He Said - She Said / Entertainment (& Success!) From "Lies"

We've lived within our 1,550 sf abode for over twenty years.  Never have we replaced any of the floor finishes (carpet, wood flooring, ceramic tile) within the house despite the fact that we've lived with a chronic - under the wood floor - leak at / near the front door.  My theory is that this leak is the result of a large picture window that was either incorrectly installed or manufactured faultily.  The leak has badly stained the floor at the juncture of the floor plane and wall, and it's grown progressively worse (leak has expanded) over the past twenty years.  It's important to know that I can distinctly recall placing my head within my hands, all those years ago, upon first realizing that we had this leak.  For I knew it was going to represent a massive thorn within our home's building envelope. 

During the first year of living within this "garden home", the man who had the house constructed (who was always very uncooperative / resistant to take responsibility) did pay a flooring subcontractor to return and replace the then stained portion of the wood floor.  He did this after claiming that the leak had been successfully repaired.  But we soon discovered that the leak persisted.  Even after I paid thousands of dollars, years later, to have the exterior wall finish (EIFS) refinished / sealed / repainted (around this now identified leaky window), the leak persisted.

Throughout the decades that this has been going on, I've essentially been lying to myself about its severity.  And this is how I've chosen to deal with the problem.  Particularly as a homeowner who's also an architect.  It's really been the only way I've known to manage this chronic, very in-your-face water infiltration issue.  

At the present, besides the aforementioned wood floor staining, there's also no doubt that our primary floor finish (throughout the house), carpet, is now badly needing replacement.  And this is simply due to wear and tear.  Yet, I'm choosing to not lie to myself about that one because I've a successful plan with which to do something about it.  

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Lies are always more comfortable to exist within than reality, particularly when our problems are way more involved / complicated than we're equipped to handle.  Somewhat related to that is entertainment.  The majority of entertainment is fiction.  Rigorously developed / written / acted / directed / produced fiction.  Fiction that's so clever / inspiring that we consume each episodic occurrence with abandon as we put reality on hold within the background.  

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Growing up within the city of Madison during the '80s, there were no retail stores whatsoever other than gas stations, therefore my mother had to drive either to where Angie and I live now (on the Rankin County side of the Reservoir) or into Ridgeland (via Highway 51) to grocery shop.  The most convenient Ridgeland grocery store was dubbed the "Big Star", and I distinctly recall it always having a carousel of paperbacks for sale inside.   

As a child, reading was a passion of mine, therefore if I stumbled upon something that piqued my interest amongst the tomes on this oscillating wire rack, I'd usually place it in our shopping cart (hoping Darlene would not object).

It was during this time that I encountered the "unauthorized biography", and I would be remiss to not divulge that Moonlighting was one of my favorites TV shows as a teen.  As such, Mr. Bruce Willis' career was being established right before my eyes as the infamous David Addison.

I remember curiously leafing through the Bruce Willis unauthorized biography paperback, paying heed primarily to only the candid black & white photos of Bruce there in the middle of the scoop.  From there, I skimmed a lot before tossing that trash into the trash.

What this experience proved to me was that David Addison was far more important / impressive to me than Bruce Willis, yet it did plant a seed within me regarding the fact that a lot of something else was going on here, far removed from our glowing television set at 197 St. Augustine Dr.

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One of the most credentialed Samson guys I've come to know had quite the successful shoplifting career as an adolescent.  His methodology involved wearing a trench coat into big box retailers from which he'd stash his stolen wares.  Decades later, as an adult, despite his role as "Chairman of the Deacons" at the church he and his family frequented, he was a behind-the-scenes serial adulterer, using hook up smartphone apps to establish / maintain his ruse.  And this went on for years 'till the Ashley Madison hack occurred and he, like so many men, had their lies exposed.

This friend has confessed openly that so much about his public persona is a lie.  Particularly within the vocational realm.  Yet, he's trusted more in those character lies, to propel him forward, than his true self.  As such, so have his colleagues, who've done the promoting.  

It's as if he's recognized / accepted his decision to be more comfortable / capable pretending in order to get what he truly desires out of his life, yet within the background, there's this ever present conflict between what he's created and who he truly is.

That, my friends, is an example of truly living in tension.  And I believe many white collar men accept this as their own reality each and every day.

But there's got to be a relief valve, doesn't there?

