Rob Can't Be Trusted, Or Can He?

Friday night I was lying in my bunk within "Bunkhouse 1" at the Methodist Conference Center there in Eva, Tennessee, just beginning to settle in around 10 PM.  One of my two bunkmates (within the 16-man capacity bunkhouse) had also turned in for the night around the same time.  His bunk was on the opposite end of the sizable room, and I remember him graciously asking me if I'd brought "the sleep machine" (white noise generator).  Everyone was obviously tired that night from the travel day, including he and I.

It was so quiet in there, and my bottom bunk was comfy.  I breathed deep, anticipating sleep and FINALLY my fourth (or fifth?) Samson Society retreat to enjoy.

Then my bunkmate did the unexpected.  At the time, it seemed a little odd, but I was so tired that I simply wasn't cognizant to anyone else but my own self and what I was feeling.

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The Samson Society retreat draws many men who are in serious PRESENT crisis.  My bunkmate was one of those, but of course, I didn't know this at the time.  Many of the men who attend are reeling from the trauma resulting from recent or somewhat recent poor choices.  Therefore, marriages tend to be in shambles regarding these specific Samson guys.  Hence, they've come to the retreat for intensive care all around.

Earlier that evening, I'd had the privilege to tell a snippet of my story to the retreat attendees.  That's important to know here.  And that snippet was enough to identify Rob as a potential liability.

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I like to interrupt / complicate.  I've stated that in the past.  Taking risks related to this is the most potent means for me to feel masculine.  But, when I do choose to disclose my sexuality or otherwise, I make myself much more vulnerable to rejection than the average straight guy.  Particularly within a Christian setting.  For homosexuals are typically seen as enemies of the Christian faith.  It's just how it is for such a time as this.

So, back to Friday night at "Lights Out" (for Evan and I) there in "Bunkhouse 1".

A few seconds passed, and I could already feel myself drifting off before he spoke up through the dark. 

One of things I pick up on are voices, but especially so when I can't see the source of the voice (like when I'm talking on the telephone).  In this case, I really hadn't obtained a good look at my bunkmate before we turned in, therefore the pitch and vocal inflections / dialect were all I had to work with.  

As a side note, if I had to relinquish either my eyes or ears (vision or hearing), I'd give up my eyes in a heartbeat.  Hearing the world is a far richer experience than seeing it.

With his distinctly non-Southern dialect, Evan called out to me before asking for me to pray with him there in the dark.

Here we were lying on our backs within our separate bunks, stationed on opposite ends of "Bunkhouse 1", and this stranger asks me to pray with him.  

So I did.  And he reciprocated with his own prayer, and then we went fast asleep as the prayer went up.  And I mean it shot up like a freakin' rocket.

For me, it was the sweetest experience of the weekend, and truly served as a foreshadowing of so much goodness and relevancy that came out of the three days.  

For whatever reason (maybe it's a middle-age thing), I don't get goose-bumps anymore, but if I still did, this experience would have qualified.  I'll love it and will cherish this memory forever.  Thanks be to God.

On The Eve Of The Samson Society Fall Retreat

I'm headed to Eva, Tennessee on Friday, (11/6) by way of Tuscumbia and Huntsville, Alabama.  I cannot wait to hit the road.

I look back on my job loss at Delta State University back in 2013 as such the catalyst relative to me finally having the formal opportunity to admit openly to how broken I truly was / am amongst a group of Christian men who're willing to provide support.  Had that loss not occurred, there'd been no motivation to step into and firmly commit myself to Samson Society.  

I remember the first Samson Society fall retreat I attended four years ago and how unorthodox it felt.  Rushed even.  Nonetheless, it was a start, therefore I stuck with it, and it's only improved year to year.

I wonder what God has in store for Rob this year.  Please pray that I'll have ears to hear.

VOTE! VOTE! VOTE! VOTE! VOTE! VOTE! VOTE! VOTE! VOTE! VOTE! VOTE! VOTE! VOTE! VOTE! VOTE! VOTE! VOTE! VOTE! VOTE! VOTE!

Full Of Piss & Vinegar

I heard this for the first time at lunch today and thought I'd highlight it here.  I'm thinking you, dear reader, are privy to it already.

I consider it an awesome metaphor for someone who's crabby all around.  

