Either Remove Yourself From The "Handful" Or HOLD ON 'Till Opportunity Presents Itself To

 

This thought-provoking illustration could easily be a reference piece of an imaginative Hollywood screenwriter.  Perhaps he / she's dreaming up yet another misunderstood villain (antihero?) for us his purported audience to love / hate.  

Think of the Beth Dutton, JR Ewing, Brenda Walshes specifically, and you'll understand where I'm coming from.

They're a lot more interesting to watch than Fred Rogers, aren't they?

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Television characters must exist on a disproportioned spectrum of reality.  This is an outgrowth of theater where everything must be larger-than-life to truly be entertaining / keep the audience's attention.

But what gives when you find yourself living alongside one (or more) of these?  Where do you go from there?

You know the answer to that one.  Get the hell out of dodge.

Let's discuss the harder part of this equation.  Preparing yourself to face these folks.  Identification is key.

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My closest female friend in high school, Shannon, was one year my senior.  She was very mature for her age and quite the contrarian when it came to both her style and interests.  Shannon came from an upper-class family whereas I was very much middle-class.  Her (Golden State) mother had remarried her attorney (Magnolia State) father after losing her first husband (Navy sailor) in a tragic submarine vanish.  Both Shannon and her younger brother came from that second betrothal.  This now blended family (her mother had birthed two daughters from her first husband) was one I always found intriguing to hang with as a teen for they were SO VERY unlike any other family I was close to.  

And that unlikeness was spearheaded by Shannon's mom.  A typical Mississippi suburban mom of the 1980s she was most definitely not.  It was always a bit intimidating engaging with Jolene, even in passing (& I was by no means a shy teen).  She was so intelligent, opinionated and articulate.  The complete opposite of the familiar folksy, sweet and cornpone.

But I digress...

Shannon had an admirer who was two (or maybe three) years her junior at our small private academy.  This younger girl was also in the marching band with Shannon (& I) even though she was only in middle school at the time.  

It became immediately apparent to everyone that this young admirer was not at all well as it pertained to her admiration (obsession) of Shannon.  For her behavior towards herself, Shannon and everyone else became unusually out of character for a middle-school girl.  

How Shannon coolly handled this younger girl was absolutely empowering to witness.  It was as if my friend literally had been born to navigate the relational dangers / complexities she'd found herself now saddled with.  

I still look back on that with intrigue (as well as heartache).  In the end, the younger girl was removed from school and institutionalized.  Post release, she thankfully didn't return ot our small school.  Nevertheless, I admired Shannon that much more for what she'd endured and modeled with such civility / compassion towards this junior (high) admirer.  

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Shannon immediately identified her relationship with this younger girl as problematic.  Especially so considering her somewhat "forced proximity" to her (fellow schoolmate / marching band member).  From there, she did everything she could to shield herself from the girl.  Much of her strategy consisted of fencing herself in via healthy, supportive friends.  

But firstly, the miracle herein was her deep-seated sense of self protection versus what you might typically see from a female teen (manipulation, harassment, pandering, entitlement) who was the subject of said emotional (& eventually physical) stalking.  

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Your well-being matters firstly.  Even when you're tempted to compromise that in return for some prospective future reward / promotion / solidification / gratification.  It's important to remember that.  No matter the "rank" / position of family / friends / employers / leaders within your sphere of influence (or theirs), the most important consideration is your health firstly.  For you cannot walk back stupid.  For stupid is a past tense verb. 

In closing, if it's not feasible to physically fence yourself in with healthier relations in light of the unhealthy influence, take the time to do so with God's spirit BEFORE engaging with the "handful".  You most certainly can figuratively get the hell out of dodge via the Lord blanketing you throughout.  Bank on that, don't lose hope.       

Oh, Henry...

Of all the Samson guys I've had the privilege to befriend, Henry was the one I learned from the most.  He showed up at a face-to-face Samson meeting I was facilitating (2018?), having been invited by a mutual friend.  Immediately, he asked for me to be his Silas (he'd been smitten by Rob's authentic self, crassness, and propensity to encourage), and from there, we were off and running.

Henry was unlike any Samson guy I'd ever met.  Eventually, I discovered why.  He was depressed...perhaps even clinically depressed and had been throughout much of his life.  In spite of his youthful vitality (he was in his late 20s), it was apparent that something was off relative to this extremely intelligent, ambitious young man.  

Henry was very successful for his age.  He had a beautiful wife, multiple small children and a position at a large international corporation that paid handsomely.  But, like so many people who struggle with depression, Henry was easily agitated and very moody.  Too, he simply had little, if any spark, at all, for living life.  As such, he had few friends / little interests in making friends.  His stock rejection recusal was as follows:  "It's their loss, not mine..."

Because of his seemingly lifelong depressed state, he medicated himself with sex / lust, and this brought on tremendous guilt (Henry was a devout Christian).  Particularly considering that he was a homeschooled pastor's son (who loved his parents fervently) who just happened to be reared within the Deep South.  

The humdinger regret for Henry was his past (years-long) fornication with his sweet wife.  They went about this whilst being in college together (he was a commuter / she was living within the dorm).  The shame / regret therein regarding this carnal disobedience to God's word seemed to have stained Henry's soul permanently.  Yet, the virgin excitement / passion had effectively worked as a distraction to his depression.

As a run up to this, Internet porn / sexual fantasies effectively distracted too as Henry dealt with run-of-the-mill adolescent (high school years) rejection from both the opposite (romantic relationships) and same (platonic) sex.  Once he was gifted a laptop from his parents, (remember he was a saintly homeschooler) he dove right into the online fun - unfettered / unmonitored.