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My mother's mother is almost 90-years old, and she lives with my mother's brother (her only sibling) in rural Humphreys County.  Like many Mississippians who're her age, she is not in the best physical, emotional or fiscal health.  My mom (with my grandmother concurring) believes it's best for her to live in her +/-900 sf rancher with my uncle (versus living alone or within a nursing home) out in the middle of nowhere.  And this has been her status quo ever since my grandfather died back in 2014.   

Last week, she fell inside the house and suffered some lacerations on her face / head.  It scared everyone in the family but particularly my mother who wasn't there to witness what actually occurred.  This obviously resulted in rushing her away for emergency medical care.  Care which is only available +/- an hour from her remote home.  This was the first time she'd fallen in all the years she'd lived within this home.

This week, she fell again, but this time it was outside on the concrete patio.  Immediately thereafter, she accused my uncle of pushing her down.  She came away with a broken clavicle as a result, per the doctor's analysis here in Jackson.  She stayed with my parents for a few days before being returned to her routine in the Mississippi Delta.

My uncle had telephoned my mother immediately before her fall, claiming she'd "gone crazy".  Darlene could tell that her brother and mother were having a heated exchange (which is not an uncommon occurrence) over some tomfoolery.  He denies accosting her.  Instead, he claims he reached out to steady her walker prior to her hard felt fall.

My uncle is known for his penchant for lying, therefore in spite of my grandmother's age / emotional / physical health, I'm of the opinion that she's the one to believe here.  Neither of my parents would ever willingly side with me though regarding this.  Instead, they'd rather conveniently move forward as if it had been her fault entirely, or simply not discuss it.  Therefore, all I can do at this point is feel powerless.

You must know that my uncle is an extremely intimidating man.  In fact, he's the most intimidating man I've ever known.  As such, I believe, lying comes easy for him since it's presented within such a threatening persona.  Both his build, but particularly his voice, fall in line with these attributes.  He is the epitome of redneck, white trash machismo that consistently telegraphs the notion of "don't even think of crossing me".  Yet, underneath all of that, he's a brilliant, extremely articulate guy with a heart that, at times, can show true care and concern in spite of his long track record of self absorbedness.

Throughout my life, I've watched my parents often cater to my uncle and his needs, but this truly went into overdrive when I was close to concluding my college career.  And my grandmother has modeled this for them, yet her approach has always been enabling.  She's wrongfully bailed him out of countless, very serious scenarios that he's found himself within (a few of which would have resulted in an accrued criminal record).  As such, Bob and Darlene have - at times - been just as relentlessly merciful.  I can relate to none of this since I've no siblings of my own.  Instead, throughout most of my life, I've simply been a silent observer of these emotionally charged familial dynamics between people whom I care for immensely. 

As such, I FIND THAT I HAVE NO NEED FOR MUCH OF ANY FICTION AT THIS POINT IN MY LIFE.  There's plenty of real-life drama these days, within my own family, to keep me in emotional knots / awake at night.  And these dynamics do a great job of doing just that.

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I wrote within an earlier post about utilizing gay porn to emotionally bank / connect.  

Despite the fact that it's been close to one year since I've consumed gay porn, I chose to do so yesterday.  And I can confirm that a whole lotta emotional banking / connecting did actually occur between me and those images.  Particularly taking into consideration what I now know of what went down earlier this week between my loser uncle and my sweet grandmother.  

The emotional connection I experience whilst consuming gay porn is hyper efficient, having been established all the way back to my childhood.  So much moreso than I truly care to admit to.  And I'm not sure how to not justify using it when I'm faced with emotional predicaments (that are out of my control) similar to the one I've described above.  

After the fact (later on into the evening / earlier today), I thought a good bit about attempting to rendezvous with my Silas over the weekend in order to simply experience some quality, platonic physical touch (I'm not in the mood to talk).  But I haven't done that.  Instead, I've chosen to simply write out where I'm at in tandem with talking to my sweet wife (who sensed immediately that something unfortunate had gone down relative to my sobriety when I walked through the door last night).   

In closing, I am so ready for the National Samson Society retreat to get here.  I long to hear some helpful truth(s) whilst experiencing those real world, hyper efficient emotional connections, allowing every ounce of it to wash over me in droves.   

