Wednesday, September 15, 2021
Tuesday, September 14, 2021
What Might Serve To (Figuratively) Prompt A Wife To Consider Divorcing Her Husband? Loss Of Her Personal Datum
An architect friend, whose first husband died a number of years ago, willingly endured the instability he brought to their marriage 'till his untimely death. Her husband was the opposite of a fixed point in her life. Instead, he was reliably unstable in most everything he did / committed himself to. And it wasn't that she was expecting perfection, material success, etc. Not this lady. Her love for him ran far more deep than that.
I vividly remember traveling with both of them (decades ago) early on within my career as an architect. I'd been invited to attend an architectural lighting expo on the west coast, and therein provided the opportunity to get to know them as a couple (for she'd been also invited). These type events were always exciting (in part because us designers were the guests of honor), yet this particular trek quickly opened my eyes to some bizarre marital dynamics between my two new friends (her and her husband). I came away feeling sad for this beautiful and intelligent woman who'd been saddled with such a loser.
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Earlier this year, I was delighted to be contacted by a female business owner client of mine out of the blue. She was interested in learning more about her options relative to Defined Contribution Plans for her quite successful / quickly growing business. Specifically, she wanted an "upgrade" from her company's existing plan for 2022, and she'd chosen me to obtain the facts well in advance.
This particular business owner client is both highly intelligent and tough as nails. Her persona is progressively masculine overlaid with a temperament that's aloof to the nth degree. Therefore, were it not for my middle-agedness, she'd simply be too intimidating for Rob to work with.
As such, I love working with her. It's such a cool privilege. I always attempt to get at least 8-hours of sleep the night before any meeting I have with her in order to improve my chances of being as sharp as I possibly can be.
Therefore, by mid-May (soon after her contacting me for assistance) we were off and running, and to my delight, we met repeatedly with my "A Team" of experts via Zoom / teleconference in order to answer her and her partner's many questions.
Interestingly enough though, sometime in July, whilst beginning to conclude our ongoing "educational sessions", she relayed to me her desire to loop in her personal financial advisor (who she's been close friends with since high school) relative to some of what my "A Team" was proposing. Initially, I found this request to be a little strange, but I took it in stride.
But then her personal financial advisor left me a voicemail message, from which I returned his call the following afternoon.
And this is when I came to realize that I was not nearly the professional fixed point I had assumed I was to her.
In the end, losing that business opportunity resulted in me solidifying a deep respect for something that's often so very difficult to describe.
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I've written in previous posts about wives needing security from their husbands. But, if I were to expound on that here, I'd add the following: wives need an anchor / fixed point moreso than anything else - from their husbands - within their marriage.
Back when I was in architecture school, I used to hear our professors use the word datum quite often. This is a great word. A datum is a reliable known point in space that you can utilize to site / build all manner of things from. Datums do not change nor do they move. They are fixed. Immovable. Solid. Think of a rusted iron rod (pin) that's referenced on a survey. One that's utilized as a starting point to identify boundary lines. That is a datum. It's an object that's been anchored deep within the Earth in decades pasts that everything around it is referenced from.
I suppose our culture woos us with the notion that wives long for romance or material wealth, and I'm sure there are a sizable number of wives who enjoy anticipating / imagining (& perhaps receiving) those perks, but most, if not all, insist on reliability and fortitude which promulgates deep seated trust between her and her man. Otherwise, many will hit the road.
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In closing, I work hard to be as consistent as possible for my wife / daughters and even my parents (who employ me). Therefore, as such, I keep an awful lot of my feelings close to my vest day after day after day. Why? It gives all of them plenty of safe space to emote between themselves and also to me. And I like this setup. It makes me feel correct as a husband. Plus, it gives me opportunity to yield to their needs in this regard.
There is an individual though who's privy to Rob's feelings. My Silas. Especially if I'm really struggling with some heady negative feelings (for whatever reason).
Whether it's via text message or a phone call (or both), he's going to know what's in my heart. Otherwise, I'll eventually turn back to false community via Internet porn consumption.
For me, he's my datum. Reliable. Fixed. Solid. And I love him for those attributes.
