Demystifying The Archetype

I was introduced to my archetype whilst in 6th grade.  The year was 1985, and I was at a weeklong summer camp for 5th and 6th grade boys in south Alabama.  This summer camp experience was hosted by our church, and surprisingly (to me today), I can only recall 5th and 6th grade boys from First Baptist Church Jackson attending.  Therefore, there were no more than 30 to 40 of us there (if that many) during this week, and this made it a truly intimate experience.

The retreat center was small and rural.  I remember a somewhat small, placid lake accessible by a gravel road, a couple of small bunkhouses and a combined cafeteria / meeting or assembly building making up the campus.  The music of this particular summer was Van Halen's 1984 album, therefore it well represented that particular masculine vibe that was hitting us culturally from most every side.  I can recall vividly during the Friday night "talent show" having the privilege of "running the lights" (turning the fluorescent troffers on and off spasmodically) relative to supporting one of the "boy band" lip sync acts.  No doubt, their song of choice was "Jump".

Our bunkhouse of boys had +/-12 young men within with one college-age chaperone.  His name was Greg, and it was he who made such a distinct impression on young Rob during that week (& beyond).

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What is an archetype?  

To me, it's a figure of mystery that's sexualized relative to timing, in part due to the inevitable awakening of one's sexuality during puberty (childhood).  

Greg was mysterious to all of us boys.  He was very quiet and built like a much older man than his college age suggested.  Therefore, we were all quite intimidated by him.  Yet we were as well, glad to know he was amongst us.  It wasn't that his presence threatened us overall, but you could sense - particularly due to his quiet demeanor - that he wasn't all that pleased about spending his week that summer with us.  

But this mystery was catalyzed when I had a personal encounter with him on the eve of the day we arrived.  This occurred as he stepped naked out of a shower stall.  Both he and I were alone together in the men's room with me standing at one of the lavoratories when his naked and wet reflection in the mirror caught me off guard.  I remember laughing out of shock, and him reacting to my laughter with a "What?".  

Me sharing this very innocent yet intimate moment with him served to elevate this young (but very mature-looking) man within my mind.  Eventually to reside high above the stratosphere throughout much of the remainder of my childhood.

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I longed to be pursued by my archetype.  That was my ultimate desire as a boy.  Not having a father, older brother, uncle, etc. that I felt close to / mentored by, I chose Greg instead.  From there, lust and sexual fantasies ensued.  And this was a bittersweet solution, as you might imagine.  For it certainly didn't reconcile well with my Christian faith, yet it was at times exhilaratingly satisfying to have - within my mind's eye - an older male within my life serving me at my beck and call. 

So how do you demystify these figureheads within your mind?

You don't.  You can't.  They've grown too big, become to strong and are so far removed from reality.  I know that because I attended a funeral a few years back at my home church, First Baptist Church Jackson, and Greg was there with his mother.  They were seated on the same pew as I was.  I realized then how useless an attempt it would be to defang my mind's understanding of the archetype that was birthed out of him.  

But what you can do is face it by providing a narrative to the archetype itself that's best described as back / forward story.  And this needs to be a narrative that's grounded much more so in reality than (sexual) fantasy.  Sure, the archetype can still be over the top aesthetically within this back / forward narrative, but what you're striving for is grounding the character somewhat within your adult mind.  From there, I've found at least, that its influence begins to diminish.  From the standpoint of the archetype being such the exclamation point versus a series of paragraphs (if not more) within your grey matter.

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Why is this important to consider?

The narrative (back / forward story) you contrive for your archetype will reflect your ideals as they exist today versus what they were during your childhood.  And this will reflect clearly upon who you've become as an adult, having grown out of childhood.  

This gives the archetype legs so to speak, and in turn, somewhat equal footing to stand on as you yourself.  In lieu of simply existing as a puppet.

Also, my hope is that you're no longer isolated as you were as a boy, having involved yourself in some form of authentic Christian community like Samson Society.  This should, in turn, diminish the authority of your archetype as you dialogue about it with other men.  And maybe too, what comes out of those conversations will provide you with inspiration therein.  Inspiration that's relative to how best you might approach expanding your ideal into more of a reflection of yourself and less of a teddy bear.

You're Not The Neediest

There are times when I simply spend way too much time up inside my head.  And for better or worse, the past few weeks have qualified as such.

What sometimes occurs when I linger inside my thoughts can only be described as me becoming divested or decoupled from everyone around me.  No matter how together - physically - I am with family / friends, etc.  And this had occurred as it had many times before.

Over the weekend, I broke free of this, and in doing so, was inspired by the reality that is this blog post title.

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God knows where his children are at (me included).  All the time.  As such, he jolted me back into reality over the weekend.  And not surprisingly, I was afforded the opportunity to spend some extended time with my Silas as these developments were occurring.  

As a follow up to that precious time, it was early Sunday night when the "self-centeredness spell" was finally broken.

For there's the reality of the occurrence and the recognition of the occurrence.  

Consider this post as a reporting of that recognition.  

Bridges, Part One

 

Bridges, Part One - The Lost Bridge

October 2005

As I drove along the lonely and bumpy road, devoid of any love or maintenance for years, it struck me just how isolated from society I truly was. I was a man on a quest, a man on a journey of discovery if you will. Suddenly, a relatively modern bridge with a concrete superstructure loomed before me, and I slowed my old Chrysler sedan as I crawled across. As I parked my car onto the shoulder away from any traffic that might magically appear, I took in the silence that greeted me through the open window of my car. I opened the door and slowly exited my car, making sure to shut the door almost as reverently as if I were slipping late into a Sunday morning church service. Aside from the occasional bird chirping, the only sound that greeted me was the crunch of gravel beneath my feet and the cool autumn wind that nipped at me as it rushed through the leafless trees. As far as I could look, I could not see another soul. The lonely countryside seemed barren and desolate, many of the trees having already shed their leaves as old winter’s song had already begun to faintly sing its tune. Before me, it stood; yes, it stood, magnificent and rusted, tons of iron that had long ago been melted, shaped, and crafted into its present form at the hands of long-dead laborers. Before me it stood, a form that had been present in the vision of dreams that had haunted my imagination for years; it stood as a marker to the place where the present met the past and both looked ahead to the future.

Many years ago, as a kid, I had always noticed and been fascinated by this abandoned old bridge. In the early days of my childhood, we lived in a town that was about 40 minutes away from my late grandmother; the easiest way to get to my grandmother’s house was to make the drive through the beautiful yet remote countryside. I always looked forward with great anticipation to seeing this magnificent bridge. I would beg my mother to slow down so that I could hang my head out the window and take in the magnificence of it as the rumble of her car carried me across the parallel concrete bridge that had long ago replaced it. I would imagine what it had been like for people in years past to cross that bridge. It was only a one lane, one car at a time affair. What had it been like to drive across the wooden planking of that bridge? What kinds of cars had gone across the bridge? What would happen if 2 cars came simultaneously from opposing directions? Did they play a game of chicken? Had anyone ever lost at the game and gone crashing down into the river below? Did the bridge shake when they drove across it? Even though I was only 7 or 8 at the time, my imagination was as broad as the Grand Canyon. Of course, my mother being her nervous self, would never stop the car and let her 7 year old son get out and go explore the bridge. So as a child, I had to be content with hanging my head out the window and taking it in from the relative safety of the much uglier concrete superstructure.

I have long had a love affair with old wrought-iron bridges. I am not talking about the bridges of today – bridges that are boring, have no character and are about as shapeless as the twenty first century automobiles that cross them. No, the bridges that I am talking about were created many years ago – magnificent huge iron structures that as a kid, seemed to tower up into the sky. Bridges that had stood the test of time. Bridges that had carried many souls across. Bridges that were now mostly abandoned and derelict. As an adult, the fascination with these bridges has not ceased; in fact, it has only increased. It makes me incredibly sad that most of these bridges have long since fallen into such a state of derelict that they have either been demolished by human hand or become so unstable that they are no longer safe to be around. In my early 20s, I made it a point to go around and photograph a few of these bridges that I remembered from my childhood.

