Recommended Viewing - The Loneliness Epidemic

Recommended Viewing. Watch This Husband's Love For His Wife Through His Gaze / Countenance. Beautiful.

Lagniappe

You Are Not Responsible For Other People's Feelings

Let me qualify this statement firstly.

As a Christian, it's your responsibility to manage / take advantage of your influence, always considering its impact relative to Christiandom / the gospel.  And this means being an ardent listener first who's slow to speak.  

So, what about the "Other People" portion of this statement?  Does that include a man's spouse?  His parents?  Siblings?  What about his employer?

This is where things can get tricky.  For this is where we must consider / take into account those infamous expectations.  As such, there are times when we simply must come to grips with just how disappointing we truly are to those around us.

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Have you ever been told that you're not respecting enough?  As if respect or the giving of respect were quantitative?  

I have.

And it was from one of those four cited above.  Obviously, I have no siblings, therefore you're left with three choices there.

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Just a few months prior to being fired from Delta State University as the institution's Campus Architect / Physical Plant Director back in 2013, I was handed a handwritten list by the newly hired CFO (my superior) of the institution during one of our weekly meetings.  If I remember correctly, it was a list that had to be pieced / taped together from various scraps of paper.  And upon attempting to read it, it was obvious that numerous individuals had written on it in a fast, flowing pen with little thought as to its ramifications.

Per my boss, the list had originated from the newly appointed President of the institution.  In looking back, I'm fairly sure its initial author was the President's daughter who'd been to the university to visit her parents on a few occasions.  She was also an attorney (like her father) who at the time was living in her parent's abode back in D.C. while they were now residing in small town, Mississippi (where he'd been reared long before becoming a bureaucrat in Washington).

The list represented how disgruntled / frustrated the President and his cabinet were with the aesthetics / upkeep of campus.  As such, it featured very specific items, such as specific golf course hole upkeep or peeling paint on soffits and fascia boards on various buildings.  And I'm here to tell you that by the time it had no doubt been passed around to everyone and their brother, this was now a freaking long list.  

I remember my boss telling me as he slid it across his 4-person table there in his office that "this isn't normally how I choose to handle things..."

Nonetheless, my heart fell into my stomach relative to this critique.  I cannot even begin to tell you how overwhelmed that experience made me feel, taking into consideration the fact that I'd only been working there +/-9 months.

From there, this list served as a reckoning for me as it sat on my desk afterwards.  One that read - Your value as an employee of this institution is tied directly to the upkeep / beauty of campus per our specific expectations.

Why?

Because I believed just that.  

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The Bible is clear regarding honoring your parents, and it gives instructions too regarding the husband as it pertains to him serving / giving to his wife as Christ does / did to the church.

It also addresses how to behave if you're a slave, but leaves out any specifics relative to being a Campus Architect / Physical Plant Director.

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Assertion isn't a topic that's highlighted often in Christian circles.  The Bible doesn't mention it (I don't believe), yet we see this personalized approach in the accounts of Jesus within the New Testament as well as many other Bible characters throughout the 66 books.

Assertion is rooted in confidence in whose you are as a Christian, recognizing the ultimate authority of God within your life and the plan he has for it.  Assertion is also anchored in humility and meekness.  And as such, it's never in bed with haughtiness or pride.

Because of this, I believe assertion or assertiveness grows out of suffering.  Suffering that's been made peace with, if not celebrated.  Therefore, it's relegated to the inevitable passing of time which brings trials, growth (hopefully), and perspective.

And of course, all of this assertion / assertiveness applies absolutely to even those who place their respective demands on us.

What's most interesting to me about assertion or assertiveness is how young a man Jesus was whilst demonstrating this position during his 3-year ministry on Earth.  I think it's what made him - in so many ways - the man that he was / is.

Recommended Viewing

It Didn't Hurt

 

Holding The Line As A Silas

Eventually, your friendship with your "Silee" will likely reach inevitable plateaus.  These are wonderful times since there's no climbing involved within the relationship.  And as such, there can be temptation to simply stay put within that horizontal plane.  Yet this runs counter to the theme of this Samson Society friendship.  That being relational accountability.

My first Silas, pre-Samson, and I too reached this platonic plateau and stayed there for around 9 to 10 months.  And you need to know that both of us were serving as "Silases" to each other (neither of us were privy to Samson Society back in 2011).  During this perceived lull, I was experiencing great victory over my struggles with lust, and this was due to what I assumed was also simultaneous ongoing victory within my friend's life.  

But then I started asking those hard questions again, in spite of the fun we were having as close friends, only to find out disappointingly that he wasn't really even pursuing victory any longer over sexual sin.

But, oh the fun we were having!

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And this is where these kind of relationships get hard.  

For you must choose to either keep climbing upward (under the guise of relational accountability) or simply redefine (downgrade / repurpose / augment) the relationship entirely.  And hinged on that decision is the risk involved in continuing to "hold the line" as a Silas, despite the inevitable fatigue, going forward.

No-expectations-attached friendships are so much easier than a Silas / "Silee" relationship.  

And this is because you're much less likely to piss off your friend.  

Why is this an important truth?

Because pissing him off (enough) may just (eventually) sever the friendship, and as such, all that platonic investment will feel as if it's simply going up in smoke (which it really isn't, but Satan will lie to you about that).

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In my opinion, a Silas / "Silee" relationship is far more valuable than a traditional friendship, therefore it's worth the risk to steadfastly hold the line you've been asked to hold.  Please don't settle for the plateau.  Continue upward together, facing the strain and ultimately reaping the rewards - together - of the struggle towards holy living.

Bridges, Part One

 

Bridges, Part One - The Lost Bridge

October 2005

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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