Recommended Reading "The Joys and Difficulties of Making Friends in Adulthood"

At Large ~ (c) 1908-1909 by Arthur Christopher Benson

   Throughout much of my life, I was not very good at making or maintaining friendships. Because of my past experiences, I can sometimes come off as disinterested, cold, or aloof when meeting someone for the first time. But that couldn't be farther from the truth; I would dare say that those who have really taken the time to get to know me have seen the real me and seen beyond that facade I put up. My thirties were spent learning how to be a better friend to people, and how to let others be a friend to me. I will speak more on that in next week's Bridges series when I talk about The Connected Bridge ~ The Bridge to Friendship. 

    In our adult years, most of us are incredibly busy. We have neither the time nor the energy required to make and maintain these friendships. But what I have discovered in my own life is these connections are so incredibly necessary. They keep me going forward in life. I NEED People in my life! After years of walking alone, I have been blessed with some amazing friendships in my adult years, and staying connected keeps me healthy mentally.

    Today, I want to share with you an excerpt from the chapter on "Friendship" from At Large by Arthur Christopher Benson. This is a wonderful volume of essays on life written around 1908-1909. I have the original book, but it's also available in the public domain through Project Gutenberg - CLICK HERE. So I'll leave you with this reading for today. You can click on the link below to read the .PDF version of the excerpt from "Friendship." The language is slightly antiquated, but I assure you, the message is just as relevant today in 2021 as it was back in 1908.

CLICK HERE TO READ "FRIENDSHIP"

~ S

 

Bridges, Part Two – The Disconnected Bridge

 

Author’s note: I had fully intended to write and publish this blog entry a week after my first entry in the series. Unfortunately, life got in the way and I have really been struggling with some things lately. Perhaps I will be able to share those struggles in greater detail in an upcoming blog. – Stephen

 

May 2005

It was a warm summery day in early May 2005. The windows were rolled down in my old blue Dodge sedan, and the faded blue headliner, barely held up by safety pins, flapped noisily as the humid summer wind buffeted through the car. I was a man on a mission. As a teenager growing up in the mid-1990s, I remembered reading (along with the rest of my community) with absolute horror of the story of a young couple in their early 20s. This couple had met an untimely demise while stargazing on a rickety old bridge late one summery evening. This couple had become the victims of an evil family who lived in the woods nearby. All these years later, I do not remember the motive, but I do remember the story quite vividly. I remember reading about how the couple had been abducted at gunpoint and taken from the bridge to another location where they were murdered in a double homicide then buried in the backyard. It was such a horrible tragedy that it shook every community within a 60-mile radius of the bridge and as a teenager, it truly opened my eyes for the first time to the evil that humans were capable of. However, that warm summer day, my goal was not to think about the grisly murders, nor was it to visit the site of a crime so grisly that it should have appeared on the “48 Hours” television show. No, my goal was simply to find the remnant of the beautiful old wrought-iron bridge that I had remembered seeing in the newspapers 11 years prior.

Back in those days, Google maps was not even a blip on the radar; in fact, Google was not even a name in the .com industry. These days, one only must type in a landmark, or a place of interest and Google will lead them right to it. Back in those days, we had “MapQuest” and a LaserJet printer that printed pages. So off I set, printed maps in hand, to find the massive old iron structure. Even though MapQuest claimed that the bridge was located less than an hour’s drive from where I lived, I must confess that I made many wrong turns on that day and spent well over an hour just trying to locate the bridge. Finally, I arrived at the bridge and received the shock of my life.

You must understand, the abduction and subsequent murders had taken place 11 years prior to the day that I visited the bridge. The local community was devastated by the sequence of events and had subsequently done everything possible to erase the bridge from their collective memories. At the time that the murders took place, the bridge was still very much open to the public and the country folk who lived in the sparsely populated rule area used the bridge to cross from one side of the river to the other as they traveled between their communities. Following the homicides in the mid-1990s, the road was barricaded to the public, the bridge was condemned, and all the wooden decking except what for remained in the very center of the bridge had been removed.

As my noisy, ever-clattering old Dodge sedan stopped at the barricaded road, I pulled over and ensured that my car was well off the road in a grassy parking area. As I walked down the barricaded road on foot, camera in hand, I was taken by the fact that I was so incredibly isolated. There was literally nothing on that abandoned road aside from the dense forest that bordered both sides of the road. I was truly alone. In some ways, walking down that road alone was symbolic of the way that much of my life had been up until that point. The deafening silence was broken only by the crunch of my shoes as I walked across the disintegrating asphalt. The occasional bird song emitting from the forest served to somewhat lighten up the melancholy and slightly sinister atmosphere. I remember feeling extremely nervous on that day, but I wanted to capture a photograph of the bridge. I was determined not to leave until I had my photographs. Suddenly the abandoned roadway gave way to a sheer drop off, and there it stood before me. It was a magnificent two-span wrought-iron bridge from the turn of the 20^th century. It truly looked like something out of a Gothic horror novel, as vines and kudzu had taken over everything alongside the bridge and had started to take over the structure itself. I got as close as I could and took quite a few photographs that day using the zoom lens on my newly purchased SLR camera.

