The Ultimate Parasocial (Imaginary Friend) Relationship(s) - An Explicit One OR 5K Unassuming (Fully Clothed) Ones?

Recommended reading:  Parasocial Relationships Are Just Imaginary Friends for Adults - The Atlantic

At some point during my middle school years, my next-door neighbor relayed some 900#s (prerecorded phone sex blurbs) for me and my friends to delve into.  If I remember correctly, we called firstly at his abode, and from there, I naively took the handful of numbers home for further investigation.  This was during the mid-80s. 

It wasn't long before I was calling these "pay by the minute" numbers (Imaginary Friends) regularly after school.  My father had a "home office" crammed (literally) into one side of our third bedroom, and on his desk was a phone that I'd often use if I wanted any privacy.  

Oblivious to the "pay by the minute" phone charge, how shocked I was to have my parents approach me therein relative to the exorbitant telephone bill!  I recall apologizing before quickly blaming the neighbor boy's influence.  

This really has been my only exposure to phone sex of any ilk.  Whilst looking back, I'm thankful that I was too young / naive to understand half of the explicit words being said into my ear via the sultry prerecorded 900# voices.

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A huge part of my trajectory relative to my recovery from chronic gay porn (Internet) consumption was me gaining an understanding of my longing / need / desire for being seen clearly by other men.  Particularly men who I had respect for.  Consuming gay porn enabled that illusion with remarkable ease (Imaginary Friends).  But at the same time, it (these Imaginary Friends) perpetually served as a misanthrope (feedback loop) in proportion to the greater intrinsic need that Rob had.

Nonetheless, I LOATHED consuming Internet porn because I'd long since earnestly privately rejected the trappings of culturally normal, if not celebrated, parasocial relationships (available via mainstream entertainment) as a college student (well in advance of the Internet coming to fruition).  Therefore, I felt deeply immature regarding my bondage to Internet porn as a result.  

So, what qualified Internet porn so differently than mainstream entertainment, in terms of fostering a parasocial relationship (Imaginary Friendship)?

For Rob, it was the overt explicitness.  Right there on my private computer screen.  Beautifully photographed / filmed, extraordinarily sexy and naked men having sex with themselves and other men.  

I'd never seen anything like it.  It was mind-boggling to behold.

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Yesterday morning, I worked out at the Y.  As there's been a handful of other times, a lovely blonde woman (about my age) working out too.  It's always been apparent that there's a bit of chemistry between us, though we've only spoken in passing.  She's about my age, and obviously quite dedicated to her own physical fitness.  

This AM, she was intentional about flaunting her spandex clad back end as I was doing floor-based roll-outs adjacent.  I remember thinking how awkward I would be feeling had I been straight.  

Nevertheless, I kept my head down throughout as I repetitively endured my set of roll-outs, choosing to not take advantage of the opportunity (ogling / flirting).

Whilst thinking back on that, even if I had been straight (& single), how akin it would have been for me to covertly seek out engaging within a parasocial relationship (Imaginary Friend)  (modeled perhaps after her "back end") than one directly with her.

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I'm at Sam's Club weekly, purchasing everything from fresh fruit to premade entrees (kale pasta salad!) and bottled water / staples for our family.  A few weeks back, I observed a couple "parking lot flirt" with each other as he assisted her in checking the fluids within her aging Honda Civic.  Throughout, they were sharing a vape while she took every opportunity to touch / embrace him (mostly from behind) as if he were a big teddy bear.  

She'd arrived firstly onto the vast asphalt pavement.  From there, he strategically pulled his full-size pickup alongside within just a matter of minutes.  

I made no attempts to disguise the fact that I was observing their flirtatious behavior in real time.  

Eventually, they walked into the giant discount retail store together with her arm around his waist.  And even whilst inside (I bumped into them), she continued her tactile affirmation.  

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I'm not convinced women overall find themselves ensnared by the pervasiveness of explicitness as we men so often are.  Most women are interested in far more subtle means of sexualization.

+/-15 years ago, I gave my sweet wife a freshly purchased copy (Amazon) of Bondi Work by Aussie photographer, Paul Freeman.  And I did this on Valentine's Day, hoping she'd "drop her guard" and begin to relish the naturalistic beauty of superbly (explicitly!) photographed men.  

Perhaps she'd have received my gift with a more positive response had there been less genitalia so prominently displayed throughout the coffee-table book.  

Nonetheless, it's a book of photos taken by a same-sex attracted man, therefore there's no shortage of digitally enhanced junk.  

In the end, my gift fell as flat as the time I gifted my mom (a six pack) CFL light bulbs for Christmas.

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A close friend recently divulged his belief that he's "rejection phobic" in tandem with being ADHD.  As far as I know, my friend's not been clinically diagnosed ADHD, but based on his own personal research, he very much believes himself to be.

I felt so humbled to have been bequeathed this discovery from him.  So much so, in fact, that I've now found myself historically ruminating on it, on occasion, ever since (I've known this friend for well over a decade).

What strikes me as slightly unconvincing though regarding his revelation has to do with him unaccounting for his deep entrenchment with parasocial relationships (Imaginary Friends).  Whether they're explicit (pornographic) or not.  For social media has been and is today's parasocial relationship floodwater(s), having inundated almost every facet (demographic, race, individual, corporate, nonprofit, religious & on & on) of humanity's existence.  My friend's (& his wife's) life is no different than the average bear relative to social media.  They are (& have been for a decade plus as far as I know) deeply entrenched therein.  As such, THEY ARE CULTURALLY NORMAL.