Henry rationalized this behavior via what he described as "anger towards God" (primarily as a result of romantic rejection), but I never bought it.  Instead, I now believe it was solely his depressed state that he was looking to buoy against.

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So, what did I learn from my then friend, Henry?

No amount of anything from me could truly help Henry because Henry refused to acknowledge his depression.  

Too, Henry believed therapists were a waste of time.

I can remember actively attempting to encourage my friend, Henry (as a husband, father, worker bee), yet in spite of our friendship, it was apparent that everything within his field of view was marginalized by his depression.  

Eventually, this young man turned on me via slander as he attempted to setback friendships I'd pre-Henry / concurrently established with mutual Samson guys.  (This was his attempt to absolutely be IN THE RIGHT.)

From there, he stopped communicating with me.  

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Fast forward to today.  

I have two active Samson friends who're taking prescription meds to manage clinical depression.  Both are successful husbands / fathers / businessmen just as Henry was, yet both admitted (years before I had the privilege to befriend them) that there was something else going on - in the background of their minds, so to speak - that was hindering them day to day.

Both of these men talk openly about their meds and how they've found hope via their prescriptions.  They also regularly meet with their psychiatrist regarding these drugs relative to being closely monitored therein.  

How different would Henry's life might have looked had he been properly diagnosed and treated (as a teenager) for his depression?  Specifically, would this homeschooled pastor's son chosen to not repeatedly fornicate (his greatest moral regret) with his girlfriend - within her dorm room, over a two-year period, in advance of their nuptials?  Would he have been less susceptible to brood regarding nascent romantic rejection, thereby reducing the pull towards concretized, rebellious online habits (porn consumption)?

When I first befriended Henry, his marriage was on the rocks, due to him being captivated by a sultry female colleague at work and their "friendship" therein.  This colleague was in no way a good fit for him, but he was so emotionally numb, she (her sultriness / mysteriously "mature" sensuality) was no doubt a fitting distraction to his mental illness.   

And it's that word, distraction, that Henry was always looking for.  In the end, I believe it too was all our friendship amounted to.  For his depression was far greater than anything else within his life.

Oh, Henry.  I pray you've sought out professional help.

Lagniappe

Recommended Reading

 20 Healthy Marriage Habits I've Learned In My 30 Years As A Psychotherapist (msn.com)

Rob's Colonoscopy

It's done, and I must say that the pleasantest surprise was being served by such beautiful folks there at GI Associates.  My colon felt as if it was in Southern California.  The nurse anesthetist and the GI doc, no doubt, just stepped out of Colonoscopy GQ / Vogue.  Wow.  They were sizzling (even at 6:30 AM).

I'd almost do it all over again knowing I could spend an hour or so with those two.     

(Still Wondering...) "WHY???" Feat. Long Long Journey

 

Never give in. Never give in. Never, never, never, never--in nothing, great or small, large or petty--never give in, except to convictions of honour and good sense. Never yield to force. Never yield to the apparently overwhelming might of the enemy. 

~ Winston Churchill ~

     Approximately eleven months ago, I originally published this blog entry titled "Why???" At the time I published it, I was still reeling from the devastating news that a young man that I'd previously mentored, Ethan, had recently committed suicide. My emotions were still pretty raw and all over the place when I originally wrote this. Even to this day (nearly a year later), I continue to wrestle with the question "WHY." Hence, the post title (Still Wondering...) "WHY???"

    The three question marks at the end of the question why represent the three men I referenced in my post. Jarrid took his life in September 2019. Ethan in October 2021. Marvin in October or November 2011. 

    September marks National Suicide Prevention month in the United States. Always remember this: you are not alone. Reach out...to anyone. You are loved. You are worth living. Your life means something to someone. Don't loose hope. And as Churchill said, "...never yield to the apparently overwhelming might of the enemy."

 

I am currently in the midst of one of the greatest challenges that I have ever experienced during my 41-year-old life. This challenge has presented itself in the form of raising my seven, soon to be an eight-year-old son. My son’s brain constantly moves at warp speed. He is brilliant. No, I don’t say that simply because he is my son and I am a proud father (even though it is true, I am a proud dad). I say that in a matter-of-fact way because there are simply no other words to describe him. And since my son was adopted, there is no way on God’s green earth that he got it from me.

         All my son’s older brothers have been blessed in that they are exceptionally intellectually gifted. We had the boy who is next oldest to my son for about a year before they removed him and sent him back home. That is a story for another day and was a heartache that we three have still not recovered from. During the year that we had my son’s brother, he was in first grade, and it quickly became evident that he was extremely intelligent and academically gifted. At that time, my son was four and still in preschool. My wife and I often wondered whether he would follow, academically, in the footsteps of his older brother. My mom (a teacher for 30+ years) once gave us a wise piece of advice when she told us  “not compare him to any of his brothers, and to simply let him be the child that he was going to be in his own way.” Well, the proverbial apple did not fall far from the family tree. Despite his rough start in life, my son is simply brilliant. His little mind is growing and churning out new ideas and moving 1,000,000 miles a minute every single day. It is sometimes exhausting for this old dad to keep up with him. I pray for his teacher every single day. As you can imagine, this presents some serious challenges for mom and dad. Even though he is not quite yet eight, my son possesses a large and in charge type A personality. He is a natural-born leader, and he has never been a follower. I am afraid that he will never be a follower (except for, hopefully, a follower of Christ!).

