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.

-------------------------

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.

-------------------------

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.  

-------------------------

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".   

-------------------------

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

Your Wife Has Standards Too ("Fat Slobs" Rarely Get Laid - Shirtless)

The Director of the YMCA branch we frequent asked me specifically - a few weeks ago - if I was planning to take part in the 2022 "Polar Plunge", a charitable February (winter) swim event (in the Y pool).  I replied by asking him if he would be participating in turn.  He said yes.  But when I asked if he would be swimming in the chilly pool waters shirtless, he replied by describing himself as a "fat slob", therefore no.

-------------------------

There's little off limits relative to dialogue content / subject matter within / between Samson Society / Samson Society men.  Although I have found that most men rarely, if ever, disseminate details regarding their marital bed (sex life w/ spouse).  And I believe this is because it's simply too frightening to be THAT transparent.  Combine that with the fear of being seen as NOT THE VERITABLE STUD that we'd hoped everyone would assume we are - within our master bedrooms.

You do hear more and more about spouses sleeping apart (somewhere on their property), and undoubtedly, they're always quick to allay their audience's fears that their sex life has been - in any way - negatively impacted.

I read an article recently where the husband slept in the backyard with the wife back in the master suite.  And he did this - no doubt - with a weighted blanket, inside his pup tent.

I would argue he was likely obtaining quite the masculinity injection via his nightly stay-at-home scouting, and this quickly took precedent over the typical convenience of having his lovely wife by his side.

-------------------------

One of my favorite questions to ask Samson guys is this:  What brings on (activity) the most intense feelings of masculinity for you?  

My first Silas had (13) biological children (no twins), and his wife wanted more.  Of course, there was no need for me to even ask this question.  The answer was obvious.

I believe most men feel intensely masculine when they're engaging sexually with certain other people (hopefully their wife).  But, in light of that assumption, I've also served as Silas to a man who'd only had intercourse with his wife 3-5 times.  And he'd been married to this same woman for +/-30 years.  And it wasn't that he didn't feel masculine being sexual with certain women, but it just so happened that his wife wasn't one of those women.   

-------------------------

One of the weirdest things about being open about my struggles with same-sex attraction (homosexual desires) is how some guys cannot NOT feel insecure (especially if they're younger than I am) around me.  Hence, if they're married, some of them will consistently (& I've known many of these men for years) make a point to reference how much they enjoy their regularly sexual programming within their marriage bed.

And I have no reason to believe otherwise when they repeatedly tout the vigor and sizzle they're regularly experiencing between the sheets.  

It's these same guys who sometimes ask me that hypothetical question:  "If you could - overnight - be rid of your same-sex attraction / homosexual desires, would you do it?"

Whereas what they're really saying is:  "I so do not trust you, and this is because I cannot relate to both who you say you are and what you claim to be experiencing."

And this stems from the authentication of their masculinity via sex - with their wives - within the marriage bed.

For if I'm not receiving it there, and I'm not having sex with other men, where could I possibly be receiving it?

-------------------------

I'm not a woman nor have I ever felt at all womanly, therefore I cannot speak for them, but I do know that many Samson guys have wives who oblige to sexual activity with their husbands - out of "necessity".  To be more specific, they're willing to be sexual with their husbands in order to lessen the chance that he'll look for sexual pleasure elsewhere.

I've heard men, who've allowed me the privilege of being their Silas, state clearly that they'll fuck anything if they're given the opportunity.  Hence, it's not the reaction of the recipient that matters.  It's the opportunity.

-------------------------

What I want to recommend to married Samson guys, who are sexually active with their wives, is the following:  

If you're ongoing goal is to carry on a vibrant sex life with your wife, take pride in what you physically bring to the experience.

Start by remembering this:  You were meant - as a man - to be muscular.  If you're not muscular today, your physical build isn't static.  All it takes is know-how and motivation.  

Your testes do certainly create (or they should) sperm (for reproduction), but they also manufacture testosterone.  The latter of which is what physically promulgates muscle growth in response to strength training.  

You do have control over both what you eat, how often you eat, and how much you eat.  Your mouth is there to communicate verbally and eat with.  You have full control over both.  (It also works in breathing, but...)

Exercise is powerfully effective at making your body decidedly more physically attractive to your wife.  Closely monitoring your food intake works the same.

And this truth must be embraced / committed to 24/7/365 with no days off.  Ever.  