Nonetheless, is there no more culturally relevant place to be impacted by the parasocial (Imaginary Friends) than social media?  Social media, with its seemingly harmless yet infinitesimal display of photos, videos, memes, emojis, likes / dislikes, truncated statements, and on and on?

Question:  Has my old friend accounted for the role social media's been allowed to play within his life over the past 10+ years relative to the difficulties he has today whilst engaging face-to-face? 

I can't help but wonder about this.

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And this leads me to...

My argument against social media is as follows (in line with the notion that real, authentic relationships more often than not, take a back seat):

1.  There's less time ("crowding out") for them (taking into account the time spent engaging with parasocial- Imaginary Friends - relationships online).

2. I'm of the opinion that social media junkies' brains have literally been re-wired to devalue authentic relationships in comparison to the vast quantity of parasocial ones (due to the brain's allegiance / time spent therein to social media).

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In closing, I circle back to the young couple flirting in the Sam's Club parking lot as well as the aforementioned fitness beauty at the Y.  

Though I didn't engage with these individuals beyond observation, there's no doubt they were not Imaginary.

In fact, regarding the latter, I'll perhaps see her again in a few weeks (depending on when I next visit the Y).  

What sets these individuals apart is I had / have the opportunity to engage with these folks.  And there's miniscule risks that any of them are going to shed their clothes as a result.  This is normal human relational behavior that can be built upon - no matter what the outcome might be (rejection or otherwise).

Now, go back and re-read that article.  It's profound and incredibly thought provoking.  I'm of the opinion that it can be applied to every Samson guy's life.

Lagniappe

More lagniappe 

What Is One of The Necessary Roles Of Journalism? To Promote Decency (Whilst HOPEFULLY Making You Think)

Illinois woman discovers dead husband in closet months after disappearance | Fox News

Hoarding is an extreme form of obsessing over oneself / one's inner thoughts.  It's a deep-seated bondage relative to one's psyche that manifests itself via chronic, compulsive consumption (purchase & stockpiling) of goods.  Oftentimes, for a hoarder, the cable television channel QVC or the URL, Craigslist / eBay, is on par with Internet porn for a Samson guy.

Hoarding is exploiting one's individual rights (related to consuming) within epidemic proportions.  It is being the ultimate PERSONAL advocate to such a degree that no one else's "well-being" is of concern except your own.

Nonetheless...

The greatest gift to the hoarder is the difficulty therein in hiding their problem (especially when the corpse of a loved one is unearthed within the hoarded goods). 

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Immediately following our wedding, 26-years ago, Angie and I moved into our first home (an upstairs 2-bedroom apartment in Ridgeland).  We ended up leasing that flat for four years, and throughout the majority of that time, a hoarder lived beneath us.  I know this because of how apparent it was looking from the outside in.

Though I didn't consider myself a snoop, it was easy getting a clear view inside whilst circumnavigating to the back of our building (in order to empty our cat's litterbox).  I vividly recall how shocked I was the first time I glanced into her windows, particularly relative to her kitchen.  (Keep in mind that her flat's floor plan was identical to our own.)

Our neighbor's hoarding became so problematic that we (upstairs) began experiencing an ant invasion (they found their way into our staples within our small pantry).  Soon thereafter, I approached our downstairs neighbor.  With her being single (with one elementary age daughter), I didn't care to rat on her to management.  As a result (I'm assuming), the ant problem did subside, yet in no way did her overall living conditions improve (based on my continued indiscriminate / concerned observations).

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Chronic porn use is exploiting one's individual online rights (related to consuming) within epidemic proportions.  It is being the ultimate PERSONAL advocate to such a degree that no one else's "well-being" is of concern except your own.

The greatest curse to the chronic porn user is the definitive vacuum by which they exist within. 

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My first hope regarding finding support as a same-sex attracted Christian man was via reading online blogs (2007-).  These were blogs written by men who looked to be walking the same road I was attempting / had been attempting to navigate.  I knew there'd be no formal support available from my church (I'd looked hard) or within the community (here in Mississippi) at large, and that the professional journalism community (religious or secular) certainly wouldn't touch a story like my own with a ten-foot pole.  

These blog writings that had been published online were like a breath of fresh air within a vacuum.  And many of these men talked too of their struggle with chronic gay porn consumption (which I very much could relate to) now that the Internet was on the scene!

This is why I write here and encourage others to do the same.  Consider it an ode to that first gasp of resuscitating oxygen.

My hope is men can find hope before their inward obsessiveness results in the collateral damage that so often is the inevitable.  Perhaps this blog (journal) will in some way offer support as those aforementioned ones did for me - all those years ago.

Decency:  conformity to the recognized standard of propriety, good taste & modesty, etc. 

Nondescript Samson Guy

The greatest gift I've yet to receive in Samson Society was given to me by Silas (1.0).  

Before I make that reveal though, I need to indulge in letting you know that I too had a Silas (0.0).  I don't mention him much here, but that friendship was pivotal in me embracing (quickly warming up to) relational accountability (Robspeak) as it's formally made available within Samson Society.

