Insinuating The Ultimatum / Rerun relationship

My first Silas relationship was one that cross pollinated (he and I served each other as Silases) despite the fact that we were not (yet - by a long shot) integrated into Samson Society.  And this was because we weren't privy to it (this was 2010 / 2011 / 2012).  Nonetheless, we knew exactly what we both wanted from the friendship for we were both struggling mightily with compulsive sexual sin (porn consumption).

How did this unique precedent-setting relationship originate?  

Chris (Silas 1.0) approached me about having an unassuming lunch.  From there, he announced that he was a "Porn Addict" while we ate our gyro plates at Jerusalem Cafe in Jackson.  As you might imagine, with him being our church's Youth Pastor, I nearly shit a brick when he said this.  

Overall, whilst looking back on this season, I can say that it was an amazing (+/-18) month journey.  

Until it wasn't.  

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At the outset of our friendship, Chris' personal and work life were in shambles, and it was mostly his own fault.  Specifically, as it related to his laziness.  Chris loved "winging it" relative to EVERYTHING.  Prep work, in his opinion, was not at all for him.  Instead, he used his "free time" to play video games, surf porn, or watch television / films (keep in mind that he was married with three small children). 

According to Chris, because "winging it" had been his modus operandi throughout his life (he was in his early to mid 30s at this time), he knew of no real way to "chart a new course" (become un-lazy / grow up / become more responsible).  

I can remember vividly chatting and praying, chatting and praying, chatting and praying (after we'd run together) EVERY Tuesday evening in my garage.  And often, we'd end up arguing over some of the pettiest of things.  But, all in all, I never once relinquished my role as his "best gay friend" (his words) as I tried my darndest to understand / support him for such a time as that.  Chris was intelligent / creative and articulate.  I liked that.  Plus, he respected me and all my unique weirdness.

The implosion of our co-Silas relationship occurred when I finally insisted that we expand our group.  Chris was vehemently uninterested in doing this.  He claimed there'd be no benefit to it.  Yet, I believed his argument didn't hold water due to whom I was recommending we loop in.  Hence, I saw it as a win-win for both of us, and therefore the best way forward.

In the end, Chris (to this day) claims I "betrayed" him by going against his wishes in this regard.  

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So, why did I do this?

This is a question Chris has never asked.  And the reason he's never asked it is as follows:  all he's ever been concerned with is him being "sold out" (& by the way, I wasn't the only one - historically - to do this to him) and all the negative feelings that came with that.  

I simply cannot relate to his one-way point of view, but I do respect / honor his feelings.

And just so you know, presently, I talk to Chris every week and have been for the past year or so.  He's one of my oldest of friends.  Thanks be to God, via Samson Society National / Regional Retreats, we've found (once again) common relational ground.  Everything that went down before ('12) simply has never been / will never be worked through.  We don't discuss it because we don't see any benefit therein.  It's as if we were two different versions of ourselves at the outset of our longstanding friendship.  Hence, we've learned to leave the past in the past.  And I'm extremely grateful for this miracle approach because I love Chris dearly.  And too, there is so much truth in that statement.

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So why did I do to Chris what he so feared would occur?

I looped in a third man in order to relieve my own emotional / spiritual pressure relative to our friendship.  Chris' personal / vocational circumstances, throughout these early years of us communing together, continued to worsen for him (& for our church's youth ministry).  No amount of time together - chatting & praying, chatting & praying - seemed to improve his situation.  Though we very much enjoyed each other's company, I couldn't deny how burdened and used I felt.  

The other portion of this was just how self-focused Chris was during this season.  And I believe this too was due to the ongoing falling out regarding his own personal failings / negligence.  He was literally watching everything fall down around him at this time which had to have been completely overwhelming.

In essence, Rob was rucking it for his Silas, yet each week, more and more weight was being added to the rucksack.  Eventually, I chose to unload some of it onto someone else.  Someone whom I knew also loved / supported Chris as I did.

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Why bring all of this up?

Today, I'm in a very similar situation with another man, and frankly, I cannot believe it.  I've been dialoguing multiple times a week with this friend (since March), ending each chat with an intentional prayer, since early '22.  This guy is a few years older than I, and though his situation certainly isn't identical to Chris', there're remarkable similarities.  

David and I met back in February at a regional Samson retreat.  And we hit it off immediately.  And just as with Chris, I deeply pitied this man's situation (vocational / personal).

And so here I am.  As each week passes, David's situation continues to degrade, and once again, my rucksack is simply too much for me to bear.  

I've tried repeatedly (even to the point of having the MTGA facilitator personally invite him) to motivate David to attend the same virtual Samson Society meeting that I regularly attend ("Make Thursdays Great Again"), but he won't make it (or any other Samson Society meeting) a priority.  I desperately want him to make this commitment because I know that group well.  They'll come alongside and love David as I do.  For he's a wonderfully intelligent / articulate Christian man.

Oh, dear Jesus, where do I go from here?  Do I continue forward bearing the weight of this man's situation alone, or do I lay down an ultimatum relative to him taking the necessary steps to expand our too small circle all around?

Please pray for Rob regarding this rerun relationship.

Keep Them Emotions Underneath Your (Hairy?) Armpits (For Safekeeping)

My Silas is a profusive sweater.  I wouldn't be privy to this factoid had he not volunteered the info, and even then, I'd likely not have acknowledged it 'till I witnessed it firsthand (our first rendezvous was at a local park on a typically muggy May morning in Mississippi).

My wife is similarly physiologically-wired relative to perspiration.  And her dad was just the same.  But, the difference (perhaps) in my wife and Silas' perspiration antics is hers is more often tied to anxiety.  In other words, when she experiences anxiety, she sweats profusely.  From there, she becomes that much more anxious (due to the embarrassment over the sweating), therefore she just sweats that much more.  

It's the sweat cycle.  And it is the weirdest thing.  Thankfully none of my children inherited this, but I wouldn't be surprised if a few of my grandchildren aren't "blessed" with this supersweatiness.  