Wednesday, September 8, 2021
Tuesday, September 7, 2021
Monday, September 6, 2021
"There So Few Christians There"
My oldest daughter is slated to return to her college dorm later on this afternoon, now having accomplished her initial 3-weeks as a freshman (& being home for this long holiday weekend). I had breakfast with her on Sunday morning, and she let me know how surprised she was to experience a community of students & faculty - at her chosen university - that was so very (relatively) pagan.
Her response instantaneously returned me to my freshman experience back in the fall of 1990, and back then, I was also "being educated" at a public institution here in Mississippi.
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Arguably, the college experience's biggest liability is the spiritual vacuum students are so often faced with. And I'm not referring to curriculum or campus life. I'm referring to the true influence - peers, professors, etc.
This is, of course, unless the student respectfully recognizes and subsequently maps out her situation, knowing full well whom she belongs to all the while.
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For Rob, it was the architecture school professors, whom I respectfully yielded to, that surprised me the most. Their outlook was always so clinical and devoid of any sort of eternal perspective. As such, I would especially appreciate those who'd make a point to smile and crack jokes in order to lighten the ever ominous (who's going to change majors / "double D" next?) mood.
I remember - particularly as a freshman - feeling like I'd been caught up in an entirely different world. A world of ever present academia, amongst leadership that was far more knowledgeable than anything I'd ever witnessed.
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But then there was marching band. What a godsend it was. I played clarinet and marched with hundreds of other students - every late weekday afternoon for practice and at most weekend football games. The band directors were down to Earth and no doubt Christian. Polar opposites of the majority of my professors.
It was there that I could simply exhale (literally) each and every day, no longer having to take notes, worry over project deadlines or professors' expectations. Instead, it was simply a maximized (massively scaled up) experience of high school band which is where I'd felt most comfortable simply being myself during the previous five years of my life.
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Samson Society is a similar reprieve for me today. Tuesday evening (tomorrow night), I'm anticipating attending (for the first time) the Pruitt Baptist Church meeting. Especially from the standpoint of me not having the honors of facilitating the meeting.
It's nice having that reprieve. That opportunity to exhale. Especially when you're subject to - as we all are - the real world. A world where there're so few Christians. I am so thankful God ushered me into this community of men.
Sunday, September 5, 2021
Theology Of The Turners' Bodies (With Particular Attention Paid to My Own)
I described Rob's body politics within my last post as such: complete unrecognition / avoidness / blindness. To sum that up, I like to use the word void. This is absolutely the best word I've come up with to describe what happens when I attempt to see my physical self.
Therefore, it begs the question: How can you love something you simply cannot see nor have ever seen?
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When I was a teen, and please know that what I'm about to say simply didn't grow out of teenage angst, I did not feel as if my dad was truly my biological father. Now, as a result of this, I also didn't believe my mother had become impregnated with little me via another suitor, therefore overall, I sort of made the assumption that I couldn't possibly be a "natural born citizen" within our fam. Now, I'm not going to go into all of the why behind my feeling this way, as it pertained to Robert, Sr. But trust me, in many ways, he reciprocally felt the same about me. It made for a childhood where I would find myself enviously looking at my friends' relationships with their dad's (& more than likely the same was occurring with my father enviously looking at his peers - & especially his brothers' - sons).
Therefore, with no siblings to parade around with (or seek counsel from) whilst growing up, I was left to wonder why I felt like such the oddball - particularly as a teenager.
And to expound further regarding this, I also naturally looked hard at my uncles (my dad's three brothers) / cousins (each & every one of them male children) and was unsuccessful in locating a reprieve. Though I loved these men / boys and enjoyed spending time with them (& of course, still do) as my known family, I just didn't BELIEVE that I fit into the group. At all. BUT IT HAD NOTHING TO DO WITH HOW THEY TREATED ME. They truly were (& still are) really wonderful family members to have.
(I feel obligated to interject THAT.)
My hunch today, whilst looking back, is that the similarities / pedigree were / was absolutely there; its just that I couldn't see them in me myself. And I still today don't know why that was / is.
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It is so pagan-feeling going to Wal-Mart on a Sunday morning. I know that firsthand, having shopped there this AM.
We've been having Sunday morning church at our abode - over the past month or so - due to the uptick in COVID-19 cases throughout our state, therefore this lends itself to even (at times) executing our family church service on Saturday evenings - if need be (which we did last night).