Silas (0.0) is dubbed as such because neither of us were privy to Samson Society during / throughout our close friendship (late '10 - early '12).  Yet, we certainly - altruistically - experienced the benefits of a cross-pollination "Silas" relationship in spades.  Therein, my brain was "wired for support" from that point forward, queued up beautifully for my eventual plunge into Mr. Nate Larkin's masterwork.

Silas (0.0) and I were very similar blokes relative to our overall outlook / disposition, and I believe this is what quickly solidified our relationship / trust in each other.  Too, one of the most curious similarities had to do with what I'll call our masculinity quotients.  For neither of us had much at all of that integral manly trait sans each / either of us taking risks (of any shape or form).

But enough about Silas (0.0).

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Silas (1.0) was a rockstar.  And so was Silas (2.0) and even, at present (3.0).  

In comparison to Rob, these men were kind enough to reach downward relationally to befriend me, but it was Silas (1.0) who demonstrated this firstly.  Hence, this was such a gift.  

I am a nondescript guy.  Nondescript means invisible, for the most part.  Yet, I'm not treated as such within Samson Society.  And this truth has been most apparent relative to my Silases.  For they have been and are men whom I look up to / aspire to be like.  

Why is that important?  

It provides me with the opportunity to see myself through their eyeballs.  Even if it's an occasional glimpse when I'm indirectly affirmed or outright complimented.  

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Earlier this week, I reached out to another Samson rockstar (a friend but not a Silas - to Rob - of any ilk) regarding a newly formed virtual Samson meeting ("Brain Changers") he's facilitating on Sunday afternoons / evenings.

This guy had been kind enough to - again, like his cohorts - reach downward and take the time to relay his story to me (at the tail end of last year).  

As I was working out last night, I felt a bit of a spiritual pang regarding moving in the direction of that newly formed meeting.  That pang intensified earlier this morning whilst remembering my choosing, years ago, to walk alongside a similar (local) Samson rockstar relative to supporting his newly formed (face-to-face) Samson Society meeting.  And what a year of fun that was!

Both of these (face-to-face & newly formed virtual) Samson Society meetings are even on the same night / same time (almost)!

Perhaps through this change / commitment, I'll have the opportunity to see Rob with even more clarity.  As such, variety truly is the spice of life.

Me Being At Peace As A Mississippian & My Pity For Our Misfits / Outcasts

I've been dubbed "Mississippi Rob" since I chose to join "Make Thursdays Great Again" back in December of '21.  I like the moniker, but mainly due to how it's grounded me instantly within this hopelessness-saturated corner of the USA.  

Silas 2.0 had small town Mississippi deeply entrenched in his persona.  The best takeaway I received from him was in regard to sort of a vernacular kinship.  A kinship which definitely declared that I too was just as deeply rooted, and there was nothing to be ashamed of therein.

I've been ruminating a lot recently on one of my high school friends and her family, all of which have long since vacated the Magnolia State for more hope-filled pastures.  Beatrice and her clan had settled here from the west coast back in the late '70s / early '80s.  Her father was an attorney who'd began his career in the Navy.  With his brother (Beatrice's uncle) well established within the Jackson Metro, therein lay the motivation to plant themselves here (in order for him to practice law).

I befriended Beatrice and her best friend, Hoppy, out of need but also (unbeknownst to me at the time) pity.  For neither of them had a chance in hell of thriving in Mississippi (& this extended too to Beatrice's entire family).

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Years ago, I urged our neighborhood homeowners' association board to contract with a local property management company.  Upon doing so, the management company's assigned rep (to our 'hood) became fast friends with Rob.  I vividly recall her telling me how she one day witnessed (unexpectedly) her next door neighbor packing up a moving truck in their driveway.  After inquiring as to what was going on, they gleefully announced to her that "they'd had enough of Mississippi" and that "she could keep it!"

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On a similar note, once or twice a year we run into my oldest daughter's college roommate's folks whilst on campus (where she and their daughter are students).  The last time this occurred, the dad (who's close to my age), slyly let me know that he was "counting down the months" relative to his retirement.  A retirement that he "will gladly be taking outside of the state lines of Mississippi".  From there, he concluded by telling me that I "can keep - all I want of - Mississippi".

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Circling back to my high school friend, Beatrice, and her clan, the tip off for me (as a teen) that they weren't "from here" came in the form of flooring material (of all things).  The house they lived in was sprawling (for the '80s), and both the kitchen and breakfast room were tiled in a most stunningly beautiful material (Mexican tile) that was unlike anything I'd seen prior.

Another tip off relative to their "pariah-ness" had to do with her dad's choice of vehicle (which he'd handed down to Beatrice as her daily driver).  I'd never seen too many one these in 1988.

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Beatrice had a funny way about her that Hoppy (again, her best friend) enjoyed attempting to guilt her about.  Frankly, her aloofness served to mask this peculiarity pretty effectively.  Hence, I likely wouldn't have taken note of it had it not been for Hoppy (who spent far more time with her than I did).  And that was her refusal to acknowledge (the existence of) black people.  

In other words, she lived here in Mississippi as a teen, but pretended like black people weren't here with her.  And I suppose she picked this up from her parents / siblings.  It was a peculiarity that made her seem exceedingly ditzy (almost to the point of ignorant fool).  Now, for those of you who've no clue as to what the racial makeup of Mississippi is, know this:  there're a boatload of black people here.  

Beatrice lived this illusion out as follows:  she maintained strict (private) protocols regarding where she traveled and whom she chose to interact with.  Too, she refused to be entertained by black artists, no matter their popularity.