"I Can't Stand That Woman!" / Rob's Mississippi

A day or so after (9/11/01), my parents and I had dinner at a local Mexican restaurant here in Jackson with a dear retired couple (now deceased) that had served to mentor my folks during the early years of their marriage.  To be more specific, my parents had served under them (when I was in middle school) within our church (First Baptist Church Jackson) as Sunday School directors within the class they taught.  This particular Sunday School class was relegated to singles, and as such, it was duly popular.  So much so, in fact, that many of the attendees who'd "marry out" of this class would find ways to stick around (in spite of their betrothal).

This older couple were retired educators, both having served within the Jackson Public Schools district as teachers and administrators / coaches.  Hence, they were astute, articulate people, who were incredibly down to Earth and loved by many.  I have a queue full of great memories of them and my parents as they came alongside each other to serve at our church during those 3-4 years of my childhood.

During our dinner, there was a nationwide minute of silence, in honor of those who'd perished within the terrorist's attack.  Therefore we, like so many others, sat awkwardly in silence at our restaurant booth after the din suddenly halted.  From there, our conversation couldn't help but turn to the attack / politics, the latter of which wasn't a topic that I'd ever remembered broaching with this older couple during all of the fun-filled dinners before.

At this time, I was in my late 20s, and politics simply weren't of interest to me.  Growing up with my two parents, neither of which had any interest / real understanding whatsoever in / of politics, relegated me too to turning a blind eye towards it.

But I soon discovered that this wasn't the case regarding this dear older couple.  Instead, they were both obviously quite vested / interested in the politics of the day.

At this point in time, despite my overall disinterest, I couldn't help but take note of Hillary Clinton's political ambitions.  To the point of admiring her poise and obvious intelligence.  As such, back in 2001, Ms. Clinton was continuing to vie for elected "opportunities" where she might flex her specific leadership skillset (independent from her husband, Bill), and frankly, I admired that.  

For whatever reason, I interjected her name into the conversation (post minute of silence) as we munched on tortilla chips and salsa, and this is when the unexpected happened.

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A month or so ago, my sweet wife and I shared "our final meal" with our oldest dependent.  This was at a Cracker Barrel restaurant prior to moving her into a freshman dorm room in south Mississippi.  It was a sobering experience for us, knowing she was now officially out of the nest.

About ten minutes in, a multi-generational clan were seated adjacent to us.  What struck me about this family was what was displayed prominently across the tee shirt of the +/-30-year-old daughter (or perhaps daughter-in-law).  It said the following: "PROUD TO BE A DEPLORABLE".  

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I was born and reared within the great state of Mississippi.  My parents are from a small Mississippi Delta town dubbed Belzoni.  My mom was reared in rural Humphreys County (outside of Belzoni), and her upbringing was impoverished.  Her family didn't have indoor plumbing 'till she was 9 or 10 years old.  They did eventually obtain this (within the "new" house), but they (family of four) were still confined to +/-900 square feet of (non-centrally climate-controlled) space.   

Their existence was typical for Mississippi in the '50s and '60s, and many, many Mississippians live within these similar conditions today.

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During my teenage years, there were two things that made the most endeavoring impact.  One was my being heavily involved at First Baptist Church Jackson, and the other was the privilege I had of befriending two older teenagers (older peers at my high school), both of which were similarly atypical as I was (ambition / temperament).  The latter happened during the summer before my tenth grade year.  Since both of these new friends were a year older than I, that gave me two solid years to enjoy that companionship, and let me tell you:  it was awesome.  

From there, my two friends exited Mississippi and neither looked back (except to be in my wedding in '96).  One of those two does still have family here (perhaps), but the other's family moved away decades ago.

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Mississippi represents the clear and present underdog within this US of A.  So long as you're taking stock of economic indicators, educational milestones, healthcare availability, and so forth.  In tandem with that is our geographic mundaneness and muddy, waveless coastline.  

But growing up as I did, around the folks I did, these uncompetitive attributes weren't at all on my radar.  Instead, it was the aforementioned influencers that had my full attention.

Therefore, that was my Mississippi.

Samson Society guys make up the core group of men that I allow to influence me today.  Most of those are Mississippians at the present, but many of them are from Florida, Tennessee.  And it's important to know that this has not always been the case.

Taking all of this into account, most of us wish not to be reduced to a label.  And certainly not then ushered into an assumption by default.  This is discriminatory behavior that is in no way in line with the gospel of Jesus Christ.  