On the crisp October day, I left my car and I walked down the path to where the massive old wrought-iron bridge had stood for many decades. My goal was simple. I wanted to stand before that bridge and take in the magnificence of the structure before me. I wanted to walk across the ancient wooden decking and lean over the side as I watched the lonely river below me slowly make its way south. A few miles below me, this river would meander into the Pearl River, and  from there the waters would eventually go all the way to the sea. The thought amazed me that given enough time, you could literally travel anywhere in the world and you could indeed begin your journey right from the very spot where I was standing. As I walked down towards the old roadbed that had once led to the bridge, I took in the fact that trees and bushes – big trees and bushes – had grown up and were now blocking the entrance to the bridge. I approached the bridge and made my way through the jungle to the entrance of the bridge. Suddenly, time stood still. My childhood met my present day and the stars seem to line up perfectly for once in my life. I was now going to get my chance. I was going to get to cross that bridge and stand in the middle and look over the side and watch the waters flow to the sea. I was pumped! But then I noticed something. Even though the iron superstructure of the bridge looked quite solid and stable, the wooden decking had seen years of neglect take its toll. There were holes in the wooden decking. There was even a small pine tree sapling somehow growing up out of the wooden decking! Slowly I crept forward, and I felt the wood kind of bounce beneath my feet. The kind of bounce that will never end well. Far below me, the murky waters seemed to almost stand still. Time seemed to grind to a halt in that moment. The past and the present collided. But they provided no path to the future. My journey had come to an abrupt halt, and I chickened out.

That day, I did not get to make my journey across that old iron bridge. I took a lot of photographs from different angles, but I did not do the one thing that I had set out to do: walk across the bridge. As I stood among the trees and bushes blocking the entrance to the bridge, I could see the far side of the bridge where, yet another jungle awaited anyone who dared to cross. But I just could not make myself do it. The chasm that stood before me that day represented not just the physical separation before me, but also a metaphorical and emotional separation in my own life.

2020 was one hell of a year; I think that you would be hard-pressed to find any living soul who would dare disagree with me on that. Instead of reaching out, connecting, reflecting, praying, building, and just falling on my knees before God, I shut the door on everything and everyone.

We all have neglected bridges in our lives. Even though they may not be physical bridges, it is so critical that these metaphorical bridges of the emotional sort be maintained. My bridges were not maintained last year. All the painful pieces of my past that I’d so laboriously spent time unpacking and sorting through were packed away in their boxes and put back into the attic. The decking of my bridges has become so rotted and so brittle that I cannot even cross them anymore. I let loneliness, isolation, despair, hopelessness, and low self-worth become the elements that eroded the decking of my bridge. I was asked last year to begin contributing to the Samson blog, but I have done such a poor job of it. I let the excuses of work, raising a family, finishing up my 2^nd Masters degree, and life in general become the excuses that kept me from contributing to this blog.

So I am beginning a new series – I hope (with hope being keyword) to try to post a new blog entry in the series at least once a week. I invite you to join me along on this journey and walk with me as I build new bridges and rebuild the existing bridges in my own life. Maybe you have burned bridges that you wish you had never burned. Maybe you have not burned your bridges, but simply have existing bridges in your life with neglected wooden decking that prevents your safe passage. But whatever the case may be, as you stand before the chasm in your own life and stare at the other side with no means bridge the gap, that is the moment you should be on your knees asking the father to give you the tools to begin repairing those bridges.

Having captured all the photographs that I desired with my new Canon SLR camera, I started my trek back towards the road. My trek back towards the present. The sun had started its slow descent behind the red and gold tapestry in the sky, and at that point in the horizon where the day gives way to night, the first faint hints of the indigo night slowly began to appear. A coyote howled in the distance. I still had not seen another soul. I climbed into my old blue Chrysler and cranked it up. It was a noisy, clattering, but trusty old steed. The noisy but faithful old engine was music to my ears and gave me a little sense of reassurance. I drove down the road with the vision of the old iron bridge growing smaller in my rearview mirror. It would be many years later before I would ever travel down that road and visit the bridge again….

Can You See Yourself As A Man Who's Whole Sans Internet Porn?

From the perspective of the virtual fulfillment porn brings, the likely answer for so many of us is no.  On the flip side of that though, relative to porn's ease of access and addictiveness, the answer is a resounding yes ("cut the cord, flip the off switch", etc).

Therefore, for many of us, our answer will always lie much closer to the latter than the former within this laughably unorthodox, Internet-capable world we now reside within.

Now, I used the word fulfillment up there in that first sentence, and this is a bit of a misnomer.  Porn, just like drug use, doesn't technically fulfill since it's a stopgap solution.  But, I'm not aware of a better word here.  Perhaps I should simply add the word "temporary" in front of "fulfillment".  

So, let me re-write that first sentence as such:

From the perspective of temporary fulfillment (virtual) porn brings, the likely answer for so many of us is no.

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Considering the expanse between this no and yes (harkening back to those first two sentences), where do you fall?

And this is such a timely question to ask as of late during the start of the holidays, because we're usually forced to relinquish our routines enough to actually see our true selves (in light of family / friends). 

Now, before I go any further, I need you to know that I'm in no way attempting here to elevate, celebrate, or pontificate to porn or any other salacious imagery that's designed to visually stimulate.  Also, I'm neither wiping the slate clean regarding the glory of God and how we as believers can and should be totally absolved within it, therefore finding our true identity / deep seated value there is and will always be the highest goal via faith in Jesus Christ. 

Why then write the first section to this post as I did?  Aren't I a Christian?  Yes.  But, I'm also a realist with a story of his own. 

Our flesh (we) has needs, and porn is available to man as a means to fulfill those needs.  All the while as a culture, it's now been deemed an "acceptable, harmless inevitability".  It is as prevalent as the automobile or underwear.  And as disposal too.  And these days, as indispensably cheap as most culture's drinking water.  Porn is the old and new math combined.  

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Needs.  Don't we hate that word?  Especially as Christian men.  It makes most of us want to puke just admitting to its very existence within the masculine realm.

Now, let's be more specific.  

What do those needs consist of / look like over the course of / taking into consideration this holiday week? 

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!  (That was a scream.)

And no, I'm not referring to your need to have someone go down on you - at your beck and call - whilst managing the familial hijinks involved within the holiday ahead.

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So here are my needs.  These are from my general list.

-  To be pursued

-  To be written to in love

-  Complex, masculine personal discovery through platonic (friendships) experiences

-  To be reminded that I have needs and of what they are

And yes, I've a plan currently in place to have some of these met this holiday week.

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Do yourself a favor.  Identity your specific needs for this day, this week, this month, the remainder of this year and from there, be intentional about finding ways to have them met in a way that's Christ's honoring.  And don't forget that Samson Society, at its very best, should exist to assist you in this needs fulfillment.

Feeling Invisible

I do not like working out in my garage, but I've been doing this since March, having put our YMCA membership in pandemic stasis.  The reasons behind my attitude towards this might seem obvious, but had I not obtained such a pleasant routine at the YMCA over the past 6 years, the degree of "do not like" would likely not be where it's at today.

The subtle attention I receive (& give) at the YMCA is one of the big reasons I miss it, whereas at home, there's none of that since it's just me.  Going to the same facility twice a week on mostly the same days provides an opportunity to see and be seen by folks who I'm used to seeing / are used to seeing me.  Now, I'm not one to socialize at the gym, but one can't help but take note of who's on the floor with you.  And I like that a lot.  It makes me feel seen.