And now that I'm thinking through this, she too executed this approach regarding rednecks (country folk) as well.

By my observation, it was an insular experience that allowed her to maintain some semblance of comfort over her world (as she chose to see it).  And I'm assuming it all was rooted in her inability / unwillingness to engage / process / confront the abject hopelessness that's so in-your-face relative to the majority of blacks / rednecks here within The Magnolia State.  Hopelessness that's grounded in ignorance relative to so many rudimentary facets of the human existence.

Now, it's important that you do know that Beatrice's closest female friend during our high school days was Hispanic.  But this Hispanic girl wasn't a Mississippian.  Instead, she was an (lovely) exchange student who Beatrice met at our respective high school.

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In closing, having been reared here in Mississippi, I have a certain degree of emotional resilience towards the setting.  And that resilience has not had the opportunity to diminish via me dropping anchor elsewhere - for even the shortest stint(s).  

And it is emotional resilience / endurance that I'm describing.  Not racism or feeling entitled.  Instead, it's this integral understanding of pain that's pervasive enough to eventually make peace with (or else).  Pain that you know isn't going away / slated to someday be (re)solved, therefore you choose instead to give it the respect it deserves in order to face it head on.  Day after day after day.  

My high school friends left Mississippi for a number of reasons, but I'm convinced their unspoken motive was one of unwillingness / inability to reckon with hopelessness.  For to make a home here, you must face that giant, or choose instead to live an illusory existence that's nothing more than one massive emotional safety net.

It's overwhelmingly sad / a shock to your system to witness the hopelessness that's birthed out of ignorance (financial illiteracy / radical misunderstanding surrounding sexual reproduction, etc.).  But if you yourself have "grown out of / sprung forth from" it besides (to one degree or another), there's a certain comfort level there that neuters it a bit.  And this contrast can certainly humble those of us who can no doubt look left or right and see where we once were (with solid hope that future generations will do the same - no matter their race).

God bless Mississippi and "Mississippi Rob" (as funny as it is, beholden to this unique place). 

Was I Making A Selfish, Irresponsible Move Or Not?

Your grown ass man brain is best served by a consciousness that practically protects it from emotional harm.  You have a God-given skull to protect it from impact / falls, but emotional harm, your skull cannot guard against.  Instead, it's up to your consciousness to recognize that risk and manage it accordingly (to the best of its ability / within reason).

My experience with feeling dejected by a mentor (immediate supervisor of mine at a college I was employed at throughout 2013) did SUBSTANTIAL emotional damage to my brain.  I had never experienced anything like that before, at least to that degree.  And this experience, mind you, wasn't drawn out / within a season.  Instead, it occurred over a period of 15 minutes.  It's important to note that my sensitivity was significantly amplified due to how needy I was at the time.  Desperate for help, inclusion and love, but instead, I was met with the exact opposite.  It was not unlike taking a sledgehammer to the temple.

As such, I made an immediate attempt to minimize further damage (professionally, emotionally).  Hence, I was convinced that the best way for me to pull that off was to pack up my bags and leave.  And not just from the institution itself (which was quite easy to do since I'd been fired), but also from the small town we were residing within (in order for me to work there).  All of that occurred over the next +/-30 days.

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For me, the surefire way I became cognizant of just how eviscerated my brain had been was as follows:

I've always loved, loved, loved screening films at the theater (from childhood onward).  Post aforementioned dejection (I was 41 at the time), I could no longer do this without crying throughout the entire length of the film.  And those tears were falling on behalf of how undeserving / unequipped / unable I believed I was to have an enjoyable experience of any kind (but especially one as nostalgically reliable as a cinematic one).

In essence, it felt as if this time-tested memorable love of mine had been poisoned outright via these massively negative feelings.  And I suppose, in a way it was.  It took 5-6 years 'till I actually felt confident enough to screen a film in a theater setting once again.

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A sizeable proportion of your vulnerability to feelings of dejection is wholly linked to the degree of respect you have for that other human being.  Whether that's your employer, friend, spouse, sibling, parent.  Have a massive amount of respect for an individual?  Be aware of how that will expose your heart to their critiques - both positive and negative.

Whilst saying all of this, please don't in anyway discount your own inner critic.  I'm referring to that voice inside your own head that's adjudicating in real time, most every move you make.

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Back in June of  '20, my wife was in a rehab hospital (in Jackson) having had a stroke a few weeks prior.  Too (at this time), the pandemic was in full swing, therefore most everyone had shifted their mentality relative to physical contact with other human beings.  And lo and behold, a prospective (sizeable) business client came into focus (referral) - literally overnight -, and I reacted reflexively therein (in kind).  

The prospective client though was far, far away from the Jackson Metro.  Farther than any client I was then working with.  

Nonetheless, I made the trip, and in the end, they agreed to work with me and the solution I proposed for their business.  In fact, it literally was a picture-perfect (climate / cultural) fit.  And this client has not wavered in their loyalty to Rob since that first juncture.

Taking all of that into consideration, because of how absolutely torn I felt whilst making that first trip in June of 2020, I dread making the annual return trip (which I'll soon be doing).  For I remember clearly how doggedly my thoughts punished me for choosing to "leave my wife's side" (if only for a few days) during her "time of need".  Was I making a selfish, irresponsible move or not?  