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When I was in middle-school (back in the '80s), my mother enrolled me in a Shotokan Karate class at the aerobics studio where she worked (bookkeeper).  It was a Tuesday / Thursday class, and the exceedingly kind Sensei who instructed us (mostly) tikes was from across town (Clinton).  Terry Vandeventer was a reptile scientist, by trade, who no doubt had a big heart for children.  I'd never met anyone like him (he drove a beat-up station wagon that more often than not had caged baby alligators in the wayback).  

As everyone knows, karateing requires you wear a canvas bathrobe.  I have no idea whose idea this was, but it's seemingly universal.  Of note was Mr. Vandeventer's Gei (the uniform's official karate moniker) for it always had these disgusting greenish stains underneath his armpits.  

And I could never get over that.  Yuck. Gross.  Ick.  It was so bad that I always wished he'd simply use his legs whilst karateing versus his arms or simply just go Gei-topless during our class.

Fast forward to my second boss (post college) who was an architect reared in Vicksburg.  This man had purchased shares of a thriving Jackson architecture firm (where I was now employed) early in his career.  He resided with his sweet wife in Madison, having designed and built his '70ish abode during the late '80s (he was off by a decade).  

I can recall driving out to this house in order to bring him his left-behind-at-the-office briefcase one afternoon after work.  Upon my arrival, both he and his sweet wife (at the time) met me under their carport.  Unsurprisingly, my bossman had removed his dress shirt prior to my arrival, therefore only his tee shirt remained across his very lean torso.  Carl would always brag about the heaping amount of Italian blood within his veins.  Hence, he was olived skinned and hairy to boot.

Immediately, I took note of the profuse green / brown staining under the arms of his tee.  And I simply wanted to puke.  Right there underneath his structurally shifted carport structure.  Yuck.  Gross.  Ick.

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As grown-ass men, our feelings must not be allowed to control us.  There's simply too much responsibility we shoulder for our emotions to have that level of free reign.  But, our feelings very much matter, and therefore should not be dismissed / minimized.

Everyone knows that our emotions can't be completely trusted at times.  For Rob, those seasons have usually been those where I've found myself deeply wounded (traumatized) at the hand of those I genuinely respected / admired.    

Nonetheless, whilst certainly taking those inevitable moments into account, it is our duty to harness our feelings in such a way that we can rely on them to assist us (& therefore those we serve) as men.  

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A year or so after I graduated ('95) from architecture school at Mississippi State University, I surprisingly found that a number of my colleagues chose too to stay within the Metro Jackson area to find work.  Our class was +/-40 in scale, and 12-15 of these were within this group.  Of note is the fact that the architecture degree program at MSU is five years with the fifth year occurring within a separate studio in downtown Jackson.

A handful of these (12-15) were far more polished than Rob was (that's not hard to believe, is it?), and much of this was akin to their being older (they'd pursued architecture as a second degree).  Of note was the fact that this group had taken it upon themselves to organize a "Young Architects' Forum" that was sort of a sub-association group to the Mississippi AIA (American Institute of Architects) chapter.  And this YAF had absolutely taken off, even to the point of gaining some national notoriety.  And this was all very cool.

I volunteered some of my time to assist these "go getters" who'd so brilliantly brought this exciting idea to fruition, but what happened soon thereafter, truly put my deodorant to the test.

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I have closely trimmed my armpit hair for as long as I can remember.  In fact, this is one of my sweet wife's routine duties for Rob (along with trimming my neck hair).  I know for a fact that this habit is tied to the aforementioned gross-out experiences I detailed above.  

It's not that I'm against armpit hair.  Not at all.  I'm just against any semblance of nasty sweat stains being visible on Rob's (or any other western man's) clothing.  

It's oppressively hot & humid here in Mississippi more often than not.  Our climate is sub-tropical.  Therefore, were it not for perspiration, we Mississippians would likely instead be Canadians.

This makes me thankful for sweat.  I just don't want to be grossed out / gross anyone out by it (sweating is to be felt but not seen).

I will likely gift each of my pubescent grandsons with rechargeable hair trimmers.

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I attended some sort of "Young Architects' Forum" mini-banquet (at a then uber popular Jackson restaurant) in order to be recognized for my involvement / contributions as a volunteer.  Unbeknownst to me, the YAF Board President's intention was to "pass the baton" to Rob immediately following this shindig.  

I was clueless until I realized what was being implied during his presentation.  

I'm certain my armpits became moist as I sat there eating my chips and salsa.  For I felt duped and taken advantage of.  Not one word of this had been broadcast to me prior to this evening.

All I knew was that I'd no leadership experience combined with very little interest in sophomoring their group.  The current President had made it clear that he was moving away from Jackson and wanted out of the position of President (which he'd put himself within as the author of the org itself 18-months prior).

After the formalities were over and everyone began to disperse from the restaurant, I asked to speak with the board members privately out in the restaurant foyer.  And this was the first time, that I can remember as a grown-ass man (age 21 / 22), of Rob tapping into "my gut / instinct" (emotional core) relative to standing up for myself.

And the reaction to what I had to say was not at all respectful / pleasant.  In fact, the Board President was so offended by my refusal to go along with his assumptions that his emotions were most definitely allowed free reign.  From there, my reputation as a "noteworthy volunteer" changed to one of "unreliable schmuck".  

Keep in mind that I did not belay my disgruntled feelings in an asshole-like manner during this intense exchange.  I was respectful of his contribution / authority yet also pointed / direct relative to my own point of view regarding this "misunderstanding". 

Considering the age difference (me being 3-5 years younger than the board members), I came away quite proud of how I handled myself in contrast to the reaction I received.

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God gave men armpits for good reason.  They're wonderful repositories for emotions.  Whether they're positive or negative, my advice is to keep them there for safekeeping.  This way, they're useful but not intrusive.  Controlled but also accessible.  Plus, emotions favor warm, moist, and dark.  Hence, the armpit is both a conveniently ideal environment.

My only request regarding this approach is that you do your part as a man to keep from grossing anyone out.  Even if you have to pay thousands to have your armpit hair lasered away, do us all a favor and get it done.  For sometimes, even the most effective antiperspirants simply won't cut the hairy mustard.

For goodness sakes man, think of your clothing!  Yuck.  Gross.  Ick.

Feeling Overlooked

As I believe I've mentioned in the past, my Silas and I have regularly scheduled face-to-face meetings throughout the month.  One of these is a scheduled lunch and the other is a more intimate get-together at a local park (in the evening as it's too steamy during the day).  