Here's the phrase used in a sentence:

"When I haven't been able to regularly attend a Samson Society meeting, I'm full of piss and vinegar."

And another:

"Piss and vinegar fill my heart whilst consuming Internet porn."

And one more:

"Nate shouted, 'You're just full of piss and vinegar!', before releasing the rope that held his fleshly desires in check, suspended over his good intentions.  And subsequently, Samson Society's origins took root."

Rejuvenation

 I'm super excited.  This has been a humdinger of a year.  I cannot wait!

Feeling Invisible

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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In closing...

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

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

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

The Anonymous Climax - Warp Speed To Masculine Intimacy / Pornography's Ruse / My Sacred Silas

The first true "best friend" of Rob, that shared so many particulars of my story, was a man in Brisbane, Australia.  He and I providentially connected via Yahoo! Groups within a 24 hour period after I posted a few succinct sentences relative to who I was and what I was looking for in an online friend.  From there, we emailed each other a handful of times over the course of a weekend prior to me divulging to (& asking permission of) my sweet Angie that I'd made my first Internet friend.  This was over a decade ago, and at the time, webcams (& Skype) were just beginning to emerge as reliable means of Internet communique thanks to an increase in computing power and network speeds.  

Angie knew I had been longing to find other Christian men who shared my story.  She'd watched me struggle with isolation and loneliness, and she found herself too, up against her own obvious relatable limitations as my helpmeet.

I cannot begin to describe the feeling of freedom over the course of that fun-filled friendship.  Scott was a proficient writer, therefore he poured himself into his emails just as I did.  Eventually, we began regularly Skyping as well to supplement this, but considering the time zone differential, it wasn't the easiest hurdle to overcome, therefore email was always our reliable fallback.

And then came the day when he decided to whip it (his dick) out during a Skype session.  I will never forget this event.  

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I remember vividly, during the dial-up days of the Internet, when I watched my first thumbnail video of a gay porn model climaxing.  It was a milestone event for me for it represented the ultimate sexual expression of masculine intimacy.

Masculine intimacy is what I always lacked during my growing up years.  The only man who fulfilled that role at all for me was my mom's dad, yet even then, it was limited due to his truncated education and subsequent relatability.  Hence, once I reached middle school, I was left to my own devices.  

Masculine intimacy is what I found in my Aussie friend, Scott, eleven years ago, and this is where I struck gold, so to speak.  

Therefore, it truly was as if God was saying to me, "There is another way to solve this."

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I probably long for masculine intimacy more than most men.  Particularly at my age.  And I'm fine with admitting to that.  I like how the drive towards it (still) motivates me to minister to men.  It's an effective fuel source.

But by default, I tend to eschew my own masculine intimacy needs in order to not look or feel weak / effeminate.  And that's when gay porn tends to come into play as a stopgap solution, particularly when I'm at the end of myself (like I am as of late).

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The porn model I first saw climax had / has an alias of "Carl Hardwick" (I know, it's laughably suggestive).  He, like many gay porn models, was / is a steroid abusing bodybuilder who was looking to make some extra cash by posing for gay porn videos / photo shoots.  The end result was some hot, hot shit which short-circuited my synapses upon first encountering it.

What made "Carl" unique to Rob?  Via the magic of the Internet, I discovered his photos almost instantaneously whilst searching for what appealed to me intrinsically.  The convenience and ease of access catered so effectively to my masculine intimacy needs that I bought into it hook, line and sinker.  Therefore, as my first online "discovery", those images of this man truly set the precedent (important word) for what pornography's version of masculine intimacy looked like for Rob.

And then I found that thumbnail video of Carl ejaculating whilst masturbating, and I felt as if I'd hit the jackpot.  Was there any more effective physical / sexual representation of masculine intimacy than this?

Not in my book.

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I attended a webinar this week partially executed by a company dubbed BrainTrust, and the presenter did an excellent job spelling out the rules of thumb regarding pulling off a successful real-time webinar (Skype / GoTo Meeting, etc.).  But a few politically incorrect items he failed to point out were the obvious ones.  

The majority of us look / sound like novices on-camera.  And this is a fact that's almost impossible to mask sans professional training.  Unfortunately, there's no auto-tune for Zoom or real-time deepfake software to shore us up.  The camera / microphone doesn't lie, nor does it hide the blatant truth of what's being represented in front of that tiny lens.  