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Yesterday evening, my middle daughter and I attended a banquet at the college she'll be attending this fall (as a freshman).  The banquet was held within a ballroom that I was asked to make a short presentation within back in 2011 whilst working as a Staff Architect for the State of Mississippi.  I remember what I chose to wear for that event as well a handful of the distinguished alums' reactions whilst speaking (me attempting to make eye contact with my audience).  I also remember my face heating up in shame as I spoke, and me wondering if anyone noticed my blushing.  

I remember sitting down after my few minutes of having the floor and berating myself internally for what I considered to be a completely worthless effort.  Wishing all the while that I was someone else entirely, both regarding my looks and how I sounded / presented myself.

Yet last night, once again, here I was within that exact same space all these years later.  Celebrating my daughter's achievements alongside hundreds of other parents.  Working to respectfully set in motion via my physical presence, her soon-to-be collegiate career.

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Angie (my wife) and I grew up together (we were friends within the youth group) at First Baptist Church Jackson.  She was one year (class) ahead of me, but nonetheless, we were both outcasts that gravitated towards each other platonically in kind.

When she went to Baylor after graduating from high school (Jackson Academy), two of our youth group classmates (within my class) joined her a year later out in Waco.  One of these young men, soon after his freshman year whilst being a student there, somehow remarkably - reinvented himself entirely.  

This reinvention occurred within the vein of him becoming absolutely zero effeminate acting / sounding.  Whilst making these mods, he also shed his southern drawl entirely.  This resulted in an exceedingly red-blooded, "all boy" / "man's man" kind of guy (which he most definitely was NOT during middle / high school) that coherently existed going forward.

I believe it's important to note that after his time at Baylor, he began working as a sociologist prior to becoming a (quite successful) published author, and then onto being appointed (at a remarkably young age) a University President.  Having heard him speak / preach from the pulpit (within the last decade) at FBC Jackson, it's astounding the level of masculine confidence that now radiates therein.  

It's literally as if Dr. Armitage from the film, Get Out, worked his neurosurgical magic (but on a white man), and I'm serious as a heart attack whilst saying that.

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In light of me choosing to not reinvent myself entirely (immediately following the aforementioned job loss), I can say that heading away from the pain (and those inflicting it) was a very smart move.  Considering those pragmatics, there was also a lot to be gained from not running too terribly far away (we returned to Jackson from the Mississippi Delta).  

I'll also leave you with this.  There's a lot that can be gained by re-living the past via future experiences.  Taking those settings / circumstances even, into account within that recognized present (where you're at today versus back then).  It presents a new perspective that can work opportunistically to re-frame the past.  That being said, we must permit that re-framing to happen.  And that can be awfully hard to do when we're still wrestling with unsettled feelings from the past.  

Was I making a selfish, irresponsible move or not? 

Re-Do This For Me, My Brother, & Let Not My (Or Your) Experience Be Anything Other Than My (Your) Very Own (Part 2)

Part 1 can be found here.

Another Samson Society "Men's Intensive" weekend just wrapped up in rural Holmes County, MS today.  I drove out there this afternoon to retrieve one of the attendees who needed a lift to JAN for a flight out.  This was the exact time of year I attended a "Deer Camp" weekend - at that exact location - back in 2014.  During the few minutes I was there this afternoon, I was able to see firsthand how the compound's many expansions have paid dividends relative bolstering a true sense of place.  There's now a sizable bathhouse, a lovely, covered seating area, and an impressive multi-purpose space (under construction, but very close to completion).  As such, this venue truly is maturing into more of a proper religious retreat center, relative to its amenities and functionality, versus coming across more as a franchise location for the Branch Davidians.  

The Samson guy I chaperoned to JAN was fast asleep within 15 minutes of our car ride out.  His head fell forward firstly, but eventually, he leaned back and snoozed quietly there in the passenger seat.  Today's steady precipitation had saturated the roadways.  As such, my Toyota cocooned his lean, still frame as the wipers repetitively cleared the windshield over the course of the hour drive.  

I couldn't help but be reminded of my own departure from that same place back in February of '14.  As a sort of benediction, the group of +/-30 men had been asked by Mr. Phil Hardin to identify an object to take with us that would serve as a reminder of why we'd come to the retreat.  I hastily chose a Wendy's restaurant kid's cup (litter) and announced (in turn) that it represented my "inner boy" who I was determined to now seek out intentionally.  I distinctly remember nonchalantly discarding that cup upon my return home in reflection of my pessimistic future outlook.  

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What remains in my mind, even after today's revisit, is how out of place that rural Holmes County venue made / makes me feel.  And of course, that's due to the impression it made all those years ago, during a time in my life when I was suffering tremendously.  

That emotional hijacking that Rob was experiencing (due to my September '13 job loss) took every fiber of my being to keep from overwhelming me.  I liken it to a swarm of killer bees that I was constantly having to flee from, yet that I could never completely outrun.  Therefore, I had nothing to spare of myself in regard to gratitude or serendipity.  Hence, I only saw black & white during this suffering.  And it was that polarized outlook which reliably stamped (toxified) my vision of this place permanently. 

And that sucks, but it also speaks to just how hopelessly shitty things were for Rob back then.  

It truly serves me, in a very profound way, as an Ebenezer.