In anticipation of one of those scheduled rendezvouses, I've been rehearsing within my head what I'm going to share relative to where I've been over the past 3-4 weeks.  Hence, I'm really revved up about this forthcoming meeting.  To expound on that a bit, I made a statement at one of the more recent "Make Thursdays Great Again" Samson Society meetings that I was feeling quite emotionally constipated.  Well, once again, I'm there.  Hence, my hope is during my forthcoming Silas meeting, I can "empty my lower track".  

If there were a theme to what I've decided to share / dump, it would be that I'm feeling woefully overlooked as of late, and I believe the primary driving force behind this feeling is how much caregiving I've been doing relative to my family (immediate & extended).  And I'm absolutely fine with caregiving.  Rob is a giver by default, but I've been doing a boatload of it over the past month or so.  As you can imagine, because of this overload, there've been ramifications therein that I've regretted.

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I took a few moments tonight to express my overlookedness to my wife, and I came away feeling like I'd royally disappointed her.  As such, those feelings weren't nearly as intense as they should have been (considering reality), but as a giver - & particularly as her husband - it made me feel remorseful for speaking up.

I'm officially queued up for my Silas.  Please be in prayer that he's in a good place to receive what I'm needing to relinquish and that neither of our calendars are hijacked - in the meantime - by the unexpected / unplanned.

Denying Yourself & Making Faithfulness (To Christ) Your Highest Priority

Losing my campus architect job from Delta State University proved devastating to me emotionally.  For it was an environment I found challenging, energetic and perfectly suited for someone of my professional skillset (plus it was my dad's alma mater).  I cannot overstate here how satisfied I was with this administrative position.  It was September of 2013 when the termination occurred, right around this time of year (late summer transitioning into early fall).  Though I'd only been employed there for one year, I'd spent countless hours of overtime (mostly weekends) shoring up the position of Campus Architect (at the expense of my family / personal life), all of which had resulted in some needed stability / restored confidence within the Physical Plant. 

Post termination (the following day), I immediately took the necessary steps to become an employee of my parents' Jackson, Mississippi business.  The work I'd be doing there wasn't at all of interest to me nor was I trained therein (I pursued a degree in architecture in college in order to eventually become registered as such).  Too, I knew going in that working for them would result in me feeling washed up, settled, and emasculated (which it did).  Spelled out as F-A-I-L-U-R-E.  

The devastation was centered on how obvious it quickly became that I was not at all well-suited working on a college campus, particularly within a Physical Plant setting.  Why?  As an intensely (at the time) same-sex attracted 40-year-old man, I was overwhelmed with the testosterone / muscled masculinity that was constantly on display for me to interact with.  And, to make matters that much more challenging, all these men wore athletically cut, short-sleeved uniforms that accentuated these glorious physical attributes.  And I cannot underestimate that word:  glorious.  Damn, it was fucking glorious.  Not unlike working on a gay porn film set each and every day.  

Yet, in the midst of all this, I had zero support relative to my story.  Even though I'd shared it in so many words with our pastor / associate pastor (whilst also pointing them to my personal blog).  They proved to be no help at all to me personally.  And I did even reach a point of directly asking for help.  

Taking all this into account, it was no doubt an unworkable situation.  Rob was completely isolated and far from home.  All the while, feeling SO MUCH shame relative to his sexual orientation.

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Imagine being Samus Aran but not fitting at all comfortably (due to the size of your frame) into your varia suit.  No matter how hard you'd tried.  Therefore, you attempt to bounty hunt sans suit, but you keep getting your ass kicked.  Plus, you're unable to morph into that cool morph ball which therefore limits your mobility.  

As such, you're disqualified.  No more bounty hunting.  Not without the varia suit.  It is an integral part of your work.

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At age thirteen, whilst being lassoed in by the gospel, I knew denial of myself would be an absolute.  And at this age, I actually gravitated towards this mindset for I found zero value within Rob.  Not to mention I was scared shitless of landing in hell for my propensity (even at this tender age) to lust. Immediately, Jesus made sense as both a savior and guide, and I understood my need for both.  

There was no one to confide in during my teen years relative to my sexuality.  In tandem with that was how emotionally starved I was both at home and platonically.  Therefore, "rescue" came via lustful sexual fantasies, all of which were homosexual in nature.  Often, these fantasies involved men / older boys that were within my sphere of influence (school / work / church).  They pursued Rob with a vengeance within these fantasies, and in many ways, it served as a temporary suave to my hurting / lonely heart (which was always left behind with biting guilt).  

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One thing I'm most proud of relative to my position at Delta State University was my choosing to not entertain sexual fantasies around any of the hot men that worked under me.  As such, this put me in quite the private pressure-valve situation.  For I didn't want to use them, but at the same time, I was exceedingly sexual attracted to a number of them. 

And this is where oversharing on my personal blog came in handy along with consuming gay porn (all executed on my work desktop PC, thereby breaking the university's IT policy).  For it provided some temporary emotional relief.

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After my initial +/-3 years of being involved in the Jackson, Mississippi Samson Society group (August 2014 - May 2017), the Holy Spirit clearly punctuated my love for men by dubbing me a "men's minister".  This happened immediately following a retreat that Mr. Don Waller had organized for our (then singular) group in beautiful Highlands, NC.  I'll likely never forget the day this occurred.  It was a rainy weekday afternoon while both of my 'rents were out of the office.

This title wasn't something that felt earned.  Instead, it seemed (at the time) so much more prophetic in nature than anything else.  And it truly was, though even today, all these years later, I in no way feel I've "risen" to that mantel.  

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My experience at Delta State University was perfectly orchestrated by God to prepare me for what's been set within my line of sight today as a "men's minister" (whatever that means).  For I know firsthand what it is to experience devastation via the realization that you're not qualified to pursue what, by the numbers / book, looks to be a perfect fit for you (taking your credentials, experience, availability into account).  

Being a same-sex attracted man has crippled me.  There's no doubt about it.  It has, in many ways, robbed me of (vocational) glory I've longed to be identified by.  But, none of this is overly surprising to Rob, especially whilst looking back.