As I was hurriedly shopping at Wal-Mart (surgically masked), I walked past an unmasked guy whose eyes locked with my own. A few seconds later, I wondered aloud if I actually knew that guy. By this point, I was much closer to my big box store destination zone (hardware), yet I couldn't help but continue to ruminate on his face / build, trying to put my recollective thinking into gear.
"Where do I know that guy from?"
After placing my needed items into my shopping basket, I eventually made my way to the self checkout section, and fortunately, I spotted him again.
Then I remembered where he and I used to interact!
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Throughout my life, I've had a love-hate relationship with my imagination. For on the one hand, it's what - in may ways - consistently springboarded me from my adolescent identity vacuum, but on the other hand, wrought so much regret and anger relative to fueling my propensity to willfully sin.
At the center of that chronic routine was what I've dubbed my archetype. An amalgamation of masculine physical attributes - that embodied for me - a sexualized ideal of what it meant to be a man. This archetype was, more often than not, (within my sexual fantasies) an imagined big brother, uncle, next door neighbor, teacher, coach, and on and on. Any of which would eventually work towards seducing me into engaging in homosexual relations.
It was through the "pursuit and subsequent validation" of this archetype that I attempted to endure the void. For he (singular) was as affirming as any group of ideal athletic teammates might very well be whilst all the while being more comfortable with me (& accessible to me) than I was with my own self.
The aforementioned fellow Wal-Mart patron (whom I eventually recalled was a former friend from over a decade prior) happened to - past & presently - embody my archetype both physically and emotionally. He was / is the ideal, and this is a significant truth.
And as a side note, the fact that this former friend continues to be so (at our close-to ages), is rare indeed. For most middle-aged Mississippi guys aren't anywhere near the physical parameters of my archetypical, masculine male (which is a godsent reality for me).
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In the past, encountering my archetype as I did this AM at my local big box retailer would have elicited quite the elicit response. Particularly taking into account a long since forgotten friendship with the individual.
And as such, days and days, if not weeks and weeks would likely have gone by where me being privately consumed with that encounter were the absolute norm.
And as a side note to that, when I began consuming gay porn online (back in late '90s), the impetus for that was me realizing how expeditiously / efficiently I could locate (search engines) and therefore harness those salacious facsimiles similarly (sexual fantasy). All in reaction to the void / vacuum / blindness or whatever you want to call it.
To be clear, it wasn't that I wanted to be these archetypical men. All I was looking for (through sexual fantasy) was a means to manage the pain of acknowledging the reality of the void itself. But it was those specific archetypical men who were the key. And I'm not sure why that was either.
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In closing, it is incredibly difficult to face the truths that I've written about here. Not only emotionally but intellectually (particularly from the standpoint of there being so many unanswered questions). As such, I don't believe I even began to truly wrestle with my own body politics 'till I was well into my 30s.
I do remember, as a much younger man, wishing I had a body that I felt at peace with (self-affirmation), but even as I took action to change my build (age 36+), it had no impact on clarifying my visibility.
So here's that question again: How can you love something you simply cannot see nor have ever seen?
The only thing that has even a remote impact today is holding fast to what I believe of God's take on me (as well as all of his children). His promises. His narrative. His approach.
Otherwise, I'd simply be blind all around.
Sometimes only having a peripheral view of yourself does in fact prescribe an outlook that drives more truth / more faith and less comfortableness with a holy God.
Saturday, September 4, 2021
Theology Of The Turners' Bodies (With Particular Attention Paid To My Wife's)
As a couple, & in very specific terms, Angie & I sit on the opposite ends of the spectrum when it comes to making peace with the theology of our individual bodies. Now, as a married couple, we are - by God's definition - one flesh, and we can both vouch for that. There's simply no such thing as singular husband / singular wife - within a marriage under God. As such, she & I are thoroughly combined, and this is the core reason for there being such general richness within our 25-year betrothal.
Taking that into account, Angie's relationship with her body has always been one of mistrust / suspicion, and as such, this has rightly been validated since her 2020 stroke. Yet, I can confirm, having known her since we were teens, that she's always wrestled (as opposed to being at peace with / ignoring) by default with all that can come with existing within our God-given bodies.