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Feeling invisible eventually takes its toll on me, and that's the point of this post, but these feelings, I find, are rooted in either a changed narrative or a coveted one.  In other words, if you've always existed in a vacuum, you can skip this post.

To expound further, it would be as if I owned a workout facility in the basement of my house (I don't have a basement) that was exactly like the YMCA that only I'd ever used.

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I have three daughters, ages 17, 15, and 10.  When they were younger, their attention towards me was a nice gift.  Today, as you might imagine, that's diminished considerably.  Me being a male also plays into this in terms of me feeling invisible at times amongst the four ladies I live with day to day.  Females are so very different than males, and since this truth is played out for me - 4x over, it can feel quite isolating.  

Now, admitting to these feelings makes for an awkward (even for me) text.  I believe it makes me look weak, and that's when I find myself wanting something substantial (& familiar) to lean into.

One last familial anecdote that speaks specifically to Angie and I:

Over the past 4.5 months, my wife has been served well by both her husband (me) and her daughters.  It's been our privilege.  Yet it wasn't until this past weekend that she and I enjoyed some adult play that wasn't physically hindered by her post-stroke status.  Obviously, coitus isn't an activity that typically leaves you feeling isolated.  In fact, to the other extreme / opposite direction of that, it can at times almost completely levelize an asymmetrical relationship with ease, giving each party a fresh perspective.  No doubt, it was a nice change that I hope will continue forward.

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In closing...

Lakeside Pres is hosting a monthly book club within the church sanctuary, and we met there for +/-1 hour last night.  I'd been out running prior, therefore I was fine with social distancing (I stunk) on the far back pew.  After it was over, I discreetly slipped out of the building and drove home.  And this despite my desire to go about my usual routine at the end of any lecture I'm attending.  That being to head to the front of the space and thank the speaker(s), whilst shaking hands, in order to attempt to strike up a dialogue via my own personal inquiries regarding his / her presentation.  When I arrived home after a short jaunt, I sent some impersonal text messages before entering the Turner abode.

It didn't take but an hour or so for all this to make a distinct emotional impression.

Feeling invisible sucks, and frankly, I don't have much of a cure for it during these strange times we're living in.

Recommended Viewing - "My Brother Jordan"

Growing up an only child, I am entranced whilst watching this documentary.  

The premise of the doc is to honor the 3rd son of 4 boys (pastor's sons) who died young.  The youngest son, a filmmaker, as part of his grieving, crafted this documentary regarding his older brother.  It is spectacular.

My favorite line is at the beginning.  "I loved him, and he loved me, and that's all that matters."

Watch in awe and with respect relative to the power of brotherhood and the long-term impact it can make.

Friendly Contrast

I was having lunch with a pastor friend many years ago, and he heard me boast regarding my parenting confidence.  The Turner children were small then in contrast to my friend's children (who were a few years older overall).  From there, he wanted to know where I had found the anticipatory goods to have the confidence I did.  I stated blithely that I'd analyzed what my own parents had done well and not so well before taking the best ideas and discarding the rest.  He sort of looked at me weirdly in response.  But what I said was the honest truth.  Analyzing important relationships from my past has always come naturally for me, and I think this is rooted in my inability to see my own innate self with any real clarity.

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I am indebted to God for bringing my high school best friend, Pete, into my life in 9th grade.  Pete was one year older than I, and over the course of that first year, he ended up absolutely taken with Rob.  I didn't realize this at the time, but whilst looking back as a young adult, it was apparent.  His behavior was really unusual for a awhile there prior to everything eventually leveling out.  Pete, I understand now, really needed a male friend that he could relate to, and I just happened to walk into his life at the right time to fulfill that need.  Both of us had a shared love for music which is why we were both within the high school marching band, and it was through that extracurricular activity that our friendship was seeded.

Pete was (externally) the nerd of all nerds, and like so many nerds (by definition), he absolutely loathed himself in secret.  On the surface though, he was masterful at playing the intellectual aloof, and it was this ability that I so admired / respected in him.  Pete's only close friend was a girl named Dana (who was also the personification of teenage aloofness), and this had been the case for most of his life.  Dana lived a few streets over from his own within their respective 'hood in suburban Madison county.  These two were inseparable 'till Rob came along.

Dana came from a healthier (& younger) family dynamic than Pete (whose parents were considerably older), therefore the two of them spent the majority of their time at her family's abode listening to music, watching TV, and playing board games.  Dana secretly had a crush on Pete all the while, but Pete masterfully kept the relationship strictly platonic.  It was uniquely entertaining to observe this dance between the two of them, especially taking into account all of the aloofness between the two of them relative to anything and everything.

My friendship with these two abruptly shifted during my senior year in high school since they'd already left the Magnolia state (the year prior) to pursue their respective college degrees.  

I kept in touch with Pete my freshman year via US mail, but all in all, it was in college that I began to further make decisions about how I spent my time that began to work against my friendship / admiration with / towards this slightly older yet still decidedly young man.  That being said, had I not known Pete as well as I did, these perfunctory choices likely wouldn't have come to fruition.  

All and all, Pete was a fixed point for me during my varsity years that made an indelible impression, and I cannot underestimate that.

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Pete's massive consumption of '80s popular culture (TV, music, film) was unparalleled.  I too enjoyed much of what he did in this regard, but I had not the capacity to gorge myself as he did.  Pete knew every network TV show (sitcom and otherwise) and all its actors (for he watched them all), every popular song and artist (for he listened to them all), and most films (that were within the era of the 1980s) down to the minutiae.  On top of this, he played Nintendo video games during the summer months within his parents' den while I was frying chicken filets (for $6 an hour) at the local mall.

Around the time of my sophomore year of college, I decided I'd consumed enough televised entertainment (& commercials) for the life I'd been given, therefore I gave up TV completely.  I vividly remember showing up to meet my potluck roommate there at Evans Hall sans a CRT television, and my goodness, was my roomie ever surprised.  No TV?  No TV.

Now, I didn't announce this decision to stop watching TV to the world.  There were no decals applied to the bumper of my 1991 Mitsubishi coupe.  I simply did it by declaring internally that TV time is time wasted, therefore I'd put a stop to it for good.  I remember feeling vindicated from a huge cultural influence that had shaped / controlled so much of my mindset as a child.

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The other differentiator between myself and Pete was his inability to see anything but the "less than" within other young men.  I vividly remember that for a number of years during Pete's college career, he was saddled with roommates, none of which he could ever get along with.  Despite his sizable collegiate scholarship, he still had a hefty tuition / room & board bill to stomach each semester at the private institution he attended, therefore roommates within the dorm absolutely softened that monetary blow.    

One of Pete's favorite pastimes was degrading his roommates behind their backs.  He'd often share with me how he'd spend weeks and weeks never once even speaking to these other young men despite his close proximity.  Everything, in his eyes, about them was frustratingly difficult to bear.  I distinctly remember him labeling the majority of them as "stupid".  At first, I laughed this off, but eventually, I began to realize that Pete was the one at fault here.

Considering that, my freshman year in college came with Rob's first potluck roommate, and reflexively, I unfortunately chose to take this same hyper-critical, negative-lensed approach.  And despite the fact that some of my frustrations were genuinely warranted, mostly I was unwilling to compromise even an inch.  It was my own arrogance that poisoned any attempt to build even an inkling of mutual respect between myself and Chad (freshman roommate).  From there, whilst entering the summer following that year, I vowed to never be so inflexible / judgmental / prideful.  And I was not.