What is mind-blowing is how tenderly God's nurtured me through all this fallout.  He's been consistent in his love as each month propels me further and further away from what went down in September 2013.

Thanks be to God for his goodness and mercy, and thanks too for the Jackson Mississippi Samson Society and its role in launching me into this community of men.   

Freedom To Outmaneuver Political Extremists (Why I'll Likely Never Attend Another Face-To-Face - In Mississippi Or Anywhere Else - Samson Society Meeting)

I don't feel comfortable around political extremists.  Especially within Samson Society.  I realize that everyone has a right to their opinion on politics, and that the amount of time / energy they devote therein is their business, but these folks creep me out (& especially so if they're professing Christians).

During my four-year tenure facilitating the Lakeside Pres Samson Society meeting, I found myself face-to-face with one of these individuals when he boasted of participating in the January 6, 2021 election protest at the US Capitol (he executed this boasting the Saturday immediately following its occurrence).  Though he himself (according to his personal narrative) didn't join in with his fellow protestors and storm the building, just knowing that he'd hooked up with other extremists via social media, carpooled to Washington D.C. and joined in the protest really unsettled me.  

This Samson brother had been faithful to our face-to-face group almost since its inception.  Overall, he was no "odder" than any other Samson guy, and as such, this development really put me between a rock and a hard place.  I remember simply having my synapses charred when he boasted of what he'd participated in (either during the meeting itself or the after-meeting) since all of us at the time were still emotionally overwhelmed with what actually had occurred as a result of the insurrection itself.

And, I will admit, whilst looking back, that I had prior to this fateful day / Samson Society meeting insisted that he forgo the political rhetoric during his share time.  And each time I needed to do so (which wasn't all that often), he'd respectfully comply.  Keep in mind that this man was very intelligent / articulate (typical Samson guy).  A guy who landed here in MS (20+) years ago from New York (his childhood home) by way of California.

Yet, what was I to do?  Ask that this longtime friend remove himself from our group?  

Americans certainly have a right to protest, and that's all he'd done.  There was no denying that.

Yet, it was the boasting of his participation therein that changed my mind completely.  Especially considering what grew out of said protests.

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One of the primary advantages of virtual Samson Society meetings (via Zoom) is down in the right-hand corner of the screen.  Therein resides the "Leave Meeting" red button.  I've taken note of a number of Samson guys over the past eight months who've made a discreet exit from "Make Thursdays Great Again" via this button.

Some of these men (if I've befriended them), I'll follow-up with afterwards.  Most don't volunteer a motive for leaving prior to the meeting's conclusion, but my guess is, it has something to do with someone else's presence.

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There's no way to control who attends a Samson Society meeting.  It's open door, baby, and that's the way that it should be.  But with the multitude of virtual Samson Society meetings available to frequent, leaving one meeting behind and jumping onto another (a few hours later) is of expedient convenience.  Plus, it can be done with discretion (if the group is sizable).  

I like that.  A lot.  Especially considering my aforementioned rock & a hard place experience (with certain individuals) within face-to-face meetings.

And not just for my sake but for the sake of others.  For I know there're plenty of Samson brothers out there who reflexively reach for that "Leave Meeting" button when they spot Mississippi Rob. 

You simply cannot do that within a face-to-face paradigm.  And that, in my opinion, is unfortunate.

These Are Dangerous Times To Be Living Alone. Especially If You've Established A Perceived Anonymity Involving Both The Internet & Sexual Sin.

I love meeting new Samson guys.  Hearing their stories and supporting them therein via my listening ear is what it's all about.  There's no judgement there.  It's all about simply listening, asking questions and listening some more.  Perhaps eventually, they'll be a recommendation or two tossed from my lips, but those are always at a minimum (though I must admit their seeming authoritativeness can be off putting to some) until I feel so moved.    

I'm fortunate to have listened to hundreds upon hundreds of hours - throughout my life - as either a Silas or simply a Samson brother.  If you know Rob at all, you know that I adore men.  Hence, meeting new guys and listening to their stories is an incredibly enriching experience for me.  You'll also know though that I don't miss much whilst listening.  And I'm fairly certain this is tied to how God has tuned me overall towards the same sex.

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Many years ago, I was an avid CNET fan.  This website interested me enough to browse there moreso than occasionally (in spite of the fact that I'm by no means a tech nerd).  I especially enjoyed their weekly (Fridays) wrap up summary video which captured the "tech news" over the past seven days.  The host of this weekly video was comedic, the writing intelligent and the editing was anything but generic.  It was entertaining stuff.  

During one of these weekly wrap-up videos, the host featured the first (supposedly) iteration of webcam roulette URLs.  Essentially, per what the host described; this URL allowed one to play webcam roulette with whomever else was logged in simultaneously (with their webcam turned on).  

And as an aside, the host made it very clear that what she had experienced therein was quite sexually explicit in nature as she "played around" with this new website invention.

Who'd a thunk?  Strangers being sexually explicit online?  Shocking.

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The Internet is all about efficiency, is it not?  Instantaneous satisfaction.  No matter the need.  

Keeping that in mind, webcam roulette URLs most definitely meet a distinct need via the power and anonymity of the Internet.  And the keyword here is anonymity.  

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Somewhere around 2008 or '09, a beloved Aussie friend (who I'd met online via Yahoo! Groups), and I were beginning to establish a webcam routine.  For reference, at the time, my PC barely met the minimum computing requirements for Skype.  Prior to this, my Aussie friend and I emailed each other voraciously (for well over a year).  Like myself, this guy was a writer at heart, but who also happened to be a husband / father who struggled with unwanted same-sex attraction.  

Unfortunately, it didn't take too long for Scott (after we'd established our webcam routine) to decide to expose himself to me unannounced.  From there, during that episode, he began masturbating to climax.  I have to admit, it was initially quite erotic observing him doing this through his laptop's webcam, but it didn't take long for me to feel the ickiness associated with this sort of Internet-centric experience, particularly in contrast to where our friendship had been.  Hence, after that one time, in line with a mutual agreement, he and I both kept our zippers zipped up.  

Not too many months after this eye-opening event, I asked that we take a year-long friendship sabbatical.  He agreed to this with a broken heart.  As you might imagine, our relationship never recovered from that "extended vacation".   