In summary, there are only a tiny minority of individuals who have the goods for being really appealing / provocative / compelling on-camera / behind the microphone.  And this is why there's so much money to be made in Hollywood.  

And this points back to "Carl Hardwick" and a phrase I've been using for decades now whilst describing how fucked up Internet porn / photography has made my head.  And that phrase is masculine archetype.

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Two more thoughts and I'll wrap this one up.

When Scott whipped it out during that particular Skype call, I watched in amazement as he masturbated there behind locked doors within his home's guest bedroom - on the other side of planet Earth.  It was truly the most surreal moment of my life (up to that point).  When he was finished, I felt used, and no closer to him than before.  He'd made the comment to me, prior to pulling down his shorts, that he felt it was time to address "the elephant in the room".  

It definitely represented a step backwards for our friendship for we'd already achieved a level of masculine intimacy that I was really enjoying basking in, but obviously for him, he was looking for something more.  From there, he apologized a few days later, and we continued forward, picking up the pieces where we'd left off before his decision to unload.

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My Silas embodies a number of the - within normal range - physical traits of my masculine archetype, but the value of these attributes vary fluidly for me weekly, monthly, yearly.  Inside of this man though, he's wired almost identically to me relative to my temperament.  And it's this attribute that I lean into much more consistently relative to its take on what I consider to be masculine.  Also, our educational backgrounds are similar, but more importantly than that, we have this shared appreciation / respect for our small town MS roots.  And those roots humble us both, again, pointing back to temperament.  Are you seeing my point here?  What's inside this man is a nonnegotiable for me whereas the exterior packaging (in terms of importance) vacillates.  

If my Silas were to whip it out as my former Aussie friend did all those years ago, I would decidedly tell him to zip up his pants, and here's why.  I attempt to satisfy my longing for masculine intimacy just as I do any of my other longings.  And despite my fervor, I unfortunately at times still do so via Internet porn (as described above).  In line with this is what I know and understand of each methodology and its limitations / usefulness / purpose...dare I even say, for one, in particular, its sacredness? 

So, in summary, I've got the cheap solution and the rich one to choose from, neither of which have successfully cross pollinated.  Which is it gonna be?  That's the question I have to ask myself most days.

In closing, thanks be to God for my dear, former friend, Scott.  I have continued respect for all things Australian, having benefited from the kindness of this Christian man from Oz for +/-18 months of my life.  My best friendship with him taught me how to trust another man with my heart, respect him despite personal differences / cultural implications, and ultimately, draw strength from him daily as a brother in Christ.  It was one of those once-in-a-lifetime experiences for me.

Recommended Reading - "Are We Trading Our Happiness For Modern Comforts?"

https://www.theatlantic.com/family/archive/2020/10/why-life-has-gotten-more-comfortable-less-happy/616807/

Is It Wise For A Married Man To Compliment A Woman - Regarding Her Looks / Attire - Who Isn't His Wife (Regardless Of This Lovely Woman's Marital Status)?

It is unwise.  Do not do this.  Even if you're friends with the woman, work closely with / supervise her within a vocational / volunteer setting, etc.  Even if her attire / looks is / are extraordinarily beautiful / attractive to you or you as a married man are much older than her, and therefore you see her more as a daughter.  Do not do it.

Just don't.

And on that same note, never, ever write her a thank you note for a job well done.  Instead, compliment her face to face but with other team members / supervisors present and be very specific as to what she did so well within your eyes - as her supervisor from you as a supervisor with a supervisor's point of view.

Hopefully, you catch my drift here relative to how easily your words can be misconstrued.

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Why?

Women are not equal to men.  They see the world very differently than we do.  And this is a good thing.  Thanks be to God for women.  

Therefore, because of this truth, we as men must be vigilant to not misconstrue or take advantage of - in any way - that inequality.  As men, we have an obligation to women to be extraordinarily mindful of our responsibility to them and their differences and never assume otherwise.  And this starts with both our words (or lack thereof) themselves and how we choose to deliver (or not) those words, but ESPECIALLY WHEN these women are not our spouses.

I speak from experience, having learned the hard way regarding my man mouth.