            This little eight-year-old blessing is something that my wife and I deal with every day, as we try to constructively guide him through life while also encouraging him to be a fiercely independent problem solver. My kid is so analytical; this is evidenced in that he loves to argue about anything. I have always joked that he is going to make an excellent defense attorney one day because he can argue his way out of anything (and does so quite convincingly). Another challenge that comes along with raising my son is answering the million “why” questions that he fields my way every single day. “Why does this happen, daddy” or “why does this work this way, daddy” or “what makes X equal Y” and on and on and on. Now, although it may seem like I am griping a tad bit here, that is not the case. From the moment he first started talking, I have always encouraged my son to ask me all the questions he wishes to ask. I tell my son the same thing that I always told my students when I was teaching: “there are no dumb questions.” So, I am happy that my son is asking questions even though it does sometimes get old trying to come up with the answers to some of his questions!

            “WHY???” I would dare say that no other three-letter word in the English language contains the power packed into this small, unassuming word. “Why” is a word that invites questioning, and self-examination within oneself. Indeed, it demands introspection and invites conversation in general. “Why” is a word that can be both simultaneously maddening and enlightening.

            When we ask “why” and the person of whom we are asking the question delivers a satisfactory answer, the word grants us immediate gratification and resolution. We get an answer to the question “why.” However, the same word can also be maddening at times. When something befalls us or we are forced to go through something that we feel like we should not have gone through, our human nature is to question God “why?” Of course, during those instances, the use of the word looks more akin to this: “WHY???!!!”

I learned many years ago, as a youth, to never put anyone on a pedestal. As I discovered in my youth, if you put someone on a pedestal, they will eventually fall off the pedestal and then the weight of them crashing down will seriously wound you. When I was in high school, I had a youth pastor that I was very close to and really loved. I think that he was the first person that I ever put on a pedestal in a church situation. As a youth, I was not as strong in my faith, and I was a lot more vulnerable. One day, I watched my youth pastor fall off the pedestal during a church camp one summer. I was absolutely crushed. I was devastated. I never looked at him the same again. From that moment on, I made a deal with God: I would never put any fallible human on a pedestal ever again. No, that did not mean that I would not love people or even try to trust them, it just meant that I would not hold them to such a high standard that it would eventually set them up for failure.

            I am not big on social media at all. I just don’t really see the purpose of it (other than occasionally keeping up with old friends that live many states away). Real-life happens right in front of you – it happens in the muddy trenches when you are barely surviving, and it happens on top of the mountains; regardless, it happens with the people that you love who are actively a part of your life, in real life. Real-life means that you can reach out and actively touch a person such as giving them a hug in church, or having a cup of coffee with them. You can’t do that via social media. But there was a time in my life about six or seven years ago when I was pretty involved with Twitter. I never posted much of anything on Twitter, but I followed a number of motivational accounts from which I drew great encouragement. I found encouragement through the devotionals and motivational thoughts shared by pastors and other motivational speakers.

            There was a young man named Jarrid that I started following on Twitter. Jarrid was an up-and-coming young pastor who was on staff at a large church in California. For some reason, the words that Jarrid shared on Twitter and on his personal blog resonated deeply with me and spoke to me. I was going through a bad bout of depression in my life during that time, and even though Jarrid seemed to have it all together (he was a pastor) and had a beautiful family who loved him, Jarrid also suffered greatly from depression. Everything that Jarrid spoke about related to depression and suicide prevention came from the trenches of his own experience and it really resonated with me; I knew at the time that it was God giving me messages of hope through this young man. I never did put Jarrid on a pedestal (I learned my lesson, remember), but I did hold his words in high esteem, and I sincerely looked forward to every new thought that he shared on Twitter and every new devotional that he published on his blog. Even though I never met him in person, I felt such a strong connection with him and it was almost like we were kindred spirits fighting our way through the darkness of depression and trying to find the light of life once again.

            I’ll never forget one of the last things that Jarrid posted. It was around National Suicide Prevention Day back in 2019. Jarrid spoke of how life was so precious, and he encouraged anyone fighting the darkness to reach out to him or to anyone else who could hold out a hand to grab onto. And then his words stopped. There were no more tweets, no more blog posts, no more anything. And then I found out. This young pastor, this man of God, this kindred spirit who had touched my life, was dead by his own hand. A mere few hours after his son’s ballgame, he ended his own life. He killed himself right after he wrote what he did for National Suicide Prevention Day. Even though I had never met Jarrid in person, my heart was truly broken and I asked God:

 “WHY!?”

 Jarrid left behind a lovely wife and a beautiful family. All I could think of was that it was such a waste of a good life and that there were so many more lives he could’ve touched. Truly, there was so much more that God could have used him to accomplish. I felt cheated, I felt robbed, and I felt so heartbroken for his family.

“Why, Jarrid???”

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            One of my dad’s good friends from his years of living in Meridian was a man named Marvin. Marvin was a good guy, and he was a very strong believer as well. He and my parents went to church together in Meridian. Marvin and my dad would go hunting together, and they always enjoyed getting together to shoot the breeze. When my dad left Meridian, Marvin was one of the few people that he kept in contact with. After my dad moved from Meridian, Marvin’s health started failing him in several ways. My dad went back to Meridian a couple of times to visit Marvin, to check up on him, and just to spend time with him because Marvin was lonely. But life goes on, and time and distance have a way of interfering with relationships.

I remember one of the last phone conversations that my dad had with Marvin. Marvin told my dad that he was going through a rough patch and really needed to see him. My dad talked with Marvin for a while and assured him that he would make the trip to Meridian the next week to see him, but that he had a lot going on during the current week. My dad thought he could wait a week to go see Marvin.