-------------------------

We still send out those Xmas cards with the family photos on them each year, and in return, others do the same.  We received one this year from a family we've known for most of our married lives (25 years).  The couple have four children, and we first met them within a newlywed Sunday School class at Colonial Heights Baptist Church not long after we were married.

What a beautiful family they are!  And I'm so pleased to see that their marriage endured. 

But I can't help but immediately notice the dad / husband - sticking out like a sore thumb - who'll also not be taking his shirt off at the "Polar Plunge".  

Summer 2022 (here in the northern hemisphere) is fast approaching.  Align your physical self in anticipation of looking your very best.  

You are an image bearer of the most Holy God.

Lagniappe   

More lagniappe

Even more lagniappe

Even, even more lagniappe

Photography Of Naked People. That's An Entirely Different (Read: Much More Captivating) Thing Than Naked People.

And interesting read:  Bradley Cooper, Benedict Cumberbatch and the Golden Age of Nude Men - WSJ

The School of Architecture, back in the early '90s, had a photography studio within the building.  It was staffed by a dedicated faculty member who - as far as I know - oversaw its operation exclusively.  We students were encouraged to have our models / drawings photographed at least annually in order to "build our academic portfolio".  From there, that portfolio would then represent our skillset as we looked to land a job post Mississippi State University.

When I was a third-year student, I was assigned to a small group of exceedingly creative peers, and we decided to execute our mundane site analysis project (which had been assigned to us) via an over-the-top Avant Garde video presentation.  One of the students within my group did have a laptop (a rare find back then) with an early version of Photoshop on it, but none of us had a video camera.  Therefore, we sought to "check one out" of the school's photo studio.  

Our group had a blast filming / editing / presenting our project.  The end result was extremely unique.  And for the most part, I ended up being the cameraman throughout its production.  This was my first foray relative to using a video camera, and as a result of this, my curiosity definitely peaked as I thought through what I potentially could do with said video camera in my spare time.

-------------------------

I had the good fortune to backpack throughout Europe during the summer of 1994.  I was with a group of mostly architecture students, all young men from MSU.  As such, we visited most every architecturally relevant site we could throughout the eleven countries we visited during those two months.  Antiquity is on prominent display throughout Europe.  As such, commissioned sculptures are displayed throughout, much of it depicting prominent historical - Biblical / mythological figures, etc.    

One thing that you notice within the ubiquity of this 3-D art is that full / semi-nudity isn't / wasn't / hasn't been out of the ordinary for Europe.  

Hence, there are plenty of breasts, vaginas, and penis / testicles beautifully rendered (usually in stone).  And these figures' physical features no doubt add to the overall aesthetic.  They're striking yet not at all salacious.

In line with this general observation was my distinct first encounter with this European norm.  I've no doubt their culture of "reduced / zero shame" crystallized within my mind just a few minutes after disembarking from our flight into Paris.  As such, throughout the airport there were supersized print ads featuring semi-nude models, and these were on display prominently.  Over and over again.  

Being an American reared in Mississippi, I'd seen very few images of women revealing their breasts.  Hence, I remember instantly feeling exceedingly uncomfortable whilst encountering these very normalized images.  Shameful really.

-------------------------

Growing up as an only child, I had no brothers - either younger or older - to grow up alongside.  Hence, there was no 24/7/365 familial measuring stick for me to associate with / compare myself to.  Too, I was not at all an athletic boy.  Therefore, locker room / gang shower experiences weren't ever part of my narrative (which I was very much thankful for).  

Hence, when I did have a handful of isolated changing room experiences during my early teenage years, the end result unfortunately was me coming away feeling exceedingly less than my peers.  So much so in fact that I only sought further to loathe my physical self (in contrast to what I considered my masculine ideal).  And this wasn't as a result of how I was treated / perceived / adjudicated by my peers within that changing room setting.  It wasn't that at all.  Every bit of this devastating shame was internalized.

It was as if someone's intent was to eradicate any semblance of self-dignity that should have taken root as expected.

-------------------------

What I didn't realize as an adolescent (nor understood how to respond positively to) was how starved I was to make peace with my masculine - physical self.  Hence, photography of semi-nude male models did make one clear cut statement to me.  And that was that these individuals were where I wanted to be.  Yes too, I enjoyed the salaciousness behind many of these images, but deep down, I saw people who'd decisively understood their intrinsic physical value.  Or at least I thought I had. 