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Let me stop here and define what I mean by ickiness.

Whenever I engage with other men, I feel 110%.  The experience is akin to me walking in their shoes.  It's for sure emotionally exhausting, but as such, me simply being me.

This being my normal, I am deeply fearful of what a sexual experience might look like with said men because of the damage my involvement would bring about.  In other words, think of it as me taking a massive overstep into their lives.  Now, viewing a pixelated video, fed through an anonymous guy's webcam, isn't the same as real, face-to-face sexual experiences or even (as described above) a friend-to-friend webcam one.

All that being said, ickiness feelings are essentially those which alarm me to the fact that I've either entered in or are fast approaching the cesspool of human experience.  The lowest of the low.  Debased.  Repugnant.  To expound on that a bit, I'd put it in the same category as visiting those plywood-assembled "private booths" oftentimes found towards the back of the adult bookstore.  You know the ones.  Where the red and pink incandescent bulbs dangle above your head as you anticipate yet another anonymous hookup.

In my opinion, webcam roulette is right there in the thick of those pollutants.  Particularly if you're participating therein as a Christian.

Here's my plea:  Value yourself and the Holy Spirit in such a manner that you're unwilling to stoop to this level.  No matter how lonely you may feel.  Value your witness as a Christian in such a manner that you're unwilling to stoop to this level.  Pray to God that your ickiness barometer stays sensitive and sharp.  Ask him for the self-control to heed its warnings reflexively.

And never forget to pray for those who're submerged in the filth, getting pulled deeper and deeper into the dump.  For ickiness to them is what normal looks like.

Lagniappe

Partnership

Over the past few days, I've worked tirelessly (& I'm not exaggerating) to assist my wife (of 26 years) in preparing her mother's northeast Jackson home to be listed with a realtor.  That entailed handyman and housework from morning 'till night within a mazelike 3,000 sf abode.  An abode which more or less is just as it was whilst initially occupied by her family in the early '80s.  

And when I say that, I'm also referring to all of the unresolved emotional trauma my wife, her younger brother and father endured therein (at the hand of Angie's mother).  Childhood trauma that is easily stirred even today, all these years later, by her elderly mother's (who's been catered to throughout this months' long process) tongue.  Not to mention her having to spend hours upon hours (+/-50 total days since last fall) sorting through her parents' belongings whilst inside the setting of said abuse.

On Monday, (8/15) evening, after we'd returned home and I'd had a chance to shower, Angie and I sat in the living room of our very-intentionally small abode and chatted about our quite exhausting day together.  What was obvious, in spite of our said exhaustion, is we simply relished the sense of partnership.  Now, it's important that you know that she's the one who's primarily poured herself into this 6+ month project on behalf of her mother.  As such, it was only this week that my aforementioned "services" were warranted.  Hence, we (as partners) really hadn't the necessity to attack the giant collectively.  

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Within walking distance from Angie's childhood home, I vividly remember us as dating love birds, sitting quietly - after dark - snuggled close on a park bench on a cool fall evening.  She and I often talked and talked during our courtship, and this night was no different.  Thankfully, our chattiness served many purposes, one of which was staving off the physicality (fornication) between us.  

But this night ended differently than any other we'd experienced up to that point.  On this night, as we strolled back to her parents' home in the dark, she sobbed tears of shame and fear as she anxiously begged me to never leave her behind due to her parents' personal (mental health, neglect, wickedness) issues.

I remember nonchalantly blowing all that off.  I felt as if she was being overly fearful, never realizing - in those moments - that this was her childhood trauma revealing itself.  I reminded her that I'd known her family (formally) since I was a teen, growing up (too) at First Baptist Church Jackson.  

Nonetheless, whilst looking back today, I can tell you that I've had enough of my fill of in-law rancor to easily justify walking away from our marriage.  All due to the seeds of discord consistently sown and cultivated by her reflexively condescending parents.  

All in all, the best words I can use to describe our experience regarding her family is:  unrelentingly difficult.  

Imagine driving from one side of the country to the other (East to West coast) but having to do so in reverse.  Hence, you're disqualified from using the interstate system (or any other divided highway).  Instead, you're handicapped to using all kinds of back roads.  In reverse.  As a result, the fatigue is constant (massively impeding your progress) since you're always looking over your shoulder in order to make any headway on your journey.  Whilst looking back, this ridiculous analogy fits.  Yet, Angie never for one moment wasn't worth constantly working - as partners - relative to outwitting the manipulativeness and deceit that were Bob and Edie Sigrest.

As an aside, you must know that the best year of our marriage (most of 2013) was when we lived in Cleveland, MS (2.5 hours - by car - from Jackson, MS) of all places.  And this was because we were far removed from my in-laws.  Angie smiled every day, and she was so sad when I was fired from my job (resulting in us having to return to Jackson, MS).

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My wife and I are slated to pick back up with our hands-on partnership this forthcoming weekend (437 Northpointe Parkway).  I'm looking forward to again - physically - standing with her for such a time as this.  Demons be damned.  It feels as if we're finally close to sealing up this Pandora's Box once and for all.

Lagniappe

My Friend's Nasty Refrigerator / Refusing To Take Emotional Responsibility / Emotionally Engage

I'm convinced that emotions are scary to Mississippians.  At least white Mississippians.  Black Mississippians not so much.  As such, it creates quite the disconnect between the two races; for you have one that's marinating in emotional energy and the other who sees no use for / can't comprehend / would rather ignore it.

Close, interdependent relationships (family / friends) should be an inevitable encounter within this life, and there's no getting around the fact that such the degree of closeness will bring with it emotions of every ilk.  For all human beings, white or black, experience emotions, and all human beings are designed for community.  All of that is God breathed.  Emotions are signposts and litmus tests.  In summary:  immensely valuable brain energy that's best rationally respected versus ignored outright.

Let's think of these necessary interdependent relationships as staples within a refrigerator.  Items like milk, eggs, cheese that are consistently being moved in and out (as they're replenished and otherwise) of the icebox for usage.  Over time, inevitably, the inside of the fridge can get cruddy due to the movement, organization and the inevitable reorganization.  Not to mention that some of the packaging may be leaky or fail completely.  If this is the case, because the cruddy residual is also being kept cool, it doesn't necessarily begin to stink.  But it does look (& feel) really bad.  To the point that it's undeniable yet still lazily ignorable (behind closed doors / out of sight / out of mind).  