A few days later, Marvin’s neighbor texted my dad. My dad said that it was probably the worst text he has ever received. The neighbor’s text was to inform my dad that Marvin had gone into the woods behind his cabin where he proceeded to shoot himself in the head. I don’t think that I have ever seen my dad quite as emotional except during his mother’s (my late grandmother’s) funeral. That was an incredibly tough blow for my dad, and he questioned God for months afterward. “Why did you let Marvin take his own life.” “Why did I not take the time to go to Meridian on the day that Marvin called me and needed me?” I don’t believe I have ever seen my dad quite so mentally anguished before. He felt so incredibly guilty for a long time after that, but he eventually came to terms with the fact he most likely could not have saved Marvin no matter what.

“Why, Marvin???”

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            In my late 20s and in my early 30s, I was involved with an international prison ministry that had a local chapter in one of our state prisons. It was something that I never desired to get involved with nor did I want anything to do with. But God had other plans. Out of that initial prison ministry, I later branched into other areas such as mentoring juvenile offenders and mentoring older guys who were within a year of being released. Back in 2012 and 2013, I was a part of the collaborative reentry program that was started by Stuart Kellogg of Jackson Mississippi, and I had the opportunity to mentor three men through that program. The last young man that I ever mentored as part of that program was a young fella named Ethan. Ethan had a sad story, and he had found himself locked in prison at the ripe young age of 20 due to a tragedy that he had been involved in. Another guy named Mickey and I were assigned to Ethan to become his mentor. Twice a month for the next year, we went into prison and mentored Ethan one on one through sharing personal testimonies and a Bible study. Those were some of the sweetest times that I have ever been privileged to be a part of.

Ethan possessed such a gentle soul; he was kind, he was humble, he was eager to learn, and he loved the Lord. Ethan was a gifted writer and a great wordsmith; his grandmother owned a small weekly newspaper in Alabama, and Ethan had the unique opportunity to write weekly articles of encouragement for the newspaper. His column was titled “Penned behind Bars.” Ethan was a very unique writer; I can unabashedly say that having read hundreds of great (and not so great) essays written by students over the years. A talent like Ethan possessed can only be a gift from God. As an English teacher and fellow writer, it was my pleasure to both mentor and encourage Ethan as he grew in his writing ability.

After he got out of prison, Ethan briefly attended USM in Hattiesburg before moving to Alabama to take over as the assistant editor of his grandmother’s weekly newspaper. I kept up with Ethan via text message and through social media, but I eventually got busy raising my own son. I never forgot Ethan, and never forgot those special moments that we three shared behind the walls of a prison. Ethan had his ups and downs, and I knew that he went through a couple of rough patches over the past few years. But he seemed to have leveled out over the last year or so, and was very successful in his endeavors. He was an award-winning writer and journalist. I did not really talk to Ethan much lately, but I had kept up with him.

             Three weeks ago, I received word from Ethan’s mother. He had shot himself, and she found him lying on the floor of the newspaper office in Alabama. Words just simply don’t exist that could ever describe how heartbroken I was. I was absolutely crushed, sick to my stomach, devastated, and absolutely torn apart. I still am some days. Ethan was 30 years old, and he had his whole life ahead of him. I experienced an entire gamut of emotions on the day that I found out; they ranged from extreme anger at Ethan’s selfishness to extreme sadness for his family’s loss and everything in between. Ethan was a strong believer; I made sure of that. If there is any consolation I have, it is that I know for a fact that Ethan was a child of God.

“Why, Ethan???”

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In each of these instances, I have raised the question “why?” Why did these three individuals (all strong believers of God) commit the ultimate act of selfishness? But you know something? As I asked myself “why” during each of these three times, a little voice in the back of my head whispered, “you know why, Stephen….” And, I, unfortunately, do know why.

I know why because I have been in the place that Jarrid, Marvin, and Ethan have been in. The only difference between my situation and theirs is that when they reached the door at the end of that long, dark, tunnel, they stepped through it and closed the door behind them. I have been to that place. I have been to the end of that tunnel, and I have opened, then peeked through that door. I have seen the freedom from pain, and the new and glorious morning that lies on the other side of that door. But each time, I heard God say “no, not yet.”

That long, dark, tunnel is a very scary place to be. You can’t see anything. There’s nothing above you, nothing below you, and nothing on either side of you. There is just blackness. At the far end of the tunnel, you can see the light shining under the door, a small sliver of hope that mysteriously beckons you toward it.

But to open that door and to step through would cause those left behind on earth to endure immeasurable pain. It pains me to say this, but there was a time several years ago when I came so very close. I had a plan, and it was a great plan. But I heard God saying “no, not yet.” And so, I fought, with everything that I had inside of me. I clawed my way back to the other side of that tunnel, and I eventually found the light of this world again.

That is my story. I cannot speak for Jarrid, Marvin, or Ethan. I cannot tell you what went through their minds during their final moments or what caused them to commit the ultimate act of selfishness. But I can speak for myself. And I would almost be willing to bet that their thoughts in their final moments were very similar to mine. I am a natural loner. I love to isolate. And that is a very dangerous thing for me. 2020 was a dangerous year for me. There have been other times of darkness since that moment I experienced in the tunnel a few years ago, but they have not been nearly as bad. I have caught myself passing by the tunnel on occasion, and for a brief moment and I found myself just wanting to jump into the darkness again and head towards that light peeking under the door. But I knew that I could not do that. And so, with God’s help, I have been able to drag myself away from the tunnel each time.