Find A Way To Exploit Hope(fulness) As A Means To Strengthen Your Resolve To Choose Something Other Than Porn

My favorite attribute of my oldest daughter is her choosing to be hopeful.  She's wired opportunistically / positively, and it's infectious, and this certainly points her in the direction of her forecasting to be as such.  When you first meet her, her positive wiring might come across as trite, but it doesn't take long to realize that she's working her grey matter towards being a genuinely hopeful young lady.

This has worked in her favor relationally as a college student, particularly as it pertains to accruing friends.  Her cohorts gravitate therein in response to her more (seemingly) adult-like point-of-view (versus the stereotypical pessimistic adolescent).

Our other two daughters are optimists too, though it's most pronounced within our youngest (middle schooler).  As such, she's quite the anomaly as a tweenager (having become somewhat of an outlier as a result).   

Overall, I'm firmly resolved to thank God for their positive bents versus one that leans negative / pessimistic.  That being said, keep in mind that I'm biased in this regard for I too am an overall opportunistic / positive individual.  And you can blame my parents for this (they modeled it / passed it down).

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A handful of Samson guys that I / I've regularly chat(ted) with aren't the optimistic-types.  I actually find this refreshing and uniquely contrastive.  But what I am beginning to observe is how demanding their temperament can be relative to them compulsively turning to lust to emotionally placate / regulate.   

For an example, I offer the following (this scenario is based on hearsay):  Negative feelings encroach in response to doing some run-of-the-mill (psychological) assessment work and from there, reflexively - compulsive sexual sin pacifiers are feverishly grasped at.  

This is just one example of a negative (temperament) feedback loop.  And frankly, I do believe it's quite a tough one to rewire, particularly as a loner. 

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All this begs the question:  Can a melancholy Samson guy counteract this temperament?  More specifically, can he rebel against his emotional instincts long enough for him to choose to drawdown the necessary hope to directly combat his circumstantial kneejerk lustfix?  And can this leeching be sustained rhythmically enough - over time - for him to remove himself out his fatalistic rut?

Inquiring Samson minds want to know... 

Let's make an attempt at defining what hope is firstly before speculating further.

Hope is a feeling that's earned via intellect (mindfulness, if you will).  As such, I believe, it's much harder for dumbass people to experience it in droves.  Intellect powers sharp memories (both good and bad).  Memory is key to feeling hopeful as it serves as a framework relative to the (potential - in tandem with or opposite to) future.  

Compulsive behaviors such as drug / porn use "clog" / "cloud" the brain's synapses (proper thinking ability), and this is akin to making a person dillweed-like.  Therein, they lose their proper framework (smarts).

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Here's a specific example of how drug-use can steal one's ability to instinctively choose hope.

In 2012, a prominent local (Jackson Metro) attorney's son committed suicide.  Now, you must know that I have no reason to not believe wholeheartedly that this boy was also akin to choosing hope (sprungboard off of a positive mindset) as much or more as my aforementioned oldest daughter.  He was one of three boys, but unfortunately, he'd turned to both selling and using drugs whilst living / working out west (gap year post high school).  His prominent parents, in response to his heart-rending death, chose to take part in a speaking tour where they read his suicide note, indirectly warning audiences across the region of the dangers of drug use (whilst beautifully interweaving "Armor of God" scripture).  It was massively courageous on their part to give so freely out of their pain and suffering.

Thank you Taggarts!  (Some of my local heroes of the faith.)

One of the most interesting statements their son made within his suicide note had to do with his pre-suicidal mindset.  He noted the contrast between how drugs had noticeably diminished his intellect (primarily memory) in light of where he had been (pre-drug use).  From there, he renounced any hope of seeing his prior intelligence return.  This fatalistic assumption fostered his hopelessness which led to his suicide.  

And that was pretty much the gist of his hopeless letter.  A letter, again, written by an optimistically tempered, overall positive-minded young man who just happened to make some poor choices relative to drugs.

It's important to note that many professionals believe that chronic porn use can affect the brain similarly, particularly if it's coupled with masturbation.  

And that's what makes it and drug use notoriously difficult to see beyond / out of.  A number of therapist tagline this the "shame cycle".

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Once again:  

All this begs the question:  Can a melancholy Samson guy counteract this temperament?  More specifically, can he rebel against his emotional instincts long enough for him to choose to drawdown the necessary hope to directly combat his circumstantial kneejerk lustfix?  And can this leeching be sustained rhythmically enough - over time - for him to remove himself out his fatalistic rut?

Attraction is key.  Whether you're within an in-patient facility or working through a recovery program like Samson Society.  You must find yourself attracted enough to someone (who's far enough into their own personal sobriety) to trust them with your heart.  From there, their hope can transfer to you, effectively counteracting your persistently hopeless state of mind.  

What might impede this from happening?

-  Sometimes attraction is never given an opportunity because recovery colleagues aren't considered worthwhile enough (up to snuff), or simply the group itself is privately labeled a "freakfest".  

-  Clinical depression has reduced the man's outlook to nothing but intrusive emotional pain.  

What promulgates / perpetuates this attraction process?  

-  Spending time together on a regular basis.

-  Asking really good questions (cross referenced).

All the while being vulnerable.

Resolving With The Intimidator

This past weekend I attempted to reenact the workshop I lead at the 2022 National Samson Society Retreat (2022 Virtual Retreat).  I wasn't convinced going in that Zoom could facilitate well enough for this to occur, but I was wrong.  It worked beautifully. 