There are a LOT of people in Mississippi who live lives that are vastly different than people within other states, and as such, there are many Samson guys from those troupes who are ushered in therein - no questions asked.  It's what makes our groups unique as representatives of this state.  

Politicians, through their words, are meta-influencers.  And those words are birthed within their thought life prior to being unleashed as sound bytes.  Yet, so many of everyone's words (whether politicized or not) are often said with little to no consideration as to their impact.   

I don't wish to see people through the eyes of other's observations / labels, but it is sure hard to NOT do this at times.

This is why I try to steer clear of politics, though unfortunately, it's seemingly everywhere these days.  

Be wary of generalizing or applying labels.  Instead, turn your criticality inward and keep it there 'till your arrogance is effectively reset.  Or better yet, study your roots.  To the point that you never forget exactly where you came from.

Recommended Viewing

Territorial / Take The Opportunity To Yield Within Your Samson Society Friendships

Negative push back is possible whilst attempting to convince your Silas to alter course (change of plans, etc.) on your behalf (or on behalf of someone else).  

Let's say you're interested in seeing him join up with you - a few days ahead, but he's already got plans and isn't willing to alter them.  And despite the fact that the - a few days ahead event - isn't anything particularly noteworthy, you may just not appreciate, much less want the negative push back (for such a time as that)..  But this may be especially true if you've been apt to alter course on behalf of your Silas in the past.

Samson Society is double stacked with Type A personas.  And I suppose this is akin to us types preferring / gravitating towards isolation.  Hence, our need for Samson Society, a formalized friendship-making (whilst in recovery) machine.

Type A's like to maintain control, and as such, they prefer for those around them to yield in reaction to their lead.  (& yes, I too am a Type A.)

Considering this truth, somebody's got to yield at times, or forward movement simply isn't going to happen and bitterness will likely take root.  That being said, let's not discount the fact that there are men (my Silas is one of these) within (& outside of) this community whose value is implicitly linked to carrying out their set schedule to a tee. 

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I used to believe that men who struggled with same sex attraction were more stigmatized by the notion of platonic rejection, but I've come to discover that this was muddled thinking (Rob's abandonment issues) on my part.  It doesn't matter what a guy's sexual orientation is, if he's invested in a relationship with another man, it's unlikely he's not at least somewhat fearful of losing it.  As a side note to this, posturing amongst men, I find, grows out of these fears.  For posturing (kid's glove bullying) reinforces the notion of rank.  Even when rank isn't supposed to exist.  It is a weird dynamic that often keeps me in awe as more of an observer-type.

Now, circumstances being what they are (particularly for the younger set), guys can "level up" into new vocational, geographic arenas, etc. that might bring more (convenience, in particular) opportunities for platonic connection.  Hence, his established friendships may lose some of their luster.  Nonetheless, rejection is still rejection (whether by circumstance or not), and as such, it is by far one of the greatest fears of men relative to the process of seeding new, healthy friendships (whether you're recently leveled up or not).  

Within the reverse vein, as men age, investing in new friendships could perhaps become more and more repetitive.  This combined with the assumptions that come with middle / old age.  Those being that preexisting "old friendships" (perhaps as far back as childhood) are no doubt superior grade and therefore surely are sufficient to endure the long haul.

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There's a young man YouTuber, that I've featured within a previous post, who positions his videos on the notion of attempting to cope with his loneliness / isolation (that's a result of his friendless existence).  This guy has professional good looks, always with the perfectly styled hair / trimmed beard.  Not to mention tee shirt defining muscular physique.  Yet, he claims to be friendless.  To such a degree to be making rambling YouTube videos about his solitary existence.  It is a weird watch but also enlightening (taken with a grain of salt).

I'm convinced that were he not just another normal guy (like the rest of us), he'd not be experiencing this problem.  That being, the terrific trepidation tied to potential rejection.  To such a degree that it's simply keeping him on the safe side - which is the isolated side.  In fact, if you screen enough of his videos, you'll notice how he's also adept at manly posturing (as mentioned above), yet it's done to relegate / justify his isolated position.  

The takeaway:  men are weird when it comes to relating to other men, and at times, scared shitless.

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As Christians, our main relational squeeze is our Heavenly Father.  That relationship should always be number one.  But it takes work.  Prayer, Bible study, church fellowship.  