I will always miss Jarrid even though I never met him. And I will most definitely always miss Ethan. I loved Ethan, and I was so proud of who he had become. My dad still to this day misses Marvin. There are some pastors out there who made the argument that if a believer commits suicide, it is an automatic ticket to hell. I have heard that said before. I was talking to my own pastor earlier this year because he had a good friend on staff at his previous church who committed suicide a few years back. It was something that really tore him up for a long time. He and I had a long and fruitful discussion, and I told him about my journey through the tunnel. He assured me that even though he believes that it is the ultimate act of selfishness, he also firmly believes that believers who have chosen to end their lives early are in the arms of Jesus. I have no doubt that Jarrid, Marvin, and Ethan are resting in the arms of Jesus and that their pain is finally healed. And you know, there are some days that I am jealous. I am jealous that they got to see Jesus and I’m not able to yet. They got the ultimate remedy. But each time I feel that jealously coming on, I hear God whisper “I am not done with you.” And so, I wait.

I love answering the questions that my son throws at me each day. I often tell him that I don’t know the answer to every question, but that I can certainly try to find out the answer to why. I don’t want my wife to ever have to ask the question “Why, Stephen???” or my son to have to ask the question “Why, daddy???” So I continue to hold on. And even in those moments when I feel like I can’t hold on anymore, I know that God will never let go of me and he will continue to hold on to me. "Why he let go of me" is a question that I’ll never have to ask!

Have You Too Been Hoodwinked Into Idolizing The Human Body?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lagniappe

Recommended Reading

 Digital Addictions Are Drowning Us in Dopamine - WSJ

Angie's Gift / Rob's Reward

The first two years of my marriage to Angie were completely unexpected but also indirectly endearing.  Angie spent those years in bondage to the throes of general anxiety disorder while I sat back in awe & pity of how debilitating a mental illness could be to an individual.

Angie's descent (if you will) synchronized with our honeymoon trip to east TN.  Therefore, by day three or four, we were both good and ready to return home (for there was no fun to be had in spite of our best efforts).  

General anxiety disorder is caused by the brain undeterminably releasing adrenalin in spades, keeping the individual's mind / body within a heightened state of alert for an extended period of time - days and days if not weeks and weeks on end.

As a result of this, Angie, in particular, was consumed with the fear of dying despite her being the picture of perfect health.  Therefore, she abhorred being left alone for fear of being assaulted / murdered whilst constantly pondering her impending doom via an "around the corner" imagined health crises (cancer, brain tumor, etc.) of some ilk.  

It didn't take me long to realize that it was her brain that was sick, and that with the proper treatment, she could find healing for that particular organ.  And once treatment ensued, she did get better.  But during this time, all I could do was wait it out, pray and try my darndest to patiently listen to my young wife's constant emotional pain.  As a result, I felt helpless but determined to see this crisis through, and in a way, I was grateful to have the opportunity as her newfound husband to "show my stuff".

The resurfacing (if you will) of the Angie I dated / became engaged to happened right at the two year mark, and it happened quickly.  From there, she stopped her medication and took an extended break from therapy, having learned coping skills that have been (literally) a lifesaver over the past 25 years.

And, as a result, our marriage then began as expected (at year one) during year three.

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One of the greatest virtues of only being sexually attracted to Angie (due to my same sex attraction) is my inability / disinterest in even serendipitously "playing the field".  Therefore, during this difficult season at the beginning of our marriage, I found it simple enough to keep my eyes on her the entire time.  Never once even fantasizing of the possibility of being married to someone else.  And, of course, even then, I knew this was a very special gift indeed.  

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But what didn't do me any favors during this important developmental season was how isolated I became emotionally - from both myself and my wife - as she attempted to keep her head above the waters of mental illness.  For the few individuals I did share her emotional turmoil with simply couldn't relate to what we were in the thick of, and as a result, I ceased opening up to them relative to her ongoing suffering.

In looking back, I believe something which should have taken root in me as Angie's new husband during those important developmental years unfortunately did not.  And I believe that something had much to do - on down the road - with me being unable to see myself qualitatively as a proper husband should.

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Now, let me speak in general terms here regarding my thoughts on newlywedom.

Those early years of marriage should represent a season of affirmation between spouses as the two merge into - as the Bible describes it - one flesh.  This didn't happen between Angie and I.  It couldn't.  She was too sick, and I was too focused on nursing her through her sickness.  As a result, I've really struggled with seeing myself - as her husband - with any clarity whatsoever over the past 25 years.  As such, I don't hold any ill will against Angie for this.  But, I am keenly aware of how God's working today to repair that damage, in and through my sweet wife and her continued physical recovery from her May 29, 2020 stroke.

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Angie's recovery from last year's stroke is truly remarkable, but over the past few weeks, I've seen an uptick in her physical strength and stamina that's literally lit a fire in my gut.

Pre-stroke, Angie would strength train at the Y with me - on occasion, but she never really warmed up to it.  It was always apparent that she simply wasn't comfortable there.  Plus, sweating for Angie makes her super embarrassed / conscientious.  

But today, that's changed.  Not only is she more comfortable, but she's willing to work (& subsequently perspire) much harder than I've ever seen her choose to do.

You should know that when she does certain exercises, because of the loss of strength / mobility within her left arm (as a result of her stroke), she looks disabled (or hungover).  And this really used to bother her.  But today, her strength gains have superseded that shame.  One of the coolest things to witness is her on the rowing machine.  She's like a CrossFitter, determined to stay ahead of her fellow exercise zealots.

She's also tracking her steps everyday with one of those watches.  And though I never really thought much about that in the past, based on what I know today, it's an equally important means to an end.

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So how does this impact Rob positively?  

Unlike my experience with Angie as my new anxiety-crippled wife 25 years ago, this Angie, I feel I can actually do something to assist.  And as such, it assists me.  How?  By affirming me as her husband.  Particularly as it pertains to my passion for strength training and the sacredness (if you will - to me) of the gym.  Having her there with me, and seeing her engage as she's been engaging - for her own sake - is remarkably rewarding / affirming to witness.  