To my delight was a workshop attendee who I've known at a cursory level for a number of years.  Covertly, I've dubbed him "The Intimidator".  As Mr. Nate Larkin's best bud, he's ever present within the Samson Society community, even going so far as to lead - singlehandedly (& quite adeptly, I must add) - the 2020 National Retreat.  

"The Intimidator" is one of the most intelligent / articulate Samson Society guys I've ever had the good fortune to know of, but at the same time, there've been days when I simply wanted to punch his lights out (from a distance).  Nonetheless, I have to admit that what tends to offset that is his willingness to admit to some of the most asinine shenanigans I've likely ever heard spoken of (by a middle-aged college-educated guy).

I must admit, all this "from a distance" observation had made for a strange understanding of this guy.  An understanding that I simply had no idea might ever truly resolve itself (up close & personally).

'Till he showed up as an attendee of my virtual workshop during this past weekend's "Zoomed" retreat.

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One of my favorite (if not my favorite) Samson Society experiences is the notion of queue.  And when I refer to that, I'm speaking mostly from the standpoint of participating within the virtual / National Retreat community versus a local one (though it's an experience that's applicable to either).  The word queue is one of those words that's gained much use / credence via the theme park afficionado (relative to the endless line you must wait in prior to riding).  The word found its initial purpose whilst describing print files, especially related to needing to print various documents all "in line" (or queue), one after the other.  

The word to me though has more to do with "waiting your turn" and all the observational / anticipatory emotions therein.  In essence, it's just as much about attitude / outlook as it is necessity / pragmatism.  

Pertaining to Samson Society, queue embodies the idling that occurs between friendships taking shape.  It represents quietness and availability and observation.  Steadiness even, as you engage interpersonally within the greater community (on and onto your next friendship).

And as everyone knows, there're no shortage of opportunities within Samson Society for ever expanding friendships.  Including with those you'd never believe might actually take shape.

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I realize I may be unique regarding this seemingly zealous approach to Samson Society preparedness, but I have to believe that for Samson guys who do embrace the virtual meetings / National Retreat especially, there's bound to be an inkling of similarity to Rob.  As such, the possibilities are seemingly endless!   

In conclusion, I now have "The Intimidator's" personal cell phone #, and we've actually chatted therein (immediately following my virtual workshop).  From there, I believe we'll continue forward in due time, sharing personal stories / anecdotes in support of each other within the spirit of this great brotherhood i.e. growing our, now not from a distance, friendship.

Tribal(ism). America (Samson Society?) As Uganda / Haiti.

Tribalism is a word I never had any use for 'till recently.  Nonetheless, I believe it's becoming more and more relevant to present day western society.   Tribalism is a word that's rooted in survival.  That makes it quite different from other words that pertain to groups / grouping together.  A tribe is a unit that you depend on for sustenance.  Hence, it's overall exceedingly important to maintain / support / identify with without substantial loss occurring.

I have no idea why our society has become tribal.  Especially amongst Christians.  But, it most certainly has.  Perhaps social media is to blame.  If I were to take an explanatory stab at it, I'd start there.  

If America was like Uganda or Haiti, I could understand this tribalistic outlook, but that's not the case.  America is nothing like Uganda or Haiti.  Yet, many folks behave as if we are.  And this is a really, really weird development that's taking our society into uncharted territory.

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The primary (mothership) Samson Society face-to-face group I attended (beginning in August '14) here within the Jackson Metro eventually spawned an internalized tribe of Samson guys.  These men weren't just BFFs.  No, it went beyond that.  

Tribalism, of any ilk (here in America), within Samson Society or otherwise is nauseating to me.  And the reason for this is how retarded / lame it looks from the outside in.  Not to mention how it builds a difficult / intimidating-to-breach perimeter around said internalized group whilst instigating invisible rank.

I suppose you could feign me envious as an outsider of said tribe (gang?), but I assure you that this isn't the case.  

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What's even weirder about all of this is how we Samson guys are supposed to be loners.  Guys who find solace within isolation by default.  

I don't know.  I don't know what to think about this.

As an aside, our MTGA ("Make Thursdays Great Again") virtual Samson Society group is showing signs of "tribing up" similarly.  Interestingly enough, this sub-group uses social media ("Marco Polo") specifically to communicate "round-the-clock" internally.  

This is my critique:  I feel as if this tendency to be tribal puts too much unnecessary / wasteful emphasis on the group within the group.  Particularly outside of the bounds of regularly scheduled programming (Samson meetings).  

I'm not convinced that recovery really happens within connected-at-the-hip groups of guys because I haven't seen it firsthand.  

To Rob, recovery happens inside you yourself and alongside other SINGULAR Samson men.  Oftentimes, speaking personally, numerous INDIVIDUAL Samson men.  Over a lengthy period of time.  As friendships come and go.  Ebb and flow.  Over the course of many, many years.

Maybe the tribalistic approach (Marco Polo, etc.) is an attempt to accelerate / turbocharge that one-on-one walk nontraditionally.  

I just don't know how you intimately rub shoulders with so many guys simultaneously and clearly hear God's voice therein.  To me, it's like an orgy, and therefore, too many body parts to keep up with.  

Yuck.  No thanks.  Tribalism feels too much like American politics.  Or...brainwashing.  Versus thinking / analyzing one's recovery critically and with great intention.