Here's an observation:  A boatload of Christian men refuse (or simply don't harbor the skillset) to read.  And what I'm referring to is reading comprehension.  Therefore, they won't delve into Scripture because it's a waste of time for them to even try.  And this presents a problem.  Seeing how God gave us himself within the writings of those 66 books.

For Rob, a sizable part of my approach to friendship has been trusting that God will see to it that it's sustained so long as it's his sovereign will to do so.  Too, I trust that he's a provider of future friendships as well, either serving to enhance (quantity) existing friendships or replace entirely.  

Therefore, this is why I choose to almost always yield and, in turn, actively work to disrupt the notion of platonic territory (for I own nothing within these relationships).  As such, I simply feel no obligation to protect myself from rejection at this point in my middle-aged existence.   

Help Me Lord With These Feelings

Greek yogurt is yogurt that's essentially in a concentrated form.  It's like drinking orange juice concentrate in lieu of fresh squeezed orange juice.  If you've ever eaten it, its consistency is like that of spackle, therefore as such, it's a much less appealing dairy treat to most than traditional Yoplait.  

If you were to consider the ingredients of Greek yogurt, you'd find a LOT more milk is needed to concoct it than its much less pricey (& mainstream) cousin.

The benefit to choosing Greek yogurt though over regular is the added nutrition.  It's like running versus walking (for the same period of time) relative to the exercise benefits.  Of course, running is much harder (I love to hate to run) than walking, and similarly, Greek yogurt is much less palatable (sans added sugars) compared to regular yogurt.

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My first Silas (pre-Samson Society) came into my life sometime during 2010, and it wasn't long before he made an insightful statement that made quite the impact.  And that was that I felt things deeply.  Deeper than most, if not every individual he'd befriended within the past.  

I didn't dispute his claim for deep down I think I'd always known this about myself, yet it was unsettling to consider.

When I was a teenager, I banked all of my emotions into popular music.  My pride & joy, back then, was my component audio system - consisting of amplifier, CD player, dual cassette deck, and two Bose speakers (which I still use today).  God love my parents for putting up with the ruckus day in and day out coming from my 110 sf bedroom.  I absolutely have no idea how they stood it within our +/-1,800 sf rancher (their bedroom was adjacent to mine).

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Lakeside Pres is hosting a 2021 fall / spring book study that started yesterday evening, and the selected tome is sort of a modern day encyclopedia of false religions.  Last night's meeting was centered on the theology of Jehovah's Witnesses.  Next month's will be on The Church of Scientology or some such.

As expected, the presentation was affably cerebral in the truest Lakeside Presbyterian fashion, but unexpectedly, taking the subject matter at hand into consideration, I came away feeling quite the hollower for it.  Hence, I felt there was just too little (if any) heart (compassion) whatsoever pertaining to the lost souls indirectly referenced throughout the subject matter.  In spite of the fact that personally, Jehovah's Witnesses are about as familiar to me as Freemasons.  

Needless to say, I'm willing to bet a dollar that D. James Kennedy would have been none too pleased at the tone.  As such, I have to ask myself, why does that matter specifically to me?  

I have to believe it harkens back to Greek yogurt.

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Taking all of this into consideration, me thinks I've spotted a huge misnomer (mistake) relative to the massive pull I have at times towards consuming gay porn, and that may just be the word community.  This being a word I've often utilized in the past to describe some form of justification relative to porn consumption.  Instead, I'm beginning to wonder if this pull has more to do with emotion or feeling and the aforementioned "banking" of said feelings.  

Combined with that, and this almost seems to qualify as weirdly transcendental, could be the notion of concentrating emotionally onto or into the images in an almost empathic manner.  

All that to say, I'm now convinced that its pull is far more emotional than me simply wanting to be communal.  And it likely always has been.

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Moving in a somewhat different direction, though still referencing Rob's (always concentrated) emotional state of mind, I offer this in order to conclude this post:

Dignity is an important, if not the most important term that I find myself always equating to my understanding of / respectfulness towards women.  I'm fortunate to have a mother who's dignified as well as a wife who follows suit.  As such, growing up and then being married to a dignified woman has firmly cemented my point of view.  I pray that my three daughters will someday follow the example of these important ladies.

This factors into why straight porn is so repulsive to me.  The women within these videos / images are so often in line with what I saw at Wal-Mart earlier this week (more on that below), not to mention the disgustingly abusive circumstances they're typically presented within.