Ultimately, I forced myself to learn how to listen and yield in an attempt to gain respect and confidence between potluck guy (there were three overall) and myself.  And for the most part, it worked quite well.  And still does even today.  Men crave respect.  It is the ambrosia of their souls.

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When I last communicated with Pete, it was during the early days of Facebook, sometime during 2008.  Considering my losing touch with him, I'd set up a Facebook account with the sole purpose of finding / communicating with my old friend.  Not surprisingly, Pete would soon earn an honorary doctorate in social media from none other than Mark Zuckerberg himself.  For the two men undoubtedly were almost identical in their wiring.  No doubt, I was not surprised to see the now results of this longstanding entertainment-centric pattern.  Social media was now Pete's ultimate consumable weapon, providing him with a massive platform / sense of control.

My foray into social media went as follows.  After locating Pete and obtaining his email address, I eventually encountered my tenth "Friend Request".  From there, I bowed out of Facebook, and haven't looked back since, having asked the question of myself, "Who needs more than ten friends?".  And again, thanks to Pete's headlong immersion into this new thing, I knew it was so much wiser for me to decouple forever from this massive time waster.

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And that's the greatest lesson from my high school best friend, Pete.  It's the asking of the question, "What's the value of Rob's time?".  And similarly, "What cultural norm is Rob using or has been tempted to use to hide himself inside of?".  The latter question has particular significance for me.

In closing, becoming intimately familiar with other men (of all ages and in various roles), I believe, is the best means to discern what works best and what does not for you yourself.  And this realization is achieved via overlapping you over your knowledge / understanding of them.  Thusly, this takes time and effort poured into steadfast relationships that are blessed with good, if not perfect timing.  Samson Society is a bit of a microcosm in this regard, therefore if you've no experience / know-how actively analyzing men (from all walks of life), here's your chance to understand what's important to you through your relationship with them.  Another sizable benefit to being involved within our community of men.  

This ain't no Sunday School class gentlemen.  It's far more opportunistic than that will ever be.

Lagniappe

When The "What If?" Comes Home To Roost

Angie, my sweet 49-year old wife of almost 25 years was admitted into the hospital this morning.  I rushed her there under the premise that she was having issues with her sciatic nerve (she had numbness in her left leg which is the same side of her bod that she smacked down on back in January when she got tripped up on our driveway).

Unfortunately, it turned out to be much more serious than a pinched sciatic nerve.  Instead, we were soon informed, it looked to be a stroke.

Weirdly, I've had little to no admittance into the hospital(s) due to the pandemic restrictions, therefore other than this horribly frightening news / event, it's been a fairly normal day.

Tonight, I will have an opportunity to spend some time with her.  Her neurologist has been kind enough to bend the rules for us.  Angie is a expert crier, therefore I know whilst there, she'll do some of that for both of us.

We've never walked this particular road before.  Pray for me to stay optimistic, but primarily, pray for Angie.  Her spirits have been and continue to be low indeed.  And this particular setback has effectively knocked her on her back.  And this is the last place she cares to be as my wife and the mother of our three girls.

On occasion, I'll have dreams where I'm back working within the field of architecture, yet I've no recent experience (which I really don't), therefore I'm anxious to boot about how I'm supposed to make this work.  And then I wake up, and thank God, I realize it was only a dream.

This has been one of those days that I wish I could wake up from.

88.6788!

Years ago, Mr. Don Waller would invite us Samson Society men out to rural Hinds County on some family owned property right around New Year's Eve.  He'd have a bonfire built, and we'd eat fantastic home cooked jambalaya or red beans & rice.  Due to the holiday, there'd rarely be more than 6 or 8 of us that would show up, and in looking back, that smaller scale crowd did make for a more intimate experience.

I can remember on each of these occasions, Don, with sage-like fervor, would ask us to state some upcoming year goals / milestones that we wanted to meet as individual men, and not unlike most of these types of conceptual exercises which I'd taken part in before, I'd quickly forget about them as the new year rolled around.

Interestingly enough though, this weekend I realized, quite surprisingly, that I'd met one of these goals - if not exceeded it - by a long shot!

It was one of those very personal goals that I'd simply forgotten to care about whilst going about my life, and then out of the blue, I excitedly realized the truth.

Now, I'm not a goal setter.  Never have been.  And that's simply due to my wiring.

But this really made my day.  Thanks Don!

Emotional Achilles' Heel

I believe every man is wise to work to identify his emotional Achilles' Heel.

Not an emotion itself, but circumstantially (in general terms), what might very well bring about emotional trauma.

I realize we cannot forecast how vulnerable our hearts are situation to situation.  It's impossible to know exactly what emotional fallout (if any) will occur 'till we experience it, but we can, again in general terms, look to our needs to identify our potential weaknesses.

For me, it all points back to what I discussed within a former blog post which focused on mentoring. 

The Intimacy Ache

The most notoriously routine disqualifier for me within the friendships I've been fortunate to foster throughout the years is the disconnect centered squarely on intimacy needs.

But that's now changed or changing.  I think changing is the better word here.  Thanks be to God and his work within my life in and through Samson Society.

Based on my experience, most men feel they're no longer men if they even begin to consider intimacy as a need.  In fact most, I would argue, qualify intimacy as a weak point that directly targets their masculinity.  And of course, if that's the case, how could there possibly be a need for intimacy at all if it's simply going to do harm to your / their identity as a man?

As a same-sex attracted man who began to clumsily take stock of his own intimacy needs decades ago, I can tell you that there's only a miniscule percentage of guys out there who fall into the camp of admitting they have intimacy needs.  Miniscule.

Therefore, ain't a whole lot of opportunity to relate from this perspective, if you know what I mean.

Nonetheless, it's a viable topic today due to not only how its resolution is impacting me personally but how too it's voidance has indirectly impacted Samson men in a negative capacity whom I'm fortunate to call friends.

All that being said, I'm learning by experience and vicariously through friends' experience regarding this monumentally important topic.

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So what does intimacy look like for a man who's readily identified it as a need of his own?

I see it as follows:  It's being personally known by someone that you're attracted to, and as a qualifier, that attraction must look to be sustainable for some period of time.  Attraction is the key here, and for most of us, that attraction begins with our understanding of another person's mind i.e. how they think / see themselves and the world around them.  Of course too, it helps if that brain is being carried around in an attractive bod to match, but that's certainly not a must.

For example, you've had the experience of living, working, playing, worshiping alongside other humans who've been given beautiful exteriors but none the equal values to match your own, then there's likely going to be a holistic disconnect there by default.  Therefore if you have intimacy needs, you're up a creek relative to the real deal.  Hence, alternative finds (many involving sin) may come into play.

All and all, it takes work and providence to locate relational matches where intimacy can blossom, therefore in God's sovereignty, we are at his mercy to provide.

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So, let's say you're a young Christian intimacy-aching man and you begin dating a young Christian woman.  Then, against God's will for your dating circumstance, you begin to lead her into passionate make out sessions that warm her up sexually to such a degree that she's allowing you to do what you two discussed - early on - never to do.  And the next thing you know, you're fondling and fingering, massaging and teasing, and this results in her spreading her legs for you to make physical love to her.  And now you've found yourself, having relinquished your virginities, feeling just about married.  Except you're not.

Before we proceed further with this example, let's define intimacy.  For I'm of the opinion that this is where things get interesting / catastrophically complex fast.

Now, let's add a little more to our understanding of intimacy (as I see it).  For each and every "intimacy needy" guy, his partaking of such is not unlike one's / his own penchant for dessert.  What kind and how much varies man to man, but as I alluded to earlier, for men with that intimacy ache, they're looking for respectful, relational similarities firstly tied to a willingness to be vulnerable.