Now of course, regarding photography, this was all a ruse.  But I didn't understand how photography (especially photographic imagery) really worked, nor what much of its true intent was.  My ignorance was truly being taken advantage of (mostly by Satan).

------------------------- 

Now let me circle back to those private ideas I dreamed up whilst serving as the cameraman for my fun-filled, overly creative site analysis (architecture school) project.

Filming oneself masturbating was no doubt really intriguing to Rob and having an empty dorm room to do so in (combined with access to a video camera) sealed the deal.

The funny part of this story is what I decided to lubricate my toolset with as I was "performing" within my first solo video. 

Dishwashing liquid (Joy, Dawn, Palmolive) ARE NOT choice lubricants for self-pleasure.  But I didn't know this until firsthand (sorry) experience.  Yes, there was certainly enough viscosity provided coupled with a very pleasant fragrance, but dishwashing liquid is designed to clean dirty dishes.  Really dirty dishes.  Dishes that have burnt food clinging to them from last night's dinner party.  

Therefore, when you apply said liquid to bare skin, particularly very sensitive, very elastic skin (like your genitalia) and rub it in for 10-15 minutes (sans water), the end result is going to be bad.  Really scary - I'm never going to be able to reproduce - bad.  Like so bad that you're convinced that your junk isn't going to pull (sorry) through.

The lesson here is DO NOT ATTEMPT THIS AT HOME.

Nevertheless, Rob learned a boatload about what photographic imagery truly represents via this humorous DIY encounter with his own ignorance.

-------------------------

When lust occurs relative to a photo / video, you're lusting after light.  Do you realize this?

      

And it's light that's professionally manipulated.  With an intent.  And that intent, if the photographic imagery is successful, can really mess with / impress upon your mind.  And this is especially true if you're a child.  For children have no clue as to just how expertly that light has been manipulated relative to its intent.  Therefore, they are sitting ducks.

With the advent of digital photography, the ubiquity of much malicious intent has perpetuated some serious mental health issues amongst both young people and the young at heart.  For they seemingly cannot remove themselves from the light.  They're puppets.  Consistently not at peace.  Enslaved to something they do not understand that they're constantly bombarded / faced with.

Educate yourself.  Unpack how you yourself came to be so transfixed by light.  And then go spend a lengthy period of time in the locker room (within reason), at the pool, on the beach.  Put on some dark sunglasses, take off your shirt, and be mindful of your place there amongst the semi-nude (or perhaps completely nude if you're not in America) throngs.  

Light isn't real.  Its intent cannot be trusted.  Learn from your mistakes.  You're no longer a boy.  Refuse to be manipulated any longer.  

"Immanuel" - By Max Morton

To me, one of the most amazing aspects of Advent is to meditate on Immanuel-God with us. God in all majesty, glory and splendor coming to "be with" me. More amazing still is the thought of Christ "in you" the HOPE of glory (Colossians 1:27). God, in Christ, the visible manifestation of the invisible God, God himself in all majesty, glory and splendor laying all that aside, literally emptying himself of his majesty, glory and splendor to take up humility, the earthly limitations of human flesh and learning obedience through suffering, even to the point of death (Philippians 2) in order to "be with" me.

With me in my frailty and failure. 

With me in joy and sorrow. 

With me in pain and persecution. 

Because he came as Immanuel, God with me, and was obedient unto death, God raised him from the dead and glorified him with a name above every name. I bow my knee and confess with my tongue that Jesus is Lord of Lords and King of Kings. This confession means that he is not only "with me" but his resurrection power lives "in me" by the abiding presence of the Holy Spirit. 

Christ in me displaying the glory of his kingdom. 

Christ in me giving me peace and power. 

Christ in me training me through suffering to learn self-control.

Christ in me replacing my fear with his perfect love. 

Christ in me expecting a glorious hope. 

In this season of believing and hope, I meditate on the One who came as Immanuel to be with me and the One who remains as Lord of Lords and King of Kings. He in me is the hope of glory.

Scars

 

Scars

(Note: all photographs taken by me, many years ago, in my hometown.)

