative to their out-of-the-ordinary household roots. 

But this male youth intern was as equally masculine / physically impressive, and therefore not in the least dissuaded from putting in the effort needed to befriend these young men.  In fact, the running joke within the youth group was this intern could easily win the role for the next silver screen version of the renowned X-men, Wolverine (Hugh Jackman's breakout role).

So, what are the odds that one of these brothers is a sex aficionado like you and I are?  What are the odds both are, particularly considering the stress placed on them via their aforementioned unconventional familial setup?

I'd say they're pretty good odds.

The most heartfelt development regarding this tale is how this mentorship / big brother role that our church's youth intern bravely embraced ultimately wielded a romance.  A romance between (the next) Wolverine and the two brothers' older sister (she's in college).

During our Christmas Eve service, I could see (from the choir loft) Wolverine seated on the end of the pew next to his lovely significant other (the brothers' sister).  Then there was mom and dad and finally, the two brothers, on the opposite end.

It made my heart swell.

The notion that this powerfully influential mentor could potentially become these two boys' brother-in-law literally took my breath away.  How cool is that?

Most of us didn't have the experience I've described here.  No youth intern (or otherwise) mentor to come alongside us sexuality aficionados.  Nevertheless, read on.

Lagniappe

Dr. Addison's Reverse-Engineered (Holy Spirited) Catfishing

My sixth grade Sunday School teacher at First Baptist Church Jackson was an up-and-coming local attorney.  He had a beautiful young family (wife / two elementary-age children), and they lived not too far from where we reside today.  

This man was an only child (if I remember correctly) who was reared exclusively by his mother.  And, oh my goodness, did he ever love his mother relative to the single-parenting duties she'd endured (he reminded us most every week of the arduous task she endured therein).

Up to this point in my childhood, I remember little of my Sunday School teachers / coursework.  And I believe that's because I didn't attend regularly enough for proper memories to crystallize.  

I believe Sunday School attendance became more of a priority for our family - around my sixth-grade year - due to my father being ordained a deacon (at FBCJ) around this same time (1985).  For deacons are expected to fully commit to church attendance for themselves and their families.  

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There were only 5-6 of us boys (no girls allowed in this particular class) who regularly attended this sixth-grade Sunday School class, and it was only because we had no other choice.  Those who did have a choice attended only once before never returning.  

Dr. Addison (as we covertly salutationed him) was incredibly earnest and so very hellbent to make a distinct spiritual impression on each of us boys.  Whilst looking back, I can appreciate that, but his heavy handedness / dourness was always too much for us preadolescent children to endure.  

For example, at the very beginning of the "school year", he announced that we'd each be expected to submit a paper - on a predetermined theological topic - at some fixed point during the spring.  Each of these papers would then be adjudicated, and the winner would receive - wait for it - an NIV Study Bible!  Too, he'd on occasion have us boys pray quietly there at our stackable chair - down on our knees.  Each of us would place our '80s freshly blow-dried hair into our hands (elbows supported via the plastic seat), and with our eyes closed, quietly recite our verbiage to God (until given the go-ahead to get back up).  

In short, every 45-minute Sunday School class was militantly executed by a man who had not one iota of fun / humor within his staunch makeup.  And we, do doubt, were the absolute wrong audience for this.  Yet, we were stuck with this dude at the outset of each and every Lord's Day.

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Around Thanksgiving of that year (1985), on a Saturday or Sunday afternoon, Dr. Addison had us meet him at his abode with a grocery bag of predetermined (list) food items in hand.  From there, we prayed together that God would lead us to a needy family to gift these staples to.  

After driving a half hour or so into the city, our teacher's SUV pulled into the driveway of a very small, nondescript house in a part of Jackson that I'd never been to.  From there, Dr. Addison knocked on the door beneath the carport before stepping inside to (seemingly) explain our serendipitous intentions.  Around 5-10 minutes later, he returned to his idling vehicle full of sixth-grade boys to retrieve the collective goods.  I remember sitting quietly there within the back seat with the others who'd come along, all the while feeling excited yet strange as this took place.  

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Eventually, our surprisingly happy teacher returned to the driver's seat, having delivered all of the grocery sacks, before we sped away.  But this was without any of us boys having the opportunity to visit with (or even be introduced to) our now bequeathed, needy Jacksonian family.  

It was during our return trip to the suburbs that our devout leader divulged that God had miraculously led us to his maid's home for these non-perishables to be delivered / gifted to for the holiday season.

Let me repeat that:

It was during our return trip to the suburbs that our devout leader divulged that God had miraculously led us to his maid's home for these non-perishables to be delivered / gifted to for the holiday season.  

I was too young, naive and intimated to question Dr. Addison's sincerity here.  In fact, as a 12-year-old boy, I bought it hook, line & sinker.  And I believe my peers did the same. 

Whilst looking back, I have to wonder what his intentions / motivations truly were.  

Why Aren't There More Mormons Involved Within Samson Society?

I think it has to do with stigma more than anything else.  

What is stigma?

A mark of disgrace associated with a particular circumstance, quality, or person.

Mormons are high, high, high performers.  As such, they're typically VERY concerned about avoiding being stigmatized.  

Samson Society is a gang of merry Christian men who celebrate (have a great time doing) recovery.  In so many ways, we're paradoxical due to our approach (attitude).  It's as if we embrace (laugh-off) the stigma wholeheartedly, having come to understand that being stigmatized isn't at all in line with healthy recovery.  

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Weekend before last, I met a new(comer) Samson guy within my go-to, virtual Samson Society meeting.  During the after-meeting, he asked me to be his Silas.  I replied by thanking him before requesting that he think / pray about choosing Rob for one week.  He did so, and now I'm his Silas.

Firstly, I asked him for his story.  I had that within 24 hours.  

It wasn't long before he divulged (he recorded the majority of his story within an audio file) that he's a lifelong member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints (two-year mission, BYU alum).  

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The first Mormon I ever met was an associate architecture professor at Mississippi State University (the year was 1994).  The attribute I recall mostly about his man was his work ethic.  It was unbelievable (compared to his professor peers).  The other attribute that stood out was his humility / meekness / kindness.  

How I knew he was Mormon, I don't remember, but I'm assuming it was whispered around not long after classes started my fourth year.  As such, I always did feel sorry for this man from the standpoint of being such the (fervent) religious anomaly within small-town Mississippi.  

Nonetheless, he was just as much of a hard ass as the other professors (if not harder).  He came - this close - to failing me relative to my final fourth year project due to it being "incomplete" (his words).

What I have continued to admire about this professor is he's stayed the course at MSU's School of Architecture.  Year after year, he's continued to teach / lead, and I believe he's still going strong.

That's persistence within a less-than-ideal (for him) environment.

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I'm excited to be this Mormon's Silas.  I've always wanted to befriend a Mormon, but have never had the opportunity.  (We've never even had any Mormon missionaries come to our door.)  

And now, one just approached me - out of the blue - during the Samson Society "Brain Changers" meeting.  Wow.  I feel immensely blessed.  

Please pray for me as I walk with my new friend as his Silas.  I'm looking forward.  (Samson Society truly is a very big pond.)