Now, rewind to my example above.  How unfortunate a situation this now is as these two lovers have relinquished the clear headedness needed to adjudicate whether their boy / girlfriend is a proper match relative to their "choice of desserts".  Why might this occur?  Intercourse seals the deal relation-ally thereby short-circuiting the brain, especially within the mind of women, though many men too find it difficult to think clearly when the fires of passion are constantly being stoked by sexual sin.

As I've detailed here prior within other posts, God's plan to not fornicate is the best plan.  Marrying someone who's unable to meet intimacy needs is a tough sell for a lifelong promise (as the years wane onward).  No matter how fulfilling the sex is.

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I met a Floridian at the Samson Society retreat who's about my age, married with 3 children.  We've been dialoguing ever since, having had the opportunity there in TN to share our stories to each other.  This friendship has served as a mirror for me in many ways because I can see so much of my own intimacy needy self within my friend.

Now, let me backtrack to when I originally began investing time in Samson Society meetings here in Jackson back in 2014.  Just a few months into my tenure, I befriended a man whose story was brutally difficult for me to bear.  His vocation coupled with his sin harkened back (for me) to past trying friendships / childhood experiences that were extremely difficult to keep separate within my mind.  Therefore, I'd often find myself frustrated with the level of exhaustion I'd face as I worked to assist this man in carrying his blistering shame / regret.  This friendship went on for well over a year, and I stayed faithful throughout.  But what didn't occur between the two of us was any platonic cross pollination, and for the longest, I could never understand why.

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Sex addicts do exist.  I believe that today, though for the longest, I didn't think it was possible to actually be addicted to sex.  First and foremost, the pull towards sex for these is almost animalistic. For many a sex addict who's target includes sex involving other people, there's often a ritual involved that includes some semblance of flirting and eventual seduction.  In the interstitial moments outside of this dance, they may be heavily involved in pornography use which fuels their addiction to all things sexual / sexualized.

What I'm describing here is exactly what I saw within my Samson friend from 2014, but in all truthfulness, I was convinced his situation was somewhat anomalous due to my own ignorance relative to sex addiction.

Rewind again to my new Floridian friend that I met at the retreat.  He's no addict, therefore his indiscretions he actually doesn't regret.  Knowing full well what he was doing, he'd reached a place where his need for intimacy overruled everything else.  Therefore when opportunity knocked, those intimate relationships resulted in infidelity.  Upon suspicions arising within the mind of his spouse, he answered honestly before disclosing everything to her (w/ a professional counselor present).  Today, their marriage is still on the rocks (2+ years into the future).  It's sexless and she's bitter / very much opposed to working on her own half of the marriage.  No doubt, she's also dealing with massive trauma, having lost her trust in her husband.

He's found himself up a creek without a paddle, and at the present, she's still in boat beating him over the head with it.

How can this marriage last?  I pray he'll find contentment.  Plus, I'll attempt to serve him well as a friend.  What a gift it is to know him, recognizing the similarities in wiring that we both possess.

I have learned so much about myself by befriending other men via Samson Society.  Extremely helpful indeed.

My Isolation Default

I'm an only child, therefore isolating as a child was my normal.  My father and I had a nonexistent relationship, and of course, I wasn't a girl, therefore Darlene wasn't about to be anything to me other than mom.  I've known boys who were very close to their mothers, even as grown men, but that's never been me.

I believe one of the reasons I survived architecture school at MSU was due to my penchant for isolation.  As a BArch student, you're pitted against +/-45 other (mostly) young men and women in your class as your work is adjudicated (somewhat) communally.  Therefore, being adept at isolation, in so many ways, is a precursor for academic survival.  Hence, most of my colleagues changed majors well before the conclusion of our freshman year due to the fact that isolation is typically quite hard for the average student.

My relationship with fantastical sexual sin at this point in time was at least as strong as it had been in high school.  Every day was a day to masturbate and that self pleasure was fueled by illicit sexual sin (fantasies).  Weekends were particularly bad as my roommate inevitably would abandon campus to spend time with his folks (including his younger brother) back home in south Mississippi.

I believe I've said this before, but I'll say it again.  If you could quantify the amount of ejaculate Rob has orgasmed over the course of his 48 years, it would no less amount to filling of a 55 gallon drum with over 3/4 of it being amassed during my college years.

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Fast forward to the present.

This past week, I hit a wall of isolation.  It had been some time since I'd dialogued with my Silas, and come Wednesday night, I chose to delve into Internet porn.  I did so not for what historically was my desire (lust) to, but in order to engage within a facsimile of community...which just happened to be made up of some incredibly sexy individuals (porn models) who were somewhat convincingly pleasuring each other sans any clothing.

A day later, I went all out and engaged my middle-aged imagination in an intense sexual fantasy with a "street person".  Essentially, this was an individual who I've rubbed shoulders with occasionally over the past few months, and subsequently found sexually attractive.  And this absolutely harkened back to my college days.

So, I knew I was not in a good place.  How then to escape?

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Also last week was an annual 4th quarter meeting with my largest client.  This meeting is pivotal in me keeping their business, therefore it's usually quite long and never not intense.

Now, I do meetings well.  Having executed hundreds of them over the course of my career, I have both the stamina and the ability to navigate a group as we move from topic to topic.  It's not a gift, just a learned trait.  But, meetings like this one do stress me.  So much so that I tend to sweat a lot.  Literally.

It's usually an hour or so into the dialogue, and I can tell my deoderant isn't necessarily keeping everything deoderized under them arms.  But, I think to myself, this is normal whilst putting yourself out there.  And frankly, I can do that with aplomb, but you know dear reader.  Albeit, there are plenty of voices who've decreed that I do it a little too "graphically".

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So, what to do about my isolation default?  Where to turn for help and how exactly to ask for it?

Same question as above.

Samson Society is first and foremost for men who're determined to escape isolation.  It's written in our charter.  And not through social media or becoming a deacon, but literally by marrying yourself to a specific man.  Now, that word marrying may be off putting to you, but I would argue that it's applicable here.

I meet with my Silas once a week on the same day, at the same time, and within the same venue.  We'd missed our last scheduled meeting, therefore it had been 2 weeks since our last juncture.  In anticipation of this, I knew I needed to tell him what had been going on and why, but I didn't want to.  Not that I was ashamed of my actions necessarily, but I knew in tandem with this "coming clean", I needed to give him some specific insight into how he could better meet Rob's needs [cringe].

Needs [cringe again] that will better stave off my propensity to isolate.

I DESPISE ADMITTING TO HAVING NEEDS!

But, I did it anyway.  Even though, by admitting to them, I now run the risk of him not meeting those needs.  And yes, I definitely perspired moreso than usual during this 20 minute personal exposition.

And you know what?  I did the right thing here.  But, how do I know?

My Silas isn't perfect, and he can't be expected to be.  But, my God is.  And I believe he desires for us to admit to our vulnerabilities.  To him first, and to our brothers in Christ next.  And we should do this out of respect for the seriousness of our sin problem, and the beauty of what can happen relationally through vulnerability.

In closing, if you read through the gospel of John, you see Jesus clearly.  John paints a holistic picture of God's son that's both captivating and truly shocking to behold.  All because of just how vulnerable John made Jesus out to be.  Over and over again.  If, as men, we're to follow Christ's lead, we need to be opening up to our brothers more often than not to exactly what can be done to assist us righteously - day by day.  No amount of wishful thinking or otherwise can substitute the efficiency of effective communication.  Psychic Silases don't exist.

Recommended Viewing - "Taking Into Account What The Experts Have to Say About Men" Edition

No One Really Cares About Your Problems (Except Perhaps Your Momma)

I met one of the most devout Christian men I'd ever run across back in 2006.  He was from small town Mississippi, having recently been appointed to a state government administrative position here in Jackson.  This position entailed he soon replace his "second in command" who was a man whom had served within the state agency he'd been appointed to for decades.

