VINTAGE (...Not Responding)

A new friend I made at the SS fall retreat cited my antiquated smartphone as "vintage" while we were sharing a meal down in the dining room of the conference center.  

Here at the office, I use a refurbished desktop PC which too could be deemed "vintage" by today's standards.  

My oldest daughter was involved in a collision last week, and the insurance company has deemed the "vintage" compact she was driving home from school a total loss.  

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Religion and church definitely fall into the camp of "vintage" these days, but too, so much of the experience / outlook really is tied to the past.  I say that because its value is rooted within a beginning point where it amassed relevancy to the (hopefully) Christ-follower.  Therefore, maybe it truly is "vintage" literally by definition.

My iPhone 5 belonged to my father-in-law before he died.  It was hardly used, and despite the fact that I had to ask my mother-in-law for it, it's still the one thing I have of his that was his own.  Everything else is collecting dust at her house.

The refurbished desktop PC I'm typing on now was purchased from a former SS friend who's no longer communicating with me, and the 2012 Nissan Sentra was purchased via life insurance proceeds relative to my late grandmother's death.

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My wife suffered a stroke back in May.  She's at risk for having a second or third now that she's experienced the first.  And the next one could kill her on the spot.  And this could happen right now, at age 50, with three daughters under the age of 16.  I've watched her closely over the past 7 years in particular, and her body has aged quickly.  Yet, she's my wife, and therefore, I'm not about to give up on her and our marriage.  There's so much good there.  Considering the reality / outlook of our situation though, if Angie's life were cut short, it would be our daughters who would continue to represent all of that goodness for me.

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I had lunch earlier this week with a friend whose childhood was a nightmare.  Physical, sexual, and emotional neglect and abuse were commonplace for him growing up.  He described how the majority of that portion of his life is blocked out within his memory.  And obviously, this is for the best.  

I'm thankful for my memories.  Especially those tied to the physical.  

I wear a rubber bracelet on my arm in honor of a close friend / brother, and have been doing so for well over a year.  The one I'm wearing now is the third, for the first two snapped over time.  After the second one failed, I asked my friend if he ever took his off his wrist.  He stated that he did not.  Therefore, I in turn began to do the same.  And it took a number of weeks to get used to having it around my wrist 24/7, but then again, our friendship is just as consistent, and likewise, it took time for me to buy into this relational truth as well.

The hardest part about not taking it off is sleeping with it.  For sometimes, it gets twisted as I'm sliding my hand underneath my pillow.  Nonetheless, I'm happy to keep it around my wrist.

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We as western consumers are heavily pressured to forget and move forward.  Especially as it relates to convenience / self-preservation.  This approach though, disregards our robust memory, which separates us from plants / animals.  

One of the coolest supernatural / superhuman (fictional) abilities is clairvoyance.  This being the ability to "read" emotional / historical relevance via one's physical touching of a significant object.  Obviously, clairvoyance is the stuff of stories, but I do wonder sometimes if we should put more stock in what objects do actually embody as it relates to their impact, tangentially or otherwise, on our lives.

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!