People aren't perfect.  Especially whilst trying to engage communally.  Everyone's within their own unique container, therefore preeminent weak spots abound.  Certain individuals get moved about much moreso than others, and on the flip side of that, it's inevitable that there're those who get forgotten about due to their benign location / packaging.  

The weight of supporting others can deform or even crush.  Despite what may look fresh, spoilage can be therein.  Neglect / assumptions often have consequences.  

And finally, certain items effectively contaminate by simply being introduced and "leaving well enough alone".

It's all quite the complicated affair.  

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Years ago, we had dinner with one of my oldest friends (from my college days).  I vividly recall helping myself to a beverage refill, and as such, couldn't help but notice the absolute filth within their refrigerator.  It was unlike anything I'd seen prior.  Even taking into account refrigerator filth (housemates) from my college days.  I remember telling Angie during our drive home about my friend's disgusting refrigerator.  Interestingly enough, the make model of their appliance was the exact same as ours, yet the contrast in cleanliness was striking.  Yet, all of that dried gunk was being preserved just as the staples were thanks to the space BOTH were residing within.  Hence, I suppose, this family saw no real reason to take the time to empty out the appliance and wipe down the interior in spite of its shocking state.

We've all heard of self-cleaning ovens.  They're ovens that have programmed cycles which incinerate spilled / splattered gunk.  Once the cleaning cycle is complete, all you're left with is ashes to sweep / vacuum out.  

Refrigerators aren't like that because they're never turned off.  Plus, their primary purpose is to maintain a set, slightly above freezing temperature.  

I can remember hearing of college roommates inadvertently leaving a sizable bag of frozen shrimp behind (post spring semester) within their apartment freezer (above the refrigerator).  Unbeknownst to them, the landlord cut the electricity to the apartment for a week or so over the summer sans checking the contents of the apartment-grade refrigerator / freezer.  Obviously, this spelled the appliance's demise as the shellfish rotted away inside prior to being refrozen.  Yuck.

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Mississippians, overall, live here because of their families and their faith (plus the winters are relatively balmy).  Otherwise, their choosing is simply rooted in dramatically lowest cost of living combined with ignorance.  Overall, our state is shrinking; with each passing decade, individuals leave for greener pastures.  I'm convinced this is partly the case due to the aforementioned emotional extremes that cannot be ignored here.

Kaka Ray talks an awful lot about finding / pursuing healthy ways to regulate the brain.  If I'm understanding her correctly, she's referring to equalization (balance) between both the left and right hemispheres.  To me, this speaks to giving equal weight to both the pragmatic and emotional makeup of ourselves.  And the key word here is giving.  

Kaka talks about technique to encourage this giving, and so often, she justifies those techniques within the framework of maturity.  

And that's one of my most favorite words.  (Certainly not one you hear often in Mississippi.)

So the question comes down to whether or not individuals who reside outside the boundaries of Mississippi are more mature than we are.  I have to believe they are, and this draws many out of the Magnolia State in droves.

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As far as I know, Bob & Darlene (my parents) have never kissed, held hands or hugged (based on my observation as their only child).  Growing up amongst these kindhearted cardboard people was sterile to say the least.  Nonetheless, there was little to no recourse needed for spilled milk / leaky egg cartons due to the fact that there were none available to choose from.  Overall, other than one lone box of baking soda, the SHARED familial refrigerator remained empty.  As such, we did each have our own minifridges to work with (for survival).   

My upbringing was as independent from my parents as it - within reason - could be.  Interaction was polite and respectful as if at any moment circumstances might change for the worse for one of us.  

Have you ever seen the film Reservoir Dogs?  From what I remember (I screened it decades ago), it's a heist / hostage flick, carried out by a group of white men, none of which know anything substantial (real) about the other.  And this includes each other's names.  This emotional detachment is supposed to work in their favor relative to the risks they face as they carry out their gruesome, terrorizing crimes.

The Islamic terrorists who carried out 9/11 had to have used similar techniques of loyalty derived from this notion of austere independence.  

It's weird looking back on my growing up years relative to this, but I simply didn't know any better.  It wasn't like I had anything substantial to complain about, though as I matured into a man, there was no doubt that something was terribly off.

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It's ironic to admit to this, but my aforementioned friend (with the nasty refrigerator) and his wife put little to no value on regulation.  They're no doubt poster children for typical white Mississippians.  And I harbor no ill will / bias against them as such, but I do pity them.  For I believe (& have seen firsthand) there's so many poor choices / missed opportunities / misaligned priorities as a result.  Again, signposts / litmus tests are to be effectively accounted for and respected.  

Here in Mississippi, you truly are within a bit of an inbred disregulated environment where gossip reigns supreme.

Bless our hearts. 

A Gesture Towards Putting Off Boyish Things

The Bible speaks of putting off "boyhood / childish things".  Why?

Because if you don't, those things will run counter to your own spiritual maturity as a Christian.  And that's the keyword here:  maturity.  Arguably, mostly via time wasting.

Most individuals who experience same-sex attraction (& be forewarned; I'm making a stereotypical statement here) are avid entertainment aficionados.  Whether it's television or film, social media or video games, music or theater.  Most know every entertainer, every lyric, every cover, re-make and spin-off because they marinate in it 24/7/365.  If you've ever wondered why corporate America duly embraces homosexuality, it all points back to the Almighty Dollar.  In other words, it can only help their bottom line to tow the cultural party line.    

Speaking of same-sex attracted men, here's a few fun facts:

A number of authors argue that same-sex attracted men are perpetually "stuck" within their youth relative to truly legitimizing their God-breathed sexuality.  

Fathers who struggle with SSA sometimes claim that rearing their sons allows them opportunities to resolve this emotional immaturity vicariously.

Again, the Bible speaks too "throwing / putting off" boyish things.

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Our pastor sometimes cites "the filth" that he and his wife screen on their television.  Too, he'll actually call out (on rare occasion) the congregation (in so many words) relative to his innocuous (heavy) social media involvement.  Out of the other side of his mouth, he'll preach an expository sermon each Sunday.  