From a young age, I was told that I possessed a knack for penning words onto paper. I must admit that I have always enjoyed writing and expressing my emotions through the written word. Perhaps that is why I went on to obtain both B.A. and M.A. degrees in English Literature and did a stint of teaching on the collegiate level. But like anything else in life, our gifts and skills will quickly become rusty with lack of use. Over the past two years, I have had so many thoughts; thoughts that I both wanted and needed to share, and I have had so many opportunities to pen those thoughts down on paper. Sometimes I did, but most of the time I didn’t. For reasons that I can’t explain, I have failed to write on a regular basis. As a result of this, both my personal blog and my contributions to the Samson blog have been gravely neglected.

Last year, during the height of Covid, I decided that I wanted to start riding a bicycle again so that I could join my young son in riding around our neighborhood. Of course, as was the case with so many other things, there was a nationwide bicycle shortage during the middle of the pandemic in 2020. Although we did eventually find a bicycle for my wife to ride, I could not locate a single men’s bicycle in the style or the size that I wanted. There were simply no bicycles to be found anywhere. About that time, I recalled that I had a derelict old Huffy hybrid bicycle left over from my college days; it had been resting dormant in the corner of my shop for many years. Through the years, my wife had often suggested that I should just get rid of the bike; indeed, she could not understand why I was holding on to a dusty vestige from my college days. But you know, the bike had (and still has) great sentimental value to me as I had taken it with me during my two years in Arizona and had ridden it all through the Grand Canyon National Park. So, I hauled the bike out of the shop and took it to Bicycle Revolution in Gluckstadt where I promptly proceeded to fork over nearly as much to overhaul the old wreck as I would have paid for a brand-new low-end bicycle. Getting back on that bike was like reuniting with a familiar friend; our reunion was a little rusty at first, a little wobbly, and we were both a little uncertain of what to do with each other for the first few moments. However, I quickly got up to speed and soon it was like we had never been apart.

Or perhaps, rediscovering my love for writing will be more along the lines of opening a door or a window that has not been opened for many years. You know, when you first open that door or maybe the window, it will most likely refuse to open all the way might even make a terrible racket while trying to be persuaded. But the more you open it and close it (and maybe apply a little oil to it), it becomes smoother and easier to operate. This blog post is a “quasi-attempt” of sorts to re-launch my writing. A re-oiling of a squeaky and rusty mind if you will.

Fall has always been my most favorite time of the year. I can most likely attribute this love of autumn to the fact that I started my very first revolution around the sun on September 1, (I was born a Labor Day baby many moons ago) and I was destined to be welcomed into the open arms of fall. In any case, the arrival of my birth month always fills me with eager longing for what I consider to be the most magical time of the year. As the blazing summer sun slowly loses its brutal radiance and begins to give way to the cooler autumnal wind, my soul instinctively begins to enter into a more reflective season of life.

I have had, for many years now, the great privilege of working for a small, private university. From an aesthetical standpoint, I would argue that the campus possesses a timeless beauty carefully honed by the generations of people who have lovingly cared for it; in any case, it just feels like home after being here for so many years. I often enjoy slipping away on my afternoon break or during the latter part of my lunchtime, and simply taking a leisurely stroll around the campus. I am a natural-born people watcher, and I love to observe people. Although I am not a shopper and I have not been to an indoor mall in ages, I used to love to go with my family and just sit on the bench in the middle of the mall and watch people pass by while my family shopped. I love to watch the interactions between people and imagine who they are and what they are in life. Similarly, I will sometimes simply sit down on the bench in the middle of campus and observe the students rushing to class, oblivious to anything or anyone around them.  Sometimes when the students aren’t so rushed, I enjoy watching their interactions with one another as they pass by. Occasionally, I will take note of the lone individual lost in their own ruminations while taking a lonely, singular stroll.

As the air begins to get crisper and the trees begin to shed their leaves, I observe the piles of red and gold leaves that scatter the landscape. In my head, the late, great Eva Cassidy’s voice begins to sing as I think of my favorite song sung by her – Autumn Leaves. “The autumn leaves drift by my window, the falling leaves of red and gold...”

Absentmindedly, I stop to pick up one of the leaves and I slowly rub it between my fingers, noting the beautiful texture somewhat mottled by spots of brown. I stop to pick up another one. Curiously, I hold them side-by-side and observe that they are both unique and quite different from each other. No two leaves are ever alike. Just like humans, the leaves have tiny veins that give them life, and these veins create a web pattern that is intricately designed and belongs only to that leaf.