Within most administrative state government positions / lineage, individuals stay put 'till their eligible via PERS to retire.  This devout Christian man was no different, though via this new appointment, he was given the opportunity to work within a more challenging / influential position and subsequently, make more money (both then and expectedly during his future retirement tenure).

I was overjoyed to be interviewed by this man for the aforementioned "second in command" position.  I was young, but had the leadership skills / drive to do the job well - and man, did I ever want to take on this challenge!  Nonetheless, I didn't make the cut.  And especially considering this man's obvious Christian stance, I was no doubt extremely disappointed.

Christian bosses had never been part of my vocational narrative up to that point.  Ever.  Even during architecture school - if not especially during architecture school - pagans lead the way.

The entire notion of working for a devout Christian was incredibly appealing to me.  I just knew I would excel within that kind of environment - knowing that I would be reporting directly to him!

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Two years past and I received a telephone call from this man - my devout Christian superhero!

The good news of an open position hit me like a love bomb.  I was elated to now have the opportunity to work for this man.

Henceforth, I was on my way to becoming a bureaucrat!  Hurray!

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Despite my not being appointed at this time to the originally sought "second in command" position, I excelled as a minion, working diligently to use my skillset on behalf of the state of Mississippi.  I really enjoyed the work and actually didn't mind the arduous workload despite my not actually seeing my Christian Superhero much at all.  On the exterior, it was all such a breath of fresh air for me.

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Now, let's talk about what was going on personally within Rob during this time.

This was well before I became privy to Samson Society, therefore my struggles with worthlessness / Internet porn were running absolutely unchecked.

To demonstrate this, I remember clearly one day whilst sneaking a quick peek at salacious material online at my bureaucrat cubicle.  There came from behind me the following statement:  "This was the reason I chose Frank over you."

I swiftly swiveled around in my cubicle, only to see my Christian Superhero there shaming me.  I remember looking up at his disappointed countenance, and being so shocked at what he'd just spoken that it left me completely speechless.

"This.  Was.  The.  Reason.  I.  Chose.  Frank.  Over.  You."

Essentially, I had now received confirmation of the fact that Rob was (and perhaps always had been) nothing more in his mind than a liability.  Just.  Like.  That.

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Christian Superhero never spoke to me after he made that adjudication.  Not.  One.  Word.  (I kind of like separating my words like that).  And this was despite my additional 3 to 4 years of working at that bureau.

It reminded me (whilst looking back) on the time my father shamed me intensely (as a middle schooler) over my masturbation habit by repeatedly attempting to catch me in the act.  I can only assume that Christian Superhero must have suspected something, and therefore took it upon himself to take the same approach my father had all those years ago.

Suffice to say, overall, my father has quite the penchant for reminding me of how I qualify within his mind as a liability - for numerous problematic reasons that go far beyond my middle school days.  Hence, I steer clear of him as much as I can.  As you might imagine, from this point forward, I did the same with Christian Superhero, though thankfully, that wasn't all that hard to do because as I mentioned prior, he seemed to intentionally steer clear of me after this particular juncture.

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The hard lesson here for all of us is that a man's hopes and dreams of being intentionally cared for in relation to his own personal struggles (whatever they may be) aren't likely to pan out outside of a community like Samson Society.

Even within the most well-intentioned churches with the most devout Christian Superheroes, if there's an opportunity to discount / label another man as a liability to the group (body), that labeling will typically come about.

And we all do this as sinners.  In fact, I find myself doing it every day whether I'm panning the congregation from the choir loft at Lakeside Pres or eyeing the panhandler standing on the curb on my way to the office each morning.

Liability there.  Liability there.  Liability over there.  Liability there.  Liability there.  Liabilities everywhere!

It just feels so good to look down on people.  Doesn't it?

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This is why it's so critical that men seek help (and hopefully eventually find it) for their problems / personal struggles.  If not, their problems / personal struggles will dramatically undermine both their present and future as it relates to their marriage, vocation, and so forth.  It's only a matter of time.

All the more reason to take the resource of Samson Society very, very seriously, and give thanks to God for making it available to you and me both.

Craving Encouragement

At this stage in my life, I rarely crave encouragement.  But, that's not the case as of late.  Therefore, I feel embarrassed to admit to this need.  So much so, in fact, that I absolutely don't wish to post this here.

Years ago, I had my second meeting with a prominent local attorney who'd somewhat watched me grow up at First Baptist Church Jackson.  He asked me to rendezvous with him at his office inside the bowels of his impressive law firm, and from there, I admitted to being then where I'm at today - craving encouragement.

I'll not soon forget what he responded with.  It was so lame that I can't even type it.  For someone with so much respect and notoriety in the state of Mississippi...wow it was an incredibly disappointing response.  I'm hoping he was simply having an off day.

Encouragement, as you age, I have found, comes less and less.  As your body shrinks, your hair grays / thins, your mind slows, people take note and assume you're settled into yourself - so to speak.  Especially family and friends.  Therefore, there's much more criticism or criticism through silence than anything else at my stage of life.  And frankly, this truth sucks.

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In the face of my need to be encouraged over the course of this weekend, I remembered a dead man and what little of his life I was privileged to be privy to.

In the past, Lakeside Presbyterian Church was lead, almost exclusively, by one particular Type AAA elder.  I never had the opportunity to meet him, but I watched him from afar.  I remember attending a pilot Sunday School class that he taught at our church, and him stating how he loved John Wayne.  So much so that he regularly watched his movies on Saturday afternoons.  This man was built like John Wayne but more muscular.  He was +/-12 to 15 years older than I (inside the physical body of a much younger man), with two grown children and a beautiful wife.  He served our community as a local judge, and had for much of his career. 

To say that his presence was intimidating was an understatement.  I remember distinctly that he had the longest eyelashes of any man I'd ever seen.  Literally, it was as if he was perfect through and through.  Incredible looks, intelligence, respect, prominence in the community, solid family, and on and on.

Nevertheless, I never returned to his Sunday School class after that initial meeting.  I simply felt to inept in his presence.  His masculinity was so intense that it literally was like being in the presence of John Wayne's clone.  Overwhelming.

But this man and all he represented came to an end on Good Friday, 2015, having driven himself to a roadside stop on the Natchez Trace where he shot himself.  From what I understand, it was another prominent elder of Lakeside Pres who found his corpse.  What a horrible day that was for our church and our community.

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Therefore, to summarize, the most manliest of men I've ever met killed himself.  It's mind boggling for me to fathom even today.  All that notoriety, respect, physical prowess, influence, etc. was turned on its head that day.  All of us touched by this man experienced utter shock.

And by ruminating on his suicide, I'm finding myself returning to what I know to be right and true.

I had just come through the darkest valley of my soul around the same time Mr. Fairly killed himself, and my doing so was only attributable to God's grace.  I can remember so vividly how much I rejoiced to no longer feel such constant, intense emotional pain accompanied by those cruel voices beseeching me to harm my own self.

And from there going forward, I stand in awe as to what God has done for Rob.

There is nothing that I can describe to you that compares to feeling what I felt during those dark days, nor is there any recourse greater than having come out on the opposite side.

Why did Dan Fairly do what he did?  How long had he suffered?  Did he too, reach out to other men for encouragement, only to find glib responses?  And finally, why did I survive, and he didn't?

What feels like eternal darkness makes a lifetime impression.  May I never forget the restoration I received, nor the potential macabre "solution" I avoided, only to live on with my story to share and henceforth, encouragement to give.

Can there be no other emotionally cataclysmic event than suicide, brought on by hopelessness and despair?

Lord, give me the courage to speak up, never to hide, and to always remember the valley I endured.  Especially during times when I'm craving forlorn encouragement. 