And this juxtaposition isn't uncommon amongst Christians, though hopefully it's anomalous amongst pastors (ours) for it runs counter to scripture's commands. 

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Comic books were my upper elementary / middle school hobby.  Starting out with "Richie Rich" as an elementary student, I eventually moved to "The New Teen Titans".  From there, I read "Wonder Woman" and "Crisis on Infinite Earths" 'till eventually I was shopping at the local comic bookstore (in Ridgeland), spending way too much money than I should have been on all manner of "independently published" mags ("Dreadstar").

I kept these treasured newsprint gems in individual plastic baggies that looked like Ziplocs with no zipper before eventually amassing them all together within an empty Chick-A-Fil waffle fry box.  

My best friend, at the time, who also adored these little cartoon newsstand leaflets, soon took his hobby into overdrive.  He did this by establishing an "account" at the aforementioned comic bookstore.  Therein, they - in real time - physically accrued his favorite titles on his behalf (like a prepubescent P.O. Box).

Once I witnessed this over-the-top consumptive behavior, I chose to put the brakes on my overzealous comic book hobby.

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I remember, like it was yesterday, identifying the young man whom I'd be gifting my comic book stash.  Immediately prior to the handoff, I neatly organized each title, putting them in chronological order and separating them via neatly labeled cardstock dividers.  

I didn't actually make the drop face-to-face.  Instead, I simply put the waffle fry box in his disheveled bedroom and walked away (I was a friend of his father).  Walker (the recipient) was around 16 at the time.  I suppose I shouldn't have expected a thank-you note.  Nonetheless, it never did arrive.   

In the end, I have thought about those comic books an awful lot.  Wondering what it would be like to leaf through their many pages once again, or perhaps gift them to my children / grandchildren.  

And I believe that's to be expected.  Nonetheless, I've never regretted gifting them to my young Brookhaven friend.  For when I looked at him (at the time), I saw where I was departing / maturing (away) from.  Hence, he now bore a significant reminder of my youth inside that french fry box.    

Is there a boyish pastime (or relics therein) you'd benefit from jettisoning?  Something perhaps, that represents well, who you once were as a child?  If so, it should be something that you truly wish to hang on to throughout your adult life (as a means to look back and remember).  

Locate a young man to gift that to today, and from there, follow through.  No matter how much it pangs you to do so.

Processes like these are sure signs of maturation.

Electricity

Platonic attraction is like an electrical current between two guys.  Considering that, pride (& subsequently envy) will short circuit that charge instantly.

To expound on that last sentence:  if you aren't 100% thankful to be in this other guy's life, and as such, have the spotlight completely on him and what he brings to your life, that electricity between you two will diminish.  As such, eventually, it may very well cease, and if you're like me, the friendship will be difficult to maintain from there because...  

I'm of the opinion that dutiful friendships are for everywhere else but Samson Society.

A warning:  pride births posturing between men.  And I'm not referring to natural pecking orders when I say pride.  I'm referring to those subtle feelings that you're all-in-all better (smarter, wiser, faster, sexier, etc.) than the other man.  In opposition to that is envy which is pride's kissing cousin.  And we all know how envy works.

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As Christian men, we cannot deny our roles as Christian when we're serving other men platonically.  As such, this is our foundation as Samson men.  It's what binds us together - with always the goal in mind to recover.  Because recovery aligns us with Christ and his will for our lives whilst allowing us to see clearly who we are as his adopted son(s).  

I mentioned in an earlier post, my youngest daughter, Laura, and I screened the 2017 film Jungle.  Midway through that film, there's a scene between two of the main characters (young, adventurous men) where one reassures the other that "their friendship will not be impacted by their present (dire) circumstances".  He goes on to say that "everything will return to as it was before" (once their situation has returned to normal).  As you're watching this, there's no doubt that these lies are being spoken out of decency and politeness.   

And we Christians do this reflexively because it's hard to admit to attraction diminishing / ceasing altogether (circumstances being what they are).

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In closing, I'm of the opinion that electricity between Samson guys is an indicator of potential compatibility.  

Pay attention to it.  You may have identified - emotionally - a Samson guy who's garnering the goods needed in regard to motivating change IN YOU.  (Change is hard.) 

"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).

A Holiday Weekend To Listen (To My Wife)

The reason my wife fell in love with Rob was because I chose to listen to her.  For I had not a straight bone in my body.  Nor was I a hyper-competitive male looking to make my "first million" by age 30.  Nonetheless, Angie didn't give a shit about those things.  Instead, she became entranced with my interest in her / her state of mind / her hopes & dreams, etc.  Why was this so important to her? 

Angie grew up in an ultra-dysfunctional household where everyone constantly walked on eggshells relative to her mother's untreated mental illness (borderline personality disorder) and (seasonal) alcoholism.  BPD's primary descriptor is an intense emotional self-focus.  To the point of obsession.  And this preoccupation with one's emotional frame of mind is absolutely sacrosanct, therefore within Angie's family, this was the overarching delineator within the real-time family dynamic.  Hence, Angie was, by definition, the overlooked, emotionally neglected child, who did her darndest to simply keep the peace.   

To give you an idea of how intrusive / domineering my mother-in-law's BPD was / is, I can still recall one Easter holiday where my parents hosted lunch to include my grandmother (now deceased) and Angie's parents.  My grandmother, of all the Turners, was quite the intelligent woman, and she ended up seated, during lunch, next to Angie's mom (whom she'd never met).  Before everyone departed from the festivities, my grandmother pulled me aside and stated, "There's something wrong with that woman."

And she was so right.  

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Over the past 3-4 months, Angie has been singlehandedly cleaning out her mother's +/-3,000 single-family home.  The house was built in northeast Jackson in the early '80s, and the majority of the interior / exterior reflects how it looked when my wife was a child (she's in her early 50s today).  Our two youngest daughters have also been pitching in relative to this monumental task, but all in all, it's been left to Angie.