The Isolating Distortion That's Ushered In Via Paranoia

 

Paranoid people have a propensity to twist almost everything you do for them.  They'll do the same with whatever you say to or about them (even if it's obviously said in harmless fun).  Like the definition states above:  "They take nothing at face value".  

Besides my father, I encountered my first paranoid adult in the form of my first boss (back in 1995).  That relationship was short-lived (I was laid off after +/-1 year).  Boss #3 (real job #3) served to reanimate that exact same experience.  

Initially, I didn't see this bossman's paranoia (it had been some time since I'd experienced this relationally within a vocational setting), but eventually, I recognized it clearly for what it was (along with my vocational colleagues).  Due to the fact that this was a state government position, my boss' paranoia was somewhat easier to stomach overall - day in and day out.  That being said, over time, it did become overbearing.

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What can be done whilst forced to engage with paranoid individuals (parental / vocational / volunteer)?

[& please know this is assuming the paranoid person isn't aware / willing to take ownership of said paranoia.]

Separate yourself.  And not necessarily physically but emotionally.  And the reason I recommend this is to be best prepared to guard your own heart from their accusations (which can be exceedingly hurtful / confusing).  

When paranoid people feel threatened, their rational mind runs screaming from the building.  And this is when everything goes ape shit (for both you and them if they're in any position of authority over you).

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What is a root cause of paranoia?

I believe in many cases it's self-loathing.  Self-loathing that refuses to permit the paranoid individual from trusting by default.  

So, who do these individuals trust?  Anyone?

Based on my observations, I believe they trust, much more easily, individuals who're publicized as trustworthy.  For example, television / radio personalities / authors / pastors and certain entertainers.  Obviously, these are all professional trust-sellers who've garnered fame by popularizing trust in they themselves, their philosophy, story, etc.  

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Enjoy walking on eggshells and subsequently being exhausted?  Hang out with the paranoid.    

Even better, go marry or work for one.  

Insinuating The Ultimatum / Rerun relationship

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

How did this unique precedent-setting relationship originate?  

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

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

Until it wasn't.  

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

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

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

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

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

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So, why did I do this?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Why bring all of this up?

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

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

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

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

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

Please pray for Rob regarding this rerun relationship.

Intrigued / Taken Aback By One Heck Of A Barrel-Chested Pastor

 

I'm fairly certain, over the course of my adult life, that I've never encountered my masculine archetype preaching from within the pulpit, but this morning was the exception.  What I'm referring to is the physical build / attributes of men that I'm sexually attracted to.  In order to break this down, I'll offer up the following extensive list:

-  my height or (preferably) taller

-  dark skin

-  dark hair

-  lots of body hair (but not necessarily facial hair)

-  balding / bald

-  athletically built / exceedingly muscular (sans steroids)

-  below average waistline

-  stocky / barrel chested / "stout" / swole / buff

-  medium to deep voice

-  athletically-cut short-sleeved shirts, shorts / pants that are tight around the ass

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This morning during the church service I attended (where the pastor in the photo above delivered the sermon), I found myself having to get up from my seat and exit the auditorium (about 12 minutes into his delivery).  I simply couldn't take my eyes off his nipples; for they were clearly visible (& I was seated midway back within the darkened 400+ seat auditorium) through his shirt(s).  I kept wondering if they actually might be as sizable as a female's are, taking into consideration how pronounced his pecs (breasts) were.  

Too, I wanted to find out more about this gorgeous man in short order, therefore I hoped (forlornly) to locate some sort of church info literature (hard copy) out in the "Pre-Function" space (keep in mind that I'd never stepped foot into this church prior to this AM). 

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During the portion of his sermon that I did hear, he cited starting each day really early in order to "hit the gym".  No doubt, his impressive physique testified to this regime.  But too, it was his demeanor / confidence combined with his slacker apparel (for he was dressed identically this AM to how he was photographed above) that all played into his sex appeal.

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You've heard of the Billy Graham rule.  It's centered on a pastor's "rules of engagement" relative to the opposite sex, particularly as it relates to private interaction / dialogue.  But one thing that's rarely talked about, in tandem therein, is Billy Graham himself.  In particular, how he presented himself to the millions upon millions of "parishioners" who he had the privilege of preaching to.  Decade after decade.

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Off the charts sex appeal, for men at least, is a result of both blessed DNA and consistently hard work.  Hard work that for some individuals is quite enjoyable to engage in on a repeated basis.  Perhaps these great habits took root for these men in high school / college, and they've since never relinquished the routine.  Bravo!  For looking fine and being in exceptional health are wonderfully collaborative goals.  

But,

pastors who are as such, need to realize they're facing individuals like Rob, every time they stand up to speak.  And I believe this should give them pause.  Enough, at least, for them to take the time to ponder the entirety of their audience of this present age.  

What does this mean for these pastors?  Here're a few of my thoughts therein.

1.  Parishioners who "fall in love" with a pastor's sexiness, can't possibly listen (test) without prejudice.

2.  Putting confidence in a pastor's looks is going to make demands of him that eventually (disability, advanced age, chronic illness, demands of life) will become impossible to meet.  

3.  Becoming expectant (enmeshed within) of those inevitable attractions between himself (hunk pastor) and select parishioners (same or opposite sex) may eventually weaken a pastor's resolve to never seduce.  And seduction's intent is never, ever good. 

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I suppose now I can say that I've truly seen it all after this Sunday's service.

Lagniappe

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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