Therefore, while she's doing her thing on one side of the gymspace, I'm doing my own.  Yet, I can't help but know intrinsically where she's at (& not just within the physical space), and as such, I find that I can see myself much more clearly as a result of this newfound duality / synergistic experience.

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Last fall, I went with my Silas to a CrossFit competition in south Mississippi.  I wasn't there to compete but to observe (only one observer was permitted due to COVID-19 restrictions), and as such, it was a privilege.  Throughout the day, I watched with interest as my athletic Silas worked in tandem with his teammate (an old friend from his college days), facing off against 5-6 other 2-man teams.  And unsurprisingly, their team of two won the competition!  

What that experience did for me was promulgate trust between myself and my Silas.  For not only was I on his home turf, but I was sorta formally ushered into his circle of old friends (many of which were on site) via that experience.  And that was extremely cool.

But, I don't typically gain visual acuity of me myself by spending time with my Silas.  Instead, I tend to focus on him and where he's at presently.  

He and I are so similarly tempered that there's not a whole lot that's not already been stated (and heard).  Therefore, our time together is just enjoyable for me.  Easy.  Natural.  Unhard.  Brotherly.

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I want Angie to keep getting stronger, and as such, I want to continue making up for lost time as her new husband.  I like seeing myself - finally - as something other than ?.

God is good.

Lagniappe

Craving Beauty - Where To Turn When Naked People Having Sex (Internet Porn) Is Off-Limits To Your Eyeballs

If you only see smut as simply wretchedness whose sole purpose is to usher your mind towards the fires of hell, you're over simplifying.

Sex was created by God, and this is not in Satan's best interest for us to remember.

Man / woman was created by God as image bearers of God himself, and this too is not in Satan's best interest for us to remember.

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One of the primary similarities between my Silas and I is our tendency to gravitate towards high-caliber beauty.  And taking the purview of Samson Society into consideration, this primarily (for our contextual purposes) pertains to smut.  Therefore, for he and I, we're likely going to be far more interested in top-tier sources of smut than anything minutely smitten with the aroma of homebrew, naked-people-next-door porn.

Why is this?

Because we're super intelligent, sophisticated gents.  That's why.

No.  I'm only kidding.  It's just the way we're wired.  But it's cool nonetheless, having this similarity.

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Last week, the Turners spent our Spring Break in Sandestin, FL.  We've had the good fortune of visiting there many times in the past, but what was different this time around was our exact condo location relative to the beach.  Due to last week's adjacency to the white sands, we spent more time than ever before either in the crystal clear Gulf waters or enjoying the sugary sand.  The weather was stellar for March, and overall, it was a wonderful vacation. 

As an aside, as you know, I'm an architect.  And I'm also an automobile aficionado.  It's important that you know that going forward.

For a number of years now, I've admired a beachfront condominium in Destin that truly is an architectural landmark.  It's a standout for sure relative to the daring design language used.  Plus, it also has retro appeal - to a degree, though the design is so strong that the building really cannot be pigeonholed as simply "retro".

This multi-story condominium building looks unlike anything in Destin / Fort Walton.  And this is due to the daring design which had to have pushed the budget far beyond its milquetoast context (row after row of ubiquitous multi-story condominium buildings).

Taking that into consideration, one of the first things I took note of from our tenth floor Sandestin condominium balcony view was the profile of this architectural gem in the far distance - looking westward down the beach.  It was a ways away, but indisputable.  And this excited me greatly.

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Immediately upon our return to the Jackson Metro after my job loss from Delta State University (for breaking the institution's IT policy), I made an appointment to see a therapist who I'd heard speak a number of times at local gatherings of men.  These few sessions with him started in late '13 and ended sometime in early '14 (he wasn't a good fit for Rob).  Nonetheless, one of his insights in hearing my story consisted of me needing a creative outlet to counterbalance working at my family's insurance / financial services business.  He was obviously taking my background in architecture into account, and this was no doubt low hanging fruit for him to consider / throw out.

What he failed to realize though is just how much Internet porn I consumed whilst working within local architecture firms - day after day after day - for hours on end.  And mostly the same type of material.  As if I truly had a bottomless pit within my mind for these strikingly beautiful images / videos.  

It was almost as if simply working within a very creative industry amplified my craving for this smut.

Isn't that weird?  Or maybe it isn't.  Maybe it's reality.  For I knew of a number of other creative types who were similarly "right brain moonlighting" just as I was there on my employer's dime.

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So, as you might have guessed, I did make my way down to the Edgewater Condominium building, following the beach due west to my destination.  It was a somewhat distant journey, trudging through the sand, but well worth it - both times.  In fact, the second time I paid the actual building an exploratory visit by walking right into the lobby, making my way upwards in order to walk some of the perimeter corridors along the west elevation.  From there, it was simple to understand the floor plan.  And I loved what I was experiencing.  It was inspiring and so very beautifully executed.  Hence, my appreciation for this gem was furthered along exponentially, and these steal aways became Rob's trip highlights.

As an architect experiencing a new building like this one (that's not a design commodity), it's akin to reading a few select chapters from a fellow author's novel - with great intent and respect - versus flipping through someone's mass produced romance story out of boredom.

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Did any of you take any of those "appreciation" classes in college in order to obtain an easy credit or two?  I distinctly remember one of these being offered within the School of Architecture, and as you might imagine, it was NOT AT ALL part of the architecture students' (mine) curriculum track.

Looking at high production images of beautiful naked people having sex is akin to a sexuality curriculum.  A curriculum that's laser focused on a topic that I'm so not fluent in yet want very much to be degreed in.  