As I hold the leaves in the palm of my hand, my attention turns to my skin, which having completed its 40^th orbit around the sun some time ago, is starting to look less youthful than it once did. Subconsciously, I stroke the scar on the palm of my left hand. It is a tiny and nearly invisible mark born of a brief run-in with a box blade knife while on the job during my years in Arizona. I remember that day, having to get stitches in that hand because the gash was quite deep and painful. I remember that even worse than having to get stitches was the humiliation of being required to take a drug test because the accident happened while at work. Of course, it goes without saying, that I was able to pass the drug test (as I always have) with flying colors. No, the scar was a result of my own stupidity and carelessness and not the result of some drug-induced stupor.

As my gaze moves up from my palm to my left forearm, I note the faint, yet still, visible scar marring my skin. Fondly, I think back to a childhood puppy, who in a moment of overexuberant puppy playfulness, got a tad bit rough with the nips from her sharp puppy teeth and broke the young, tender skin on my seven or eight-year-old body. As I look around on my arms and my hands, I realized that there are other, smallish scars that are barely visible, but nonetheless still there. I can’t even recall how I got most of them. Some of them, like that scar on the palm of my hand, bear testimony to more significant events in my life. Other smaller scars, however, don’t have any significant event associated with them. Yet they still tell the story of a well-lived life.

As I continue my walk, I think about other scars on my body. These scars are hidden for the most part and are less outwardly prominent. They are hidden. That doesn’t mean the events associated with them were any less painful. Hidden or not, they still tell a part of my story. Reflexively, my hand begins to gently stroke my abdomen as I think about the 7-inch scar that runs from the lower part of my chest to below my navel. I recall the day that it happened. I think about how even though God saved my life at that point, the extremely painful months that followed made me wish he hadn’t. In fact, I still suffer from issues to this day related to the emergency surgery that caused that scar. I am not ashamed of that scar; I will unabashedly take my shirt off when I go swimming with my son in the summertime. If anyone ever notices, they certainly don’t ask me about it, but I would never hesitate to talk about it if they were to ask.

For some reason, a certain percentage of the male population seems to think that scars are really cool. I am not included in that percentage. I remember that upon my arrival back at work two weeks after my emergency surgery, one particularly outspoken and bold male student worker (who was a good guy nonetheless) asked me “so, Mr. Coleman, do you have a scar?” I responded with “Yes, Tyler, I have a very large scar.” Tyler then proceeded to let me know that my having a scar was “so cool” and that “chicks [apparently] really dig scars!” Even though Mr. Coleman did not think it was “cool” at the time, I politely smiled and told him “I’m glad you think so, Tyler! For the record, I am married, and my wife doesn’t really dig it!” Fortunately, Tyler did not ask me to show him the scar in question, as that would not have been appropriate in a professional work environment!

Other scars are metaphorical in nature; these are scars that live deep within our psyche or deep within the confines of our hearts. I never really stopped to think about how each of us has emotional scars, but it’s so true. Even if one has lived the most incredibly perfect life, I would daresay that each person has at least one thing that is scaring them below the surface. I never really gave much thought about that in my own life, but those scars are there, nonetheless. They were just so glossed over that I had almost forgotten that they existed. The last six or seven years in Samson have taught me to be more introspective and to carefully examine myself deep down into corners that I would much rather forget about. All this introspection has re-exposed wounds that the scars had covered up for so many years. And that is not cool at all. Or so I thought. And unlike my abdominal scar that I have no problem displaying during the summer months, no one is ever allowed to see those hidden scars.

Sometimes, I feel that it would have been much easier to have gone through life making myself believe that everything was okay; in fact, I know that it would have been easier. But then I wonder: where would I be today? Would God be able to use me in the same way that he has in the past few years? Only a couple of people, maybe a handful, within Samson know me and know the scars that I bear. Of that handful, maybe one or maybe two know the extent of and the depth of pain that still haunts me to this day. No one at my church does. And that is a painful cross that I bear each week. It is a sore subject and just might be the topic of a future Samson blog.

Scars cover wounds. They block pain. Within the first few weeks after my surgery in 2015, I got a terrible wound infection. My body could not begin the healing process until that wound was addressed and treated. The scar couldn’t form. The staples couldn’t be pulled. How many people have wounds inside that have never been addressed and treated? My scars inside are new, born of very old wounds that have finally started to heal over the last decade.