My mother-in-law is physically capable to assist with this effort, but she chooses not to.  Instead, she simply hovers around Angie and the girls, talking incessantly.  My mother-in-law is one of those individuals who says EVERYTHING that comes to her mind.  And she's an extremely intelligent woman.  Hence, her CPU is always providing plenty of fodder for her to articulate.  Unfortunately though, my mother-in-law's age is / has been taking a toll on her short-term memory, and this is what's prompted the (post hand wringing) decision to discard all of the garbage / refuse out of her house.  Ultimately, all parties involved have decided that she must move out of her abode soon.  Living independently, especially considering the squalor (which isn't going to miraculously disappear), is no longer an option. 

You might be wondering why I haven't assisted with this effort.  It comes down to my mother-in-law feeling threatened by my presence.  Therefore, it's been left up to Angie to see this project through.

One side note:  Angie does have one brother, and he too lives in the Jackson Metro.  He's in his late 40s and is in superb health (unlike my wife) with zero responsibilities (he's childless) other than working the night shift at a local hospital and feeding his beloved pooch.  My mother-in-law absolutely adores him for he can do no wrong.  Yet, in spite of him agreeing to pitch in with this effort early on (he actually met with Angie and her mother at their childhood home to discuss at the beginning of this year), he's been a complete no show (despite repeated cries for help).

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Today is the 2-year anniversary of Angie's stroke.  And, by God's grace, she's not had a second one (that we're aware of).  This is an amazing gift from God because many stroke patients are not so fortunate.  She's been quiet today, and I know it's due to her reliving what went down on this day in 2020.  

She and I pray often, thanking God for both her stroke in 2020, my job loss in 2013 and other events within our marriage that brought great, unexpected suffering.  And we do this because suffering has the potential to increase faith.  She and I would like to believe that this has been the case for each of us, thanks to those terribly difficult events.

My job this Memorial Day weekend is to pay heed to my wife by making myself available to her with both ears open.  Tomorrow, she'll return to her mother's home to continue forward with the cleanout.  My hope is that before the day is done, we'll have a few additional minutes to connect; just as we did so effortlessly during our dating years.  Listening to Angie is the greatest gift I can give her.  She is (like all of us) is hardwired to receive.

Lagniappe

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.  

Let's Talk Samson - "Hyper-Independence"

Note from Stephen: Over the next few weeks, I will be sharing some short posts titled "Let's Talk Samson..." The following post below originated from the Samson Society Facebook page. Specific permission was obtained from the Samson Society in order for the Jackson Mississippi Samson Society blog to re-post and share the contents. The ideas and thoughts presented here originated via the Samson Society's Facebook Page, and permission has been granted to share both ideas and images via this blog. At the end, I will add my own personal commentary and reflection; these will be presented in bold, italic lettering to designate my personal views as they pertain to the original posting. ~ Stephen

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Children who experience emotional or physical neglect learn to replace the deep craving for connection with "not needing anyone."

It's an instinct to self-protect and is an effective coping tool to survive an unsafe and/or painful environment.

Hyper-independence numbs the deep craving for love and connection. It takes the pain of rejection, abandonment, sadness, and grief, and transforms it into a perceived self-confidence:

▪ "I don't need anyone."

▪ "I can do this on my own."

▪ "Why let you in? Everyone eventually leaves."

When we’re used, betrayed, or disrespected, it’s easy for us to create the belief that we can’t rely on anybody else. We don’t want to feel that pain ever again, so we protect ourselves by believing we can walk on this world without the help of others.

This mindset leads to:

▪ taking on too much

▪ saying no to help

▪ having trouble with delegating tasks

We may think being on our own is much better than letting people in, but what we’re really doing is closing ourself off to life.

This is why community, such as the brotherhood of Samson, is vital to our journey of recovery, healing, and just "doing life."

 

Stephen's Commentary:

I am not a fan of social media and partake of it sparingly. I am a very private person, and I thank the good Lord every day that I grew up in a day and age when social media wasn't even a word that existed in the vernacular of Americans. Still, social media does have its moments and it also has certain areas in which it demonstrates usefulness. One particular way that I have found social media to be useful is via the Samson Facebook page. A few weeks ago, I came across a post that stopped me dead in my tracks. Quite literally, it stopped me dead in my tracks and caused me to have to sit down and pause for a few moments. Very few things that I have ever read online have pulled a sucker punch on me like this post did. Many thoughts raced through my mind at once: "This is me...this is who I am...Whoever wrote this looked right through my hardened veneer into the depths of my soul...They get it...they understand...maybe there are others out there like me..."

I have always been a "hyper-independent" person. Until I read this Facebook post, I didn't realize that there was even such a term to describe someone such as myself. Through the work I've done over the past 6 years via Samson, I have been able to re-trace the steps back through my life to see exactly when and where I started down the path of becoming "hyper-independent." Prior to Samson, I didn't know how to begin this process, nor would I have even cared to! Being a "hyper-independent" introverted person is very painful at times. Even though I can be an extroverted-introvert (ambivert) at times, the "hyper-independence" within me still reigns strong. "Hyper-independent" is perhaps the strongest over-arching character trait that is present in my life.

Being "hyper-independent" is DANGEROUS. Being such a person usually means keeping everyone at arm's length. As a husband and father, "hyper-independence" still, at times, causes me to be withdrawn and emotionally unavailable to those who need me the most...my family.

Being "hyper-independent" is EXHAUSTING. Being a chameleon in order to demonstrate a wonderful "outward" appearance while often struggling internally is both mentally and emotionally exhausting. 

Being "hyper-independent" is extremely LONELY. A few weeks ago, my son was very sick, and was hospitalized for a week in the local children's hospital. My wife never left his side and spent the week in the hospital with him. My days consisted of working half days and running back and forth to the hospital during the remaining time to take care of my family. At night, I was at home caring for my three dogs. Aside from a few people we told, I did not reach out to anyone. Even though I was mentally exhausted and emotionally drained by the end of the day, my "hyper-independence" caused me to not reach out to anyone and struggle alone with my fears and my thoughts. It was a rough week.

Being "hyper-independent" is not who I want to be. Above, I have included a screenshot of the original post. The words I have highlighted in yellow describe me. That is Stephen. And I need help moving past that. But my "hyper-independence" assures me that I do not. I need people who will continue to convince me of the need to abandon my desire for "hyper-independence." ~Stephen