For Rob, my "bodily" relationship hasn't been so much about mistrust but complete unrecognition / avoidness / blindness of that which I exist within. Therefore, in its steed has been an unhealthy default towards other's (men's) bodies in lieu of my own. And this sin laden approach is where my struggles with same sex attraction (particularly as it relates to consuming gay porn - arguably the most efficient means of doing this) grew out of.
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Ever since Angie's stroke (late May of 2020), I've relied on her to tell me if she might be interested in having intercourse. Before that life altering event, Angie was in (& had been for a few years) the throes of perimenopause (which she still is), therefore with her menstrual cycle being so unpredictable, she was - & this harkens back to her body mistrust outlook - very rarely interested in sexual activity of any kind.
Here was and still is my take on my wife regarding this: Sex certainly cannot and will not be something you feel comfortable participating in when you mistrust your body. Sex is an obvious working in tandem (50/50) with your spouse to execute this very intimate act. Therefore if 1/2 of that equation isn't at all confident / at peace in its body's ability, that's going to present a problem.
I share that commentary as its helped me come to grips with - at times - a very minimal / oftentimes negligent-feeling sex-life situation. But Angie's body politics aren't all that's been brought to the surface over the past 1.5 years. Remember, I am no doubt her lesser half (remaining 50%).
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Because there's so little internal conception / acknowledgement of me my bodily self, I frankly don't fare any better than she at offering up much "sexual assuredness / comfortableness" relative to my 50%.
Hence, my focus can often be too much on her (or elsewhere), and as such, she's often aware of this, complicating things even further.
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All this oversharing above points back to what the priest summarized within the embedded video and the difficulties we can have as individuals therein with these truths. Those truths being that we are both spirit and flesh, image-bearers of the living God, embodied by the Holy Spirit. And as he states, God is love. And that definition of love is clearly spelled out in God's word. So how do we love our bodies, particularly if - as a married couple - a sizable portion of our body isn't our own but our spouses?
Angie spent close to a month within a rehabilitation hospital in Jackson post-stroke. This hospital worked her each (business) day regarding physical, speech, and occupational therapy. From there, she came home and continued with her therapy, though it was outpatient in nature. Her reception towards all this therapy was with open arms, and not just from the standpoint of an immediate physical recovery but too, as an educational opportunity.
The core issue for Angie relative to her mistrustful relationship with her body comes down to magnanimous self-awareness. This being just an off the charts - in real time 24/7/365 - self examination of herself from stem to stern. And as such, taking part in certain activities - that are out of the ordinary (her comfort zone) - can amplify this.
I'm on the opposite end of this spectrum. For so many years, I solely invested in examining / worshipping other bodies (men's) in response to the void of me being successful in examining my own. So much so, in fact, that it's as if I'm that guy in the film Memento with the short-term memory loss issues. Hence, I have a narrative of how my body came to be (from 5,000 feet up) but no relevant experience with it in the here and now (or ever). Even the protagonist's many, handmade tattoos speak to his detached relationship to his body.
Which, in a lot of ways, makes it as if I don't either have a body to begin with or am borrowing someone else's.
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Earlier today, Angie and I went to Y and strength trained. She started joining me in the gym well before her 2020 stroke (for regular workouts), therefore post-stroke (with the aforementioned rehabilitation knowledge in tow), it's not been at all difficult for her to continue forward.
What's no doubt different now (versus pre-stroke) is her slow progression towards making peace with her disabled body. I can actually see this occurring as she makes more and more baby step gains each week. And yes, I typed that correctly. Angie making peace with her now disabled body.
Perhaps this change of heart is pragmatically tied to progress - tangible progress - within her routine, but I'm convinced too that it has a lot to do with that mistrust (of her body) finally being validated / confirmed.
This reckoning of her's is the weirdest thing I've yet to witness within our very weird marriage. Particularly from the standpoint of how it's indirectly bringing about my own.
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In conclusion, my hope lies today in what my wife is doing now to continue to rebuild strength / mobility within her post-stroke body, and me having the good fortune of witnessing this awesome, multifaceted work. In the end, as an outcome of this good work, my hope for her is to love her body well as she slowly makes peace (yet not completely trust) with it going forward.
For we both benefit, taking into account our one-fleshness.
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