I don’t think scars ever go away. In fact, I know that most of them don’t. My 33-year-old scar still exists to remind me of a long-gone but playful puppy. It is a memory. A moment in time. A month and a half after my surgery in 2015, I visited with the surgeon’s nurse where she proceeded to pull the 48 Staples out of my incision with a pair of surgical pliers. Surprisingly, it didn’t even hurt all that much. Perhaps it was because the scar tissue blocked the nerves from sending the pain signal to my body.

I remember meeting with my surgeon a few months after my surgery for a follow-up, postop visit. As I met with the surgeon that day, I thanked him for saving my life and told him what a blessing he had been. I then asked him if my scar would ever go away. He said no, son, I don’t think so. With you being such a fair-skinned white boy, I think that your scar will always be quite visible. And it is. Even though that happened back in 2015, I see it every day when I wake up and get dressed. I see it when I take a shower. I see it when I go swimming in the lake with my son in the summertime. Even though I sometimes want to be resentful of that ugly mark, God tells me that I am to be thankful. Thankful for my scars. And so, I am. For me, that scar is a beautiful sign of God’s grace and mercy in my life. It is a sign that he was not finished with me at that time. It is a mark on the roadmap of my life. I am sometimes tempted to be resentful of my eternal scars as well. But I am learning to instead be grateful.

I will have to admit, that I have not always looked at my inward scars as something beautiful. Most days I still struggle to accept them. As Natalie Grant sings:

“I see shattered

You see whole

I see broken

But You see beautiful

And You're helping me to believe

You're restoring me piece by piece”

 

Even if I still find those internal scars painful, God still honors them and uses them, and he is helping me to believe that he is restoring me piece by piece. One day, the scars will be gone. Both the outwardly visible, and the internally invisible scars will be gone. I will sit down, wrapped in the arms of my savior, on a bench bathed in golden sunlight somewhere in a new creation. I will look at my hands and look at my arms and they will be completely unblemished. The scars will be no more.

I still have pain every day. These days, the physical pain is not as bad as it used to be, but the emotional pain will never go away. I have learned to accept that I just have to keep on pressing forward and rising to face each new day. The scars will always be there. But they don’t define me as much as they used to.

I slowly rise from the cool metal bench where I have been sitting alone, having taken a brief pause from my walk. I daresay I can detect a hint of the winter wind somewhere far off in the air. As I continue with my walk and begin to make my way back towards my office, I drop the two leaves that I have been holding in my hands. As I watch them drift slowly to the ground; they flutter about in a fantastical dance orchestrated by mother nature. They fall, destined to join the hundreds of other leaves littering the landscape. Suddenly, a wind blows, a breath blowing life into the leaves, and they begin to rise from the ground and swirl all around me. Oranges, reds, and golds all mix brilliantly into a fall kaleidoscope. As the wind begins to pick up steam, the leaves swirl faster and faster all around me. Big leaves and little leaves are all inter-mixed, yet each is unique and different in its own way. Little veins, little marks, little scars of sorts; each leaf is unique and created individually by the creator’s hand. The older I get, the faster life seems to move, much like the leaves swirling around me. Big people, little people, old people, young people all quickly moving around me and all carrying their own scars. Each has a story; perhaps, it is a story that we can learn from if we only take the time. 

“What was dead now lives again

My heart's beating, beating inside my chest

Oh I'm coming alive with joy and destiny

'Cause You're restoring me piece by piece”

Have You Too Been Hoodwinked Into Idolizing The Human Body?

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

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

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

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

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

-------------------------

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

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

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

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

-------------------------

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

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

-------------------------

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

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

-------------------------

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

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

-------------------------

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

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

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

Lagniappe

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

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

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

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

-------------------------

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

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

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

-------------------------

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

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

-------------------------

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

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

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

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

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

-------------------------

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

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

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

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

-------------------------

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

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

Best Quality Porn Is Mainstream(ed) Porn - Look No Further Than Netflix

The first time I had the privilege of serving as a Covenant Eyes' accountability partner for another man was +/-10 years ago.  And this experience was stressful to say the least.  For this man was a pastor yet also a heavy, heavy, heavy Internet user.  And back then, Covenant Eyes offered little to no insight to us - so called accountability partners - regarding the emotional pragmatics relative to managing the implied responsibility baked into our roles.