But, this methodology, though so very convenient and culturally relevant, isn't an option for me any longer.  Too many people get hurt on the other side of the camera lens.  Plus, I waste too much time consuming imagery that regales sinful behavior.  And sinful behavior I'm called to avoid as a Christian.  No matter how alluring.  Beautiful.  Compelling.  

But it's freaking hard.  Even today, I could so easily jump right back in.  Jesus help me to resist by turning my attention to other sources of beauty / inspiration.  Sources that make a positive impact on my psyche.

Marketing / Promoting Samson Society

Yesterday I lunched with a drug / alcohol counselor on the Mississippi Gulf Coast.  He's 34, having been clean and sober for almost a decade.  

He's a sole proprietor with a thriving practice that not only consists of private counseling sessions but classroom instruction that's centered around a life skills curriculum that he's written / created.

I was impressed with his faith and his appreciative spirit.  

From here, I'm going to provide him with a Samson Society flyer that he'll distribute freely whilst onboarding his new clients.

It was a blessing to meet with Jarrod.  I have every intention of staying in touch.

Suicide

When I was in high school, a boy (who also attended my high school) one year older than I, lost his father to suicide.  This man was divorced from my peer's (his son's) mother and attended church with us, therefore my dad knew him.  

I clearly remember my father taking me to the funeral.  It was in the chapel of First Baptist Church one weekday afternoon.  This boy I knew little about despite the fact that he'd been a part of my cub scout troop years prior.  As a teen, he was very quiet despite his dashing good looks.

As a sidenote, it's important that you know that my dad had a stellar experience as a cub / boy scout as a Mississippi Delta youth, therefore despite my lackluster interest in scouting as his son, he held sway to the natural comradery and subsequent respect for any kid who'd given it a chance.

Regarding suicide, I learned quickly that it begs the question of cause of death, and that oftentimes firearms are involved in those answers.

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Yesterday, YouTube's algorithm recommended a Darrin Patrick video to me, and I clicked.  The video was of Pastor Darrin preaching on the topic of "Did Jesus Have A Best Friend?".  It was a wonderful sermon to take in.  

From there, I did a search on Pastor Darrin and that's when I saw it.

The headline stating that Darrin had killed himself last Thursday.  He was 49.  Just one year older than Rob.

I was flabbergasted.  From there, I stood up from my desk and grabbed the sides of my head as the room began to spin.  I moaned as I held my skull in my hands and peered down at the floor for all of five minutes.

All I could think about was Darrin's family, but especially his 13-year old son.  Then immediately following, I thought about Darrin's recent pastoral recovery / reconciliation that's been so well documented.  And finally this morning, I began to think about what may have been going on under the surface within Darrin's life that obviously was too much for him to bear.

When I lost my job back in 2013, the trauma that ensued relative to how that termination was handled, amounted to me being emotionally raped and subsequently impregnated with a massive sense of worthlessness.  From there, I developed PTSD 3 to 4 months after, and it was then that I began to hear voices inside my head.  Really nasty voices.

They would ask, "Why don't you kill yourself?".  It sure as hell seemed to be a worthwhile suggestion at the time.  I cannot underestimate to you, dear reader, how overwhelmingly intense the emotional pain was.  And there seemed to be no end in sight.  It was as if my heart had been removed from my chest and immersed in acid.

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By God's grace, one morning I awoke and realized the suicidal harbinger had left me.  I again could see life with clarity, therefore it obviously had moved on.  And ever since then, by God's grace, it's never returned.

What I realized, thanks to that experience, was despite this horrific state of mind I was having to manage day to day, my life / my responsibilities didn't cease.  There were expectations to be met even though I wasn't at all emotionally up to the task.  In the end, it's a head game that's terribly, terribly isolating in and of itself.

The very best thing I did do through all of this was tell my wife what was going in inside my head.  From there, she encouraged me to talk to my father.  And, as has always been the case, my father sought out professional help for his son.  That help came in the form of Mr. Don Waller, and from there, I was ushered into the Samson Society group he facilitated at First Baptist Church.

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Having dealt with my sexual identity issues throughout my life with a certain degree of aplomb, I never imagined me being vulnerable to this.  But the truth is, given the right circumstances, everyone is.  Our emotional core is perfectly suited to traumatic impacts given the right circumstances / timing.  And overall, this life we live as men - particularly if we're also husbands / fathers is very, very challenging indeed. 

Though I'd never met you, Pastor Darrin Patrick, I will miss you.  Today, my heart aches over this horrible loss.  It has definitely pushed me backwards into that place where my scars are well visible.

Lagniappe

Pit Them Against Each Other With Minimal Clear Direction Or Oversight; Then Take The Time To Stir The Pot

Being employed within an environment where one's supervisor manages via the unspoken, inferred rivalry technique is pure misery.  I've been there.  In fact, I can recall days where I was so miserable that literally nothing got done (other than me surfing for Internet porn).  Please know that I'm so ashamed to admit to that.

To be more specific, this was a work environment where there were few discernible long-term goals (for me or anyone else), minuscule amounts of helpful feedback / guidance, and lots of unhealthy interpersonal dynamics that were ongoing and seemingly off limits to address.

These circumstances are like living in a prison.  Day after day.  Or at least for me it was.  And understandably, this particular job's demerits didn't initially suffocate / choke me as they did much further down the road.  This must have been due to two truths.  One was my individual maturation as an employee, and the other was literally how "emotionally infected" I was slowly becoming over time via the environment itself.  During those last few years there, constant anger would simmer beneath the surface as I tried to cope, hoping forlornly that someday things would improve for the better for me and my colleagues.