Disconnected Bridge

With the decking removed, there was no way to walk to the middle of the bridge, as the approaches from either side were totally inaccessible. From what I understood from reading the reports in the newspaper and talking to local people, this had been done to not only prevent vehicular traffic from crossing the bridge but to also strongly discourage any pedestrians from ever walking out on the bridge. The superstructure of the bridge was intact. The amazing ornate ironwork was there. The decking on the middle span of the bridge directly over the river was there. But there was no way to cross the bridge. You were truly disconnected from one side of the river to the other. Unlike the bridge in my first blog post in this series where only my fear kept me from crossing, a lack of physical flooring would keep me from crossing this bridge. This was a much larger bridge. The bridge of my first blog post was a single span camelback through-truss iron bridge as opposed to the bridge in this blog post which was a magnificent two-span through truss bridge. Although humans may have built the bridge many years ago, their abandonment had caused nature to slowly begin the process of reclaiming the bridge for its very own. Indeed, it was not that hard even back in 2005 for one to imagine that nature would completely obliterate the bridge from view within a few years.

Have you ever felt disconnected in a way that made absolutely no sense to you? I felt that way for so many years. My life was disconnected for many years prior to my discovery of Samson. I would dare say that it was even disconnected for my first few years of Samson, as I was not walking the path as I should have been. I am realizing that trauma is a real thing, and so is PTSD. Even if we have endured a lifetime of being told that we are not to feel any emotion nor show any emotion, that emotion is there – within us – swelling to the point where it will someday boil over like an unwatched pot on the stove. Sometimes we don’t even recognize traumatic things in life as being such, but they nonetheless are. Sometimes we have spent so much of our lives being so disconnected, that we are left with no way to truly understand how to begin to bridge that gap – to rebuild the decking of that disconnected bridge.

I remember vividly having a conversation with another Samson guy several years ago. During the course of that conversation, he point-blank told me that he believed I had missed a critical step in childhood while growing up and until I went back and identified and made attempts to recover that critical step, I would never be able to move forward with my life on this side of heaven. A number of years ago, my wife and I were going down to Florida to visit her family one summer. We had stopped to grab a bite to eat, and upon getting back on the interstate, I took the wrong exit ramp. A few minutes into the trip, I started telling my wife that “I believe we have passed these towns before.” She said, “no, I think you’re going the right way.” Now, at that time, I don’t believe that I owned a cell phone that had navigation capabilities as I do these days. Since we had previously made the trip before, we had not felt the need to use a GPS system. But the further that I went, the greater my unease grew. Finally, I pulled over on the side of the highway and grabbed my Garmin GPS out of the glovebox. I powered it on and programmed it with the destination that we were headed to. Sure enough, the Garmin came up and told me to take the next possible U-turn and start going the opposite direction on the interstate. By that time, we had wasted about 40 minutes of our trip, and I remember driving a little faster at that point to make up for the lost time. My wife and I still laugh about that to this day.

Sadly, the critical step that I missed in my own life while growing up cost me far more than a mere 40 minutes. No, that missed step cost me about 25 or 30 years of my life. These past few years have been years of intense self-examination and exploration with the help of my Silas and trying to figure out exactly where I went wrong and where the disconnect in my own life started. It was hard, but I finally over these past few months, wrapped up that self-examination and had my aha moment. I spent much of the years between 2017 and late 2019 unpacking boxes that I had long packed away in the attic of my brain. This was stuff that I did not want to see and stuff that had not seen the light of day for near 30 years. I was left with all of these pieces that I had unpacked; they were lying in front of me and I was in the process of trying to figure out what I needed to do with them and how to reassemble those broken pieces. Then 2020 hit. I know that 2020 was a rough year for every single person alive. For me, it provided the perfect excuse to pack up those pieces and not have to look at them anymore and isolate and withdraw from all in-person meetings. I cannot tell you how damaging that was to all of the hard work I had accomplished over the past few years or what it did to me mentally. Things recently came to a head towards the end of January and I knew that I had to pull those storage boxes back down and begin the process of going through the pieces once more. This time, I was more familiar with the pieces and could identify them more clearly. That is why I was able to have my aha moment recently. I discovered the missing piece of the puzzle from my past, and I knew exactly what damage this missing piece had caused me.