A Bare Chested Bible Teaching

For the majority of my teen years, my youth pastor was female.  She was single initially, but within the first year or so of her tenure, Cindy married the nicest attorney on planet Earth.  At the time, they were both in their mid-30s.  From what I recall, years earlier (prior to her being employed by our church), she'd come very close to marrying another man.  She was fortunate to have had second thoughts due to the fact that his replacement couldn't have been a better fit for her.

My youth pastor was a force of nature in terms of her presence and personality, and she was very savvy in how she pushed the envelope topically in spite of her filling a ministerial role that was almost universally appointed to men...at least here in the deep South.

Keep in mind this was during the late '80s, and our youth ministry was undoubtedly the largest in the state of Mississippi.  It had the resources / budget / facilities coupled with a dynamic, boundlessly energetic lady leading the way.  She was literally a powerhouse.  To this day, I've never witnessed a youth pastor with more zeal, compassion, and leadership skill.  Cindy was literally larger than life to all of us.  Needless to say, even back then, I knew I was part of something very special, and what a tremendous positive impact it made to not only my faith but my self-esteem!  Our youth pastor, though she wasn't perfect, loved Rob and all of his quirks.  And because of that, I was endeared to her as well as her husband despite my "choosing to exist in the background" approach.  In particular, I'll always be indebted to her encouragement relative to my vocal skillset and subsequently, the many opportunities that were presented to me to utilize those talents there in church.

Surprisingly, this same woman eventually chose to lead our church's college ministry for a handful of years as well.  This, I'll have to admit, was a little odd.  It wasn't like First Baptist Church's budget was strapped for cash, and therefore couldn't afford to hire someone.  Nevertheless, she also chose to take on this role, though it was soon obvious to almost everyone that she simply couldn't effectively translate her rigidly programmatic approach over to the older, more sophisticated / independently-minded college crowd.

There's no doubt too that college-age students are looking for substance.  Meat if you will, if they choose to partake of church during this season of their lives.  And that substance needs to be based in not only a thorough understanding of God's Word but a deep respect for it.  It's not that Cindy didn't embody that statement, but it was impossible to not see her as a youth pastor first and foremost.

Thankfully, this is where her husband, Bill, at least in terms of her ministry, strategically complemented her.

Bill was in many ways the exact opposite of Cindy's persona, though he was no doubt similarly intelligent and articulate.  He was the inevitable representative of a shadow (cast by her), until opportunity presented itself (on occasion) for him too to surprisingly flex his (just as adept) risk-taking muscles.  And at times, he did so in the most unexpectedly manly ways.

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I believe it was the summer after my sophomore year at Mississippi State.  I was home for those two months, therefore I found myself fully engaged with my home church's college ministry.  I remember participating in a rafting retreat somewhere in eastern Tennessee with this group and having such fun!

Afterwards, we returned to wherever it was that we were staying in order to rest up for our journey home the following day.  From there, my memory is a bit fuzzy, but I believe Bill decided to take it upon himself to lead a Bible study to those who wished to participate.  Therefore, a handful of us gathered together in some sort of common space or lobby, neatly tucked away in a quiet corner, anticipating being lead by Bible teaching Bill.

Physically, Bill was a small framed man.  His wife, Cindy, was average height for a female, and he was only slightly taller than she.  Bill, when he was assisting his wife with ministry at our church (in whatever role she put him in), was usually decked out in a dress shirt and slacks, the typical First Baptist Church uniform.  What I'd never noticed though was despite his small stature, he was not, by definition, lean.

But this became readily apparent during this aforementioned rafting retreat Bible study due to the fact that he executed it bare chested.

Now, it wasn't like he was wearing dress slacks and no shirt.  Everyone was simply lounging around in shorts and t-shirts, therefore he was as well, except of course, without his shirt on.

The Bible study wasn't brief.  Bill was an excellent communicator / student of God's word.  He taught with skill and passion, therefore us being typical sponge-like college students, we soaked in every word, asking lots of questions along the way.  I remember I sat adjacent to Bill, and suffice to say, it took a few long minutes for me to get over my shock at seeing this man's nipples in living color.

And I must say, Bill had (at the time) an enviable bod of any present day guy, with even (if I remember correctly 25+ years ago) a defined six-pack, which made this event that much more unique.  Who'd a thunk?

Today, men's bodies are celebrated if they're hyper muscular, lean and hairless, and if you have any semblance of a six-pack, you're considered sexy and to be envied.  This was not the case back in the late '80s / early '90s.  During this era, men within photographic media didn't model themselves with their hyper muscular, hairless action figure bods.  It simply wasn't the norm as it is today.

I am convinced the reason Bill taught Scripture to us bare chested is he needed to prove to himself and to us that he was more than what we'd known of him up to that point in time.  In other words, he needed to be seen deeper than what we'd had the privilege of seeing prior, therefore he saw an appropriate opportunity with an appropriate age-group and took advantage of it.

[One thing I haven't mentioned is Bill, at the time, was teaching collegiate law classes (I did mention he was an attorney), therefore he understood the monumental maturity levels (on average) between secondary versus higher-ed students.]

From that day forward, my respect for this man increased tremendously, and of course, looking back, I'm grateful to have been a part of such an important reckoning.  A reckoning where our understanding / respect of a cherished male leader expanded circumstantially.

"Has Jesus Ever Masturbated?"

I'm no theologian, but no, Of Course Not.

And neither has your father or your grandfather.  In fact, the only time they've ever used their hands to touch their weiners was to position it to take a piss or to scratch it.  Even in the shower, they refrain from soaping up "down there" except with a washcloth.

Only you have been "guilty" of masturbating.  Hence, your asking this perverted question.

"...& besides, men don't send each other letters."

The first time I became acutely aware that I was living in a state that was less than appreciated (national reputation) was my junior year in high school.  My two best friends were both one year older than me, and both made a point to use their college career as an opportunity to exit Mississippi.  One went to Colorado for her undergraduate degree and the other went to Tennessee, and neither ever returned permanently.  In fact, one of the two's parents eventually moved away despite the fact that they were well into their middle years.  I remember feeling like a leper for not buying into their higher education exit strategies from the standpoint of the obvious implied rejection by non-association.  I had no desire to leave Mississippi.  In fact, the notion of attending college (in state) over 2 hours away from my home (by car) amounted to plenty 'nough geographic separation for Rob from his home.

So what makes Mississippians distinct?  People that live here are generous.  It's their defining attribute.  If you were to meld every Mississippian together to create one individual and stack him up against his melded counterparts from his 49 united cohorts, none would be more generous than he.  Now, there would be savvier melded states, more intelligent, more creative, more refined, more ambitious and so forth, but none more generous than Mississippi.  And of course, generosity is in no way revered culturally.  On the other hand, Mississippi is brimming with deadbeats and the marginalized, and these are mainly men whose outlook is short-term.  All of this combined can make for a weird assemblage that looks on the surface to many as either unworkable / unsustainable for the long-term.  Hence, our tendency to eek / freak out newcomers.

Neither of my high school friends were generous individuals and the 'rents of the one who also moved out of Mississippi were cut from the same cloth as their daughter, therefore it's understandable that they would want out.  I get that now, but back then, it hurt to be disparaged for being at peace with my home.  That being said, I do not hold in disregard anyone who looks down on our state.  There is much here that demands an acquired taste.

To me, generosity is no more noteworthy than any other attribute from the standpoint of being a cultural identifier.  It takes all kinds to make up the great US of A, but know this, living amongst people who overall hold generosity up, does make for a sweet existence.  It's really nice to be cared for and to be treated well overall as you go about the inevitable mundane routine of life.