I remember specifically reaching my apex of stress when I received a Covenant Eyes' weekly report that had line-itemed the pilot episode of one particular (thinly veiled) Starz porn series.  From there, I did some presumptuous clicking, and was in awe of what my friend had consumed.  

For this was Hollywood-grade porn.  And I'd never seen anything of the sort.

First and foremost, its top-tier production values made for an extraordinarily fantastical video.  I can remember seeing so many stunningly beautiful breasts.  So many simulated orgy scenes.  So many gang rape scenes.  And on and on.  And the actors throughout were extraordinarily beautiful.  The breasts were gorgeous.  The asses were perfect.  The faces attached to the breasts and asses were so pretty and handsome.  

And of course, the sound and lighting and camera angles, and on and on...all of it exponentially increased the merit (& impact) of these mainstream porn productions.

It all left me breathless and speechless.  But then I began to wonder - who would participate in such productions?  For this was no doubt porn.

What I discovered was the director, Mr. Sam Raimi (Spider-Man movies), had used his notoriety coupled with an overseas filming location & subsequent casting call to make these mainstream porn films with ease.

-------------------------

An old Samson friend lost his second marriage as a result of hiding his "Pay Per View" cable bill from his then wife.  They had separate checking accounts, therefore he'd use a portion of his retirement pension income to foot the thousands of dollars in "Pay Per View" fees each month.  Comcast provided my friend with similar "high quality" (& discreet) porn viewing experiences that he wholeheartedly embraced - month after month after month.  That is, until one day, his then wife happened to come across a rogue Comcast cable bill that was unaccounted for.  And it was all downhill from there.

--------------------------

Today, we have Netflix.  And Netflix even provides its subscribers with a ranking of what's popularly streamed in glorious high definition - at any hour of the day.

Take a few minutes to read this and this.  

Please, for God's sake, delete your Netflix subscription and cancel your CATV service.  Stop supporting these publicly-traded companies.  They're worthless garbage.  All they're concerned with is making their shareholders $$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$, and they know mainstream porn is one of the easiest ways to keep audiences tuned into their screens.

If you're bored at home, read a book, plant a garden, walk your dog, paint a watercolor, write a blog, exercise, sing, dance, memorize scripture, call an old friend, write a letter, take up woodworking, repaint some furniture, learn a second language.  

Sex, Distorted / Elevated To Polarize

During the summer of '94, I backpacked through western Europe with 5 or 6 other individuals, most of which were Mississippi State architecture students (as I was).  Being there for 7 weeks, I was fortunate to visit 11 countries with the focus being notable buildings - urban and rural, gardens, etc.  I was in my early 20s at the time, and my colleagues were of similar ages.  All of us behaved scholarly during the entire trip unlike some of the other college students who were there at the time (per my observations).  And I'm not saying that to boast.  To be honest, we were just a bunch of geeks who were best suited to keeping our attention on the "tasks at hand".

About halfway through this once-in-a-lifetime trek, we found ourselves staying within a hostel in Austria.  I remember the country being Austria because Salzburg is where The Sound of Music was filmed, and I became aware of this whilst staying there (I've never screened the film).  It was quite the picturesque country(side).

One of my colleagues bunked with me within a very clean but cramped room with four other young men (also American college students backpacking throughout the summer, though not a part of our group) .  The tiny room was just big enough for three bunkbeds and one lavatory (a wall mounted sink).  The floor plan of the room was such that it was "two bunkbeds deep" and "three bunkbeds wide" with the middlemost bunk missing if you catch my measurement drift.

-------------------------

What keeps individuals out of sales is the ever present & quite trepidatious mantra - ACTIVITY, ACTIVITY, ACTIVITY.  Sales managers can at times berate their minions accordingly, and for good reason.  That being because there's some truth to it.  Some.  

Mostly though, you either have the knack for sales (and this must be coupled with excellent timing) or you don't.  No matter how much ACTIVITY (sales calls) you participate in.

The summer after my freshman year in college, I worked as a new car salesman at Howard Wilson Chrysler Plymouth in Jackson.  That two months was one of the most eye-opening experiences of my life, and as such, I was only afforded the opportunity because my parents & I had purchased my '91 Plymouth Laser RS from this dealership a few months prior.  

What I took away from that summer, working as a car salesman, was the importance a salesman must have of product knowledge - across the board. 