All in all, I can think of no more repulsive sight than seeing a woman's face ejaculated on as her blank stare is forever memorialized on camera.  I mean, can you imagine, your daughter's face in that spot without wanting to extradite yourself from planet Earth?  I feel so sorry for the Spielbergs.

To circle back to that woman at Wal-Mart, you should know that she's what served to spearhead this post.  Hence, if you've not taken a liking to what you've read so far, blame her.  

Wal-Mart represents the most convenient, most cost effective means of purchasing just about anything & everything.  Its no-frills approach to retail draws consumers from every walk of life.  Its sister store, Sam's Club, takes an identical approach.  And I frequent both of these retail establishments quite frequently, particularly now that my wife is disabled (traditional grocery stores' footprint is smaller / easier to navigate). 

A few days ago, I spotted a woman moving through the Wal-Mart self-checkout line who was around age 35-40.  She was a white woman, overweight yet average height, and dressed in nondescript clothing that looked shockingly too small for her build.  The shorts she was wearing, in particular, were cut so short and were so tight, that they actually looked painful to my eyes.  Her hair looked like it had been cut with a weed whacker after it had been formed into a handful of dreadlocks that extended down her back.  To add to that, snippets of pastel hair dye had been added to these ratty strands which only added to her completely disheveled appearance.  Had she been 18-years-old instead of +/-35 (on Halloween), this look might have been less of a radical embodiment, but she clearly was no longer a teenager (& Halloween is more than a month away).  

And then there was her skin.  It was almost as pale as my sweet wife's, therefore each of the brightly colored, ginormous tattoos that she'd had imprinted squarely on each limb was impossible to miss.  They literally were glowing with color - greens, reds, blues - against her milky derma.  

I could not take my eyes off of this woman while she went through her self-checkout paces.  The shock was too great.  The disbelief too paralyzing.  

As I was walking out of the store, I actually ran into my Silas' wife who recognized me from her car.  We spoke briefly, yet in looking back, I'm sure my responses were no doubt unusual, having just prior witnessed such the unidentifiable alien-like creature.  

This is what kept coming to mind repeatedly for days after:  If we were to turn back the clock 40 years, would I have witnessed a woman presenting herself as such at my local Mississippi big box retailer (TG&Y)?  Were there women that looked like this woman back in 1981 here in Mississippi?

If not, why are they here now?  What "birthed" these women?  What are their origins, and where are they headed?  Why in the world would a woman choose to present herself to the world as this woman was?

To me, they have zero dignity, therefore all I see when I encounter them is me being helpless towards their situation.  For dignity comes from within.  It isn't like respect or shame that's administered (on)to someone.  Dignity is knowing your intrinsic value as a _______, _______, _______, and so forth.  

+/-18 years ago, a lesbian couple constructed a home within our 'hood, and they're still both living there (within a reconstructed version necessitated by a housefire).  My emotional experience relative to engaging with these women was initially in line with what I've described above regarding this fellow Wal-Mart patron.  

Lesbianism is a complete affront to my understanding of feminine dignity, and it always has been.  Therefore, my heart breaks and is angered / outraged / confused whilst seeing it lived out.  

Especially my Greek yogurt heart.  

Help me Lord with these feelings, and to be more specific, synchronize them with your own.  But especially in magnitude.  For I'm so often at their disposal.  Even as a 49-year-old.

Where do I bank these?

Lagniappe

   

Mother To Child: "You're Responsible For My Feelings. You're to Blame / To Be Celebrated For Me Feeling __________."

I referenced within an earlier post how important it can be that I keep a lid on my emotions here at the homestead (around my wife / daughters), and how that approach has, in the past (pre-Samson Society involvement), been detrimental to me successfully steering clear of lustful fantasies (supplemented by porn consumption or not) from the standpoint of using said fantasies as an emotional enema.   

But I'd like to expound on this a bit from the standpoint of what exactly my wife is forced to emotionally manage day in and day out.

And I want to do this because you may be able to relate either as a husband or wife relative to the dynamics of our situation.

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Firstly though, it's important that you know that my wife's mother is a widow whom lives just 7-8 miles from our abode.  She "stays" (as black people put it) within the same home Angie (who's now 50) and her brother (who's now 46) were reared in (in Jackson) throughout the majority of their school years (as students of Jackson Academy).  

This home was mortgaged by her parents, all those years ago, due to her father moving his brood back here from Hattiesburg - in response to an unexpected job loss - out of necessity to take another job.