Perhaps there are men out there who thrive within this sort of environment, but if so, I can't imagine they're emotionally healthy individuals.

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But what's far worse is when a man's home life reflects this.  Where his wife, in particular, sets this sort of toxic standard in motion, pitting everyone around her against each other.

What's stunning to me is many men live and endure within this kind of familial hellhole and have since the beginning of time.  It's Biblical (see Isaac & Rebekah's sunset years story in Genesis).

Know too that THERE ARE PLENTY OF HUSBANDS / FATHERS WHO NEVERTHELESS MANAGE JUST THE SAME, but hopefully, I'm speaking here to those who know better.

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What's to be done then, when you find yourself within one or perhaps (God forbid) both of these situations simultaneously as a man?

Find a healthy release valve like Samson Society first and foremost.  It's not always feasible to up and find a new job (circumstantially or economically).  I know for me, when I was in this situation vocationally, my children were small and my wife was staying home to rear them, therefore starting fresh elsewhere simply wasn't feasible at that time.  In other words, my tenure (overall) as the breadwinner was more important to me than my pain.

Speaking specifically to toxic marriages as described here, seek out marriage counseling either through a pro or your pastor.  And if your wife refuses to go, then go alone.

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What not to do:

-  Lose sight of the fact that it doesn't take much, if any, managerial competence to become a business owner, and within a similar vein, much, if any emotional health to become a man's wife.
-  Talk bad about your employer / your spouse to your friends, relatives or anyone else.  Just because others are being critical of you behind your back doesn't give you the right as a Christian to do the same to / of them.
-  Grow bitter
-  Grow resentful
-  Lose hope
-  Lose your sense of humor
-  Stop caring for yourself*

*Stupidly investing in booze, drugs, lust (Internet porn or otherwise) in lieu of regular exercise, journaling, Bible study, prayer, and of course, Samson Society.

The Post Office Box of the Mind

Many years ago, my wife took over the responsibility of checking the business Post Office Box of her employer, a small accounting firm who'd recently relocated their operation to south Mississippi.  The firm was a small husband / wife operation, but in needing to move south, they still had a client base here that demanded servicing.  Therefore, Angie was happy to help; hence, she stayed onboard.

Most nights after work, I would stop by the Post Office to check the aforementioned box, and for weeks and weeks on end, each time I'd open it up, it would be jam packed with catalogs from every conceivable retailer you could imagine.

There were toy catalogs, lingerie, men and women's clothing, hardware, furniture, home accessories, and on and on.  I remember too there were catalogs that fell into the offbeat category such as fairy themed statuary, Irish pub themed interior decor, etc.  It was amazing to behold how much junk mail was being delivered to this one P.O. Box each and every day in Brandon, Mississippi.

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During my last year of college, I was dealing with so much up in my head that I had no idea what to truly make of it.  Circumstantially, I was in deep with my girlfriend (now wife), and soon to be (hopefully) employed at my first job within the architectural field.  I decided it was time for me to seek help.  Too much was at stake for me to continue forward on my own.  I'd spent years and years attempting to analyze and ultimately understand my thought life, but it was a 2-month backpacking trip during the summer of '94 that finally brought me to a place where I knew I didn't want to go at this alone any more.

Eventually, I confided in my 'rents as to my state of mind, and from there, they were kind enough to assist me in obtaining quality counsel, and it was through that relationship with that (now deceased) clinical psychologist that light began to be shed on my situation.  He and I sorted through and unpacked an awful lot over 3 or 4 months.  Plus, he provided numerous cautionary words that no one else with that same insight had ever shared with me.  It was a wonderfully helpful experience!

For Rob, sinful behavior was nurtured by and within this state of mental confusion.  I never used it as an excuse, but despite my ownership in what I was taking part in, I knew I was much more susceptible to temptation whilst being within a state of confusion.

Considering that truth from my past and subsequently applying it today, I've had men also advise me to stave off access to sin-laden opportunities.  And I believe this is sound advice.  Pragmatics certainly can play into protecting ourselves as Christians, but what's really wonderfully helpful at times is having someone more experienced come alongside you to assist in unpacking mental deliverables that inevitably keep showing up unannounced.  Deliverables which seem to promulgate out of some unforeseen or unclear point of origin.

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Eventually, I took action against the Post Office Box, I deciding to stave off the unnecessary waste as well as the huge distraction it was to Rob.  I have to admit that I simply couldn't resist the pull to leaf through all this unsolicited junk mail day after day.

Therefore, I systematically began calling the retailers one by one.  I did this at home with my daily stack of catalogs in hand, asking for this particular P.O. Box to be removed from their mailing list.  It was a long, tedious process, but it was worth it, and after 2 or 3 months, I'd taken care of every one despite the fact that I had to call certain companies repeatedly.

My attitude here regarding this was one of novel steadfastness.  In other words, I tried to see the opportunity in relegating this work to myself as more than just a drudgery.  Instead, it was an attempt to be consistent relative to a condition that I'd found myself within via no surrogacy of my own.

I suppose you might liken this situation to renting an apartment that was haunted, or perhaps purchasing a used car that seemingly drives itself away unannounced after you'd parked it in front of your apartment rental.  Annoying and very weird, but such is life sometimes.

I can personally attest that the mind is complex and sometimes needs "higher oversight", requiring its owner to reach out for help.  Also, unpacking takes work and lots of dedicated time that's realistically impossible to do alone.  Therefore, don't hesitate to reach out for help.  Take action against a state of mind that's negatively intrusive in its ways.  Hijacking is no doubt a real experience, but no doubt one that should be settled for.