Thoughts On Last Weekend's SS Fall Retreat

Mr. Andy Gullahorn was with us this past weekend, and we were privileged to hear him perform Saturday night, sharing stories and his wonderful music with us.  Here are a few of his songs.

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.