This job loss and subsequent move no doubt (as it's been described to me) represented a major demotion for Angie's dad, and as such, her mother went off the deep end as a result.  And when I say went off the deep end, I mean she went batshit crazy over his job loss / demotion.

It's important to know that when I unexpectedly lost my job back in 2013, Angie was very intentional about staying emotionally / physically supportive of our family in spite of the obvious embarrassment / shame that manifested itself as a result.  And I must say, had she not been such a steely, consistently hopeful presence within our family's life during that dark season, I would surely not have endured the situation.  Angie reacted as such the contrarian - for her family - in response to what she'd witnessed from her own mother as a child (within a somewhat similar scenario).

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Emotional "flare ups", as I call them, do occur within our household, and more often than not, they're due to the inevitable internal dynamics between my wife and any number of our daughters.  There's a boatload of estrogen there, therefore...

I try hard to take them in stride, but there are times when I too, need to exhaust some emotions out of frustration / fatigue.

But when I do, and it's within earshot of my wife, this represents a problem for her.

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Angie's middle / high school years were filled with emotional torment.  Torment that put her (& her brother) squarely within the sights of her mother's penchant for refusing to take responsibility for her own feelings.  Therefore, Angie's default, even today as a 50-year-old wife / mother, is to blame herself for everyone else's feelings / state of mind.  Even if said feelings in no way involve her.  

It is the weirdest phenomena to experience, yet we're all so used to it, that it's become the norm.

So, here's the interesting part to all of this.

Angie's mother is a fiercely independent woman, yet she's now reached a point, due to advanced age, that she can no longer manage her affairs.  And this means, someone needs to step up.  Someone she should be able to trust (like her deeply scarred children).

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As Christians, we're called to serve.  Go the extra mile.  Turn the other cheek.  And Angie, for sure, learnt that growing up at First Baptist Church Jackson (alongside me). 

Jesus modeled all of these (as chronicled within the gospels) and FBC Jackson's senior pastor throughout the '80s (when she & I were children) both lived it out and preached it eloquently.

Yet, no amount of obedience to the commands of Jesus can come sans the supernatural.  Especially when that call to obedience happens to involve those whose hands have doled out their fair share of trauma.

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Dr. Laura Schlessinger often makes good sense whilst giving advice to her radio show listeners, but it's important to note that she is not a Christian.  As such, were she in my wife's shoes today, her mother's former emotional abuse would result in payback that consisted of a reciprocal neglect later in life.  I know this because it's one of my hang ups regarding her approach to advising her callers.  (Plus, she also lived this out with her own mother.)

Dr. Schlessinger often justifies this kind of response as one which stems from "mom tearing up her mother card".  In other words, mother's disqualifying themselves due to their neglect, therefore deserving to be forever punished by their children as a result.

It's a hardline, militant approach that completely ignores the prospect / joy of potential reconciliation, and one of the best slang terms that I've found for this is delightfully "burning bridges".

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One of my oldest friends just recently returned to the Jackson Metro after being terminated from a fantastic job opportunity within another state.  His former out-of-state employer is also a friend of mine / ours, therefore as you might imagine, this put me in quite the emotional quagmire.  And to make matters much worse (for everyone involved), my friend, who just recently moved back to Jackson, chose to burn the bridge between himself and our mutual friend (his former out-of-state employer) out of disgust regarding the situation that transpired.

And this man has served as a deacon in a number of local churches.

His rationale for behaving this way was rooted in one thing:  his feelings.  Feelings which consisted of outrage, disillusionment, mistrust, and so forth.  And I get that.  Those feelings are legitimate and deserve to be accounted for.

Yet, I disagree with his decision to blame others for those feelings, and in turn, punish them therein.  Especially when those others have such a longstanding track record of support and love.

As Christians, our overarching focus should be, each and every day, on eternity.  Eternity obtained via our inevitable death.  Eternity where Jesus is within our presence always.  

Why?

As our king (today and on into eternity), emulating his humility and care properly befits us as representatives of his grace.  Even within the most accusatory, unfair, debilitating circumstances that embroil us with heady, visceral emotions.

We are not our own.  We are now serving within his ranks.  Heaven will be ours to enjoy because of what he chose to emulate for us.  Christians are not to behave / react / enact like everyone else.

Lagniappe

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