Be Suspect Of Mirror Parenting / Honor Your Father By Doing Work (On His Behalf) He Knows Not How To Do

Parenting as your own parents parented can be an extremely foolish approach.  Especially when you allow this approach to give you yourself license to parent stupidly.  It's lazy, taking no analysis whatsoever into account.

Let's say you were parented by a dad who was easily angered and subsequently was perpetually "energized" by that anger, and thus, he behaved - more often than not - like a monster.

This is assuming that parent (father) had a normal brain which absolutely could choose to NOT elevate anger hierarchically as his "trigger" emotion.  He just wouldn't choose to do it.

As this man's child, you were likely abused whilst living out your childhood terrorized.  

So, why not choose to examine your anger-fueled dad's approach for the benefit of your own children?  Why not develop a disdain for the very triggers that ushered in so much damage to you and your siblings?  

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What I've found is two-fold whilst attempting to answer these questions.

1.  Anger can feel quite masculine for some men, therefore it can become categorized as a behavioral right.

2.  Children who are abused, within certain environments, can become adults who absolutely cannot acknowledge that abuse under any circumstances.  Therefore, it's as if it simply never happened, yet the damage / precedents from the abuse is no doubt still there.

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If you happen to be a child of one of these generationally anger-fueled dads and you have children yourself, one approach too is to look farther upstream at your grandfather's (dad's dad) temperament / actions.  By choosing to put your focus there, you're doing the work your own father couldn't / wouldn't.  

And know this, this approach can be taken even if your grandfather is six feet under by you working to find out who he was via those who knew him who are still living, and using that knowledge therapeutically.  Sometimes, we have to do the work our own parents should be doing for the sake of our own family's well-being.

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.

The Hope / Fear Diary

Years ago, I hoped forlornly for the kind of well-established, loving relationship my Silas has with his own father in-law, but instead, my relationship with Angie's dad was no farther along on the day of his death as it was when I married his only daughter.

Angie and will be married 25 years next June, and her dad died +/-4 years ago.  Hence, I served as his only son in-law for quite some time, living - for the most part - in the exact same city as he and my mother in-law.  Therefore, I saw him fairly often, and even made a point early on in our relationship to proactively gain his favor by chauffeuring him to work (he'd unfortunately become legally blind due to poor health) during the entire year leading up to his retirement.

Angie's dad was very different than my own, and that's where my relational hope lied.  He was extremely intelligent, articulate, kindhearted and polished.

But, Bob was constantly in bondage to fear.  And for him, in particular, it was fear of rejection.  Therefore, he made zero attempts to relate / befriend me (or anyone else).  Ever.  Instead, he would stand off to the side and let my mother in-law do all the talking (& man, can she talk - incessantly).

And then years and years passed, and he was dead.  No more father in-law.  And there went my chance.

But, to his credit, he wasn't ever directly rejected by me which I honestly believe was of primo importance for him to avoid.

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Fear isn't an issue of mine, and I believe this is somewhat rooted in my temperament as a fairly hopeful man.  

That being said, I'm often reminded that fear is a sizable issue for many, many men.  As such, I really have to battle looking despairingly on these guys (even whilst taking my own hopefulness into account).  

I ask myself, how can men that I know personally possibly be released from this super comfortable, cowering outlook?  Especially when their wives syncs up - relationally - with what I had / have within my own mother in-law?  

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Fear and a lazy outlook seem to also at times be bed buddies.  And that lazy outlook is more akin to arthritic responses than anything else.  In other words, to move in a direction of risk (possible rejection, etc.) equates to perceived discomfort.

And that's where hope has no chance to take flight.  Perceived discomfort cripples its chances.

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For Rob, hope is tied to imagination.  It's the ability to imagine what good might come forth that serves as a "fear interrupter" and thus motivates me to step out of my comfort zone.  

But on the flip side of that is imagination still, but in lieu of a positive outcome being dreamed up, for many fearful men, it's a negative one.  And, of course, this is tied to previous hurtful experiences.

And that's where the problem lies.  I believe this is one of the most monumental drivers of men's behavior that exists today.

Fear.   

And by the way, if you're fortunate enough to have a father in-law who's become like a surrogate father to you, thank him today for his generosity and love.  You are in a blessed position.