We have friends who just recently saw their oldest son and daughter in-law return to Mississippi from living out of state for +/-5 years.  Having been reared here, their experiencing the absence of this spirit of generousness within another place caused regret to set in, therefore they've since returned.  They're not sure how they'll make it work vocationally, but they're proud to be back home.

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Years ago, I had the privilege of meeting a new neighbor who took the initiative to thank me for some volunteer work I'd signed up for in our 'hood.  He was a bachelor, we were both in our early 30s, and he made no qualms about loving his somewhat new home here in Mississippi despite the fact that he was a Texan by birth.

This was a first for me, meeting a transplant who adored the Magnolia state.  This guy actually would take vacation / weekend road trips on his own throughout various regions of Mississippi.  I can remember him showing me various photo albums he'd created containing snapshots of iconic Mississippi buildings and so forth, many of which I'd had the privilege of knowing of throughout my life due to my heritage.

So here we were.  A new friendship.  I was excited!  Especially considering his admiration for my home state.

But then I decided to send him a very personal letter...

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I can still remember my follow up telephone call after sending my correspondence.  His words (some of which make up the title to this post) stung.

Essentially, I had disclosed too much, too fast about my story, therefore in lieu of me wanting to "efficiently" mature the friendship forward, he felt lambasted instead, therefore he immediately rejected me outright on the grounds that spending any further time with Rob would "make him too uncomfortable".  Ouch.

I don't think I'll ever forget the emotional fallout from that short-lived friendship, but one thing positive that I did learn from it was to never discount my own platonic needs.  There had been plenty of friendships up to that point that were not unlike the ones I had in high school with my none too generous friends.  These friendships were characterized as being surface, shallow.  They were built on routine or circumstance.  A shared Sunday School class or work setting, etc.  I'd grown tired of those for they offered me nothing except an opportunity to be annoyed at my own pretending to have my life put together expertly.

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I have emotional needs that I want met via my friendships with other men (& so do you).  Samson Society offers a wellspring of guys who I've found are willing to work towards meeting those needs.  I've told people before, and I'll say it again, that Samson Society tends to attract some of the most generous guys you'll likely ever meet.  They tend to look for opportunities to care for their brothers in Christ as they also in tandem look out for their best interests.

Is it perfect?  Of course not.  Is there sometimes disappointment?  Yep.  But, it's not a two-man group.  There's scale here for those inevitable relational imperfections, and even if you choose to communicate with a paper and pen (like I tend to do), you'll likely find your place eventually.  Thanks be to God for Samson Society.

The Miserable Truth about Mentorship / Growing a third testicle

I was privileged to attend a professional college (at a state university) which (after 5 grueling years) ushered me a professional degree.  That degree, in order to fully take advantage of it, required that I be dubbed an intern for a certain time period prior to me being eligible to take a 9-part licensing exam.  That internship lasted +/-4 years, and during my schooling, it was referred to often as the opportunity for "real world experience" to be melded into my education.

I did pass the licensing exam, therefore I suppose the collegiate academia combined with my internship worked as it was designed to.

In tandem with the start of my internship, also not long after I graduated from college, I became involved in a regional, parachurch men's ministry.  The premise of the ministry was to minister to "young business men with leadership traits" (this was actually integrated into the ministry's name).  Well, I was young (mid to early 20s), and I did work for a business.  But, there was also a leadership expectation there which didn't fit the young Rob in the least.  I was officially an intern during this time, and goshdarnit, I certainly felt as such.  Hence, I was hungry for some leading.

This parachurch ministry organized weekly small group Bible studies, paring up men in groups to meet wherever they saw fit.  I ended up in a group of 4, lead by the coolest Christian man I'd ever known and since ever known (by far).  He was incredibly laid back and knowledgeable of Scripture.  Plus, he was just cool.  Very, very cool.

Months went by as we met weekly to study God's word.  We grew close together as friends as our commitment to our time together grew.  It was more fun (& enriching) than I'd ever had at 6:30 AM!

Eventually, I gathered up the nerve after the close of one of our study times to ask our fearless, carefree leader (who was +/-5 years my senior) if we might take the group in a more personal direction.  If we might share our "testimonies" (that's '90s-speak for personal stories).

In response to my inquiry, our leader turned to me, handed me his copy of our "meeting book", and said, "If that's the direction you'd like to take this group, you go right ahead, but leave me out of it."

From there, he turned and walked out of my buddy's apartment.  I never spoke to him again after that.  And as you might imagine, our group soon fell apart.  None of us younger men had the leadership skillset needed to keep it going.  He essentially was the light that we were all drawn to, week after week.

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Throughout my college career, despite the fact that the faculty within the professional school I attended were licensed pros, I never once saw any viable mentor (outside of an academic).  Now, keep in mind that for me, Christianity played a huge role in who I chose to look up to.  But, that being said, I wasn't necessarily looking for a saint.  Just a man who attested to believe in Scripture's inerrancy and ultimately in his life being monumentally more than an accident / opportunity to consistently seek out happiness / self-pleasure.

The biggest blow to my pursuit for a mentor came professionally.  I simply couldn't separate my desire to find a Christian mentor from my career because I had invested so much time and effort in it for all those years prior.  Again, I was simply looking for someone who knew my story and who was willing to share their own.  The majority of those in my profession (at that time) were men.  At one point, I worked for 4 distinct male shareholders, and spent an awful lot of time with one or two in particular.  Though by my 8 or 9th year there, I'd lost hope in seeing my desire to be mentored come to fruition.

So, what is a mentor?  What exactly was I looking for?

An older Christian man that I could relate to (on some level), and this relation had to occur by each of us being willing to share our (or at least a portion of) own stories.  This man would offer encouragement simply by making himself vulnerable to me.  Ideally, this man would make himself available to me in order for me to experience his investing in Rob.  And perhaps the end result would be him establishing a horizontal friendship with me outright.  How awesome that would have been!

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Men who've been mentored by other men are in the same category as men who have 3 testicles or who've fathered more than 10 children.  (Perhaps those are one and the same men actually).  It's rare indeed.

Why is this so?

Because if you never experience mentorship that's healthy, fulfilling, you'll likely never be qualified / enlightened to reciprocate the favor to a younger man due to the fact that quality mentorship brings about heart change.  Heart change is a big deal.  And it's that change that motivates / levels up a man to minister / mentor other men.

If you consider African elephants and the behavior of the males amongst the herd, the key indicator that you'll have an orderly, healthy, functioning group - particularly if you have a number of younger males present - is tantamount to the herd having some older bull elephants present.  If you poach that older male(s), the younger males will oftentimes create disorder amongst the herd, and of course, disorder can spell disaster for a herd trying to survive on the African tundra.

So what do we do?  How do we solve this miserable problem of there simply being no available mentors?

My approach has been to glean from sources what I can, always on the lookout for more opportunities to be mentored, even if it's in very small, episodic doses.  This may seem unrealistic, whereas throwing one's hands up in the air and decreeing surrender seems warranted, but I've found that by doing this, it puts you in a better position to someday grow a third testicle.

And that's what you want to achieve ultimately.  There's something some kind of special that comes about from mentoring a younger man.  It is an honor and privilege to do so because that process serves to cancel out the backwash of misery that comes from attempting to do life (as a young man) on your own.  And oh man, was I ever miserable.

A Day of Loneliness = 15 cigs

A number of articles like this one have piqued my interest over the past 6 months.  More and more researchers / doctors / clinicians are growing very concerned societally with loneliness.  Some call it an epidemic here in the western world.  I can certainly relate by personally experiencing the most self-destructive year of my life whilst being friendless back in 2013.

Organizations like Samson Society were created to work against / resist isolation.  It's about being intentional and seeking out authentic community.  Come join us.  If for no other reason than to improve your health.