Fortunately for me, ever since I was around age 14, I've been a car aficionado, therefore as a new car salesman at age 18, I not only knew the product I was attempting to sell but the competition's product as well.  Or at least as well as a teenager could.  Comprehensively.  

Again, mate that knowledge with great timing, and sales do happen.  Almost magically.  And that's what can make sales fun and very satisfying to experience because you're not just screwing people over with smoke & mirrors.

-------------------------

Solo sex (masturbation) is (by default) a hollow, relentlessly self-centered pursuit fueled 99% of the time by sexual fantasy coupled with an active libido.  It's an ACTIVITY, ACTIVITY, ACTIVITY that's built primarily on one's "expertise" of the human body driving lust via imaginings.  Of course, these fantasies can be carried along much more proficiently thanks to pornographic imagery.  Imagery which in no way typically represents any sort of sexual reality (certainly not of a Biblical nature).   

Many year ago, I was watching a Geraldo Rivera talk show episode out of sheer boredom.  I believe he was interviewing class (school) mates of celebrities, and a handful of these individuals on this particular show had been childhood friends of Madonna.  As such, Geraldo queried these guests relentlessly, aching for some dirt on Ms. Ciccone.  

No doubt, one of these former friends had tipped off Madonna relative to their appearance on his TV show because seemingly unexpectedly (of course, it could have always been staged), Madonna herself called in to speak to Mr. Rivera.

As you might imagine, she seemd none too pleased with the premise of the show, and in reaction to this, she asked Geraldo the following:  "Have you ever had sex with yourself?".

I remember hearing this and feeling polarized if not a bit nauseous.  From that point on, I gained an entirely new perspective on Madonna.

-------------------------

The only time I've ever witnessed live sexual activity was within the aforementioned hostel bunk room there in Salzburg, Austria.  And obviously, it wasn't by choice.  Yet, as you might imagine, there in the darkness whilst peering across the room (bleary-eyed), I felt polarized as I observed these two lovers perform coitus / cunninlingus like a couple of jack rabbits. 

Sexual activity is defined clearly in Scripture as a metaphor.  A metaphor which includes Jesus Christ (husband) and his church (wife).  So, if we explore that for a moment, we clearly see that intercourse is meant to physically consummate a relationship in marriage.  

So, what is marriage and why is sexual activity - today - so polarizing?

------------------------

On numerous occasions, I've heard individuals talk through the importance of "test driving" a boy / girlfriend under the guise of sexual proficiency prior to marriage.  

As if human beings were like animals and intercourse was simply what you do whilst feeling an erection coming on, or better yet, qualify another human being's worth.

ACTIVITY, ACTIVITY, ACTIVITY.  Sound familiar?

-------------------------

Sex sells merchandise, contracts, real estate, automobiles, entertainment and on and on and on here in our western culture.  A titillating advertising campaign / experience is arguably the most effective (low hanging fruit) means to pitch almost anything due to how it builds on foundational distortions.  Hands down.  As such, we are brainwashed into elevating sex and sexuality to the upper echelon of relevancy / importance within our menial lives (from childhood onward).  

Yet, the Bible states that it's best to remain single if you're to most effectively be positioned to execute God's work, putting marriage one notch (if several notches) below bachelorhood.  

So that begs the question that I believe needs to be asked once more.  What exactly is marriage?

-------------------------

Marriage is like clothing.  Not really necessary but so effective at fleshing out a holistic understanding of ourselves as God's created beings.  As such, marriage speaks to our then fully realized identity.  

But remaining naked is admirable (according to Scripture).  For clothing can certainly embolden us in ways that serve to take our focus from Christ and our relationship with him due to the time / energy required relative to upkeep (of each other / offspring).

And then there's the reality of sex within marriage which runs counter to everything our culture indoctrinates us with 24/7/365.  

Sex isn't supposed to be polarizing.  It wasn't created to be.  It also wasn't created to be elevated as it has as the primary achievable / enviable attribute of every human being.

Car designs might be polarizing or architectural styles but not sex, sexuality.  

Madonna Ciccone's entire career is a representation of the distortion that our sexualized culture has embraced.  All the material wealth she's obtained is built on a distortion of one of the most overrated / blown out of proportion attributes of marriage.

We need knowledge to gain back the ground that's been lost in this regard.  The time is now.  Snap out of this ruse; wake up to reality.

It Didn't Hurt