Both my wife and my Silas claim that I spend way too much time living in the past. And they are probably right. Each day, I must wake up and remind myself to count my blessings and to remember that the past doesn’t exist anymore; I live in the here and now, in this very moment. And then I am reminded of how incredibly blessed I am. My Silas told me a few years back after a particularly rough venting session “Stephen, you know how much I love you and I say this in love, but sometimes I wish I could just beat the snot out of you.” Once I had recovered my initial shock, I asked him why in the world he would want to do that. He said, “for one thing, you would be in so much pain in the present that you would forget to remember the past!” When I later told my wife what he had said, she told me “good, I have often wanted to do the same myself!” I suppose that those two were on to something.

Connections are so important in life. They give us cause to live, and they provide a bridge that allows us to move from one area of life to another. Like a solid bridge, they support us as we go over the murky waters of life, giving us a safe passage and allowing us to have a sense of peace. Nearly 30 years later, after discovering Samson and beginning the self-examination process in my own life, I discovered the missing pieces needed to repair the decking of my own derelict bridge. My bridge is a work in progress. Some days are a lot harder than others, and I feel like I am getting nowhere. But other days, I feel like I am so much closer to the other side of that bridge; that, more than anything, gives me hope to continue moving forward. My wife, my friends, my son, my Silas, and my heavenly father are waiting for me on the other side of that lonely bridge, cheering me on and awaiting that day when I can fully bridge the disconnect in my own life. I would love for anyone who wishes to join me on my journey for a while.

One of the recent joys in my life has been to introduce my son to movies that I loved growing up. Last year, we found Benji, you know, the lovable mutt from the 70's and 80's. One night, we were watching a Benji movie from the 80's, and it was one that I don't remember seeing as a kid. The introduction began with a song that nearly moved me to tears, so I looked it up and found it. It goes like this:

So many yesterdays...

haunting my soul today...

Now time is standing still, 

in the tears and the rain

I'll find another spring,

No doubt the birds will sing,

But will never shine, so very bright again...

I had so many yesterdays that haunted me for many years. Maybe you can relate? In a way, I think that we all can. For years, I thought I had missed my chance to shine so very bright. Perhaps I will never shine in the same way I would have once in another lifetime. But there is another spring, and we can find it on the other side of that bridge once it is rebuilt. Someone recently told me that if I hadn't gone through all that I had, I would not be where I am at today. I have to remember that. Everything I went through prepared me for this moment in time to live in the here and the now and to be there for my family in only the way that I can be.

Having taken all of the photographs that I wanted to on that warm summery day in May, I once again climbed into my old trusty blue steed and made a U-turn on the overgrown road that nature was slowly reclaiming. As I slowly drove away, the warm wind hitting my face, I looked into the rearview mirror and bid the bridge goodbye. I have never returned. Unlike other bridges featured in this blog series, that was a place that I never wanted to return to or experience again. Unlike my own bridge in life, that one would never be repaired.

~ S

Bridges - Moving ahead....

 

    Good afternoon, everyone. Stephen here. 

    I realize that I have been missing in action for a while now.  Some seasons of life are just busier than others and navigating the waters of being a husband, father, working full time, and finishing up the last semester of my second Master's Degree has taken a toll on me... in some ways not so good. I have been asked to step up this coming week and post more content, so I would like to invite you to come alongside me for this next stretch of the road during this next week while I share more content on this blog.

    In January, I began a new series titled "Bridges" in which I interweave my love of old historic wrought iron bridges with experiences I've had in life. I meant to continue this series, but as usual, life caught up with me and threw me a curveball. 

    Tomorrow, I look forward to sharing with you, the next entry in the series: "Bridges, Part Two – The Disconnected Bridge"

    Be looking for this next entry tomorrow! Hey, if I say here that I'm going to share it, I actually have to follow through and publish it, right? I need some accountability here!

    In the meantime, I've posted the link for Part One below in case you missed out on reading it the first time.

Bridges - Part One - The Lost Bridge 

See you soon. 

~S

Demystifying The Archetype

I was introduced to my archetype whilst in 6th grade.  The year was 1985, and I was at a weeklong summer camp for 5th and 6th grade boys in south Alabama.  This summer camp experience was hosted by our church, and surprisingly (to me today), I can only recall 5th and 6th grade boys from First Baptist Church Jackson attending.  Therefore, there were no more than 30 to 40 of us there (if that many) during this week, and this made it a truly intimate experience.

The retreat center was small and rural.  I remember a somewhat small, placid lake accessible by a gravel road, a couple of small bunkhouses and a combined cafeteria / meeting or assembly building making up the campus.  The music of this particular summer was Van Halen's 1984 album, therefore it well represented that particular masculine vibe that was hitting us culturally from most every side.  I can recall vividly during the Friday night "talent show" having the privilege of "running the lights" (turning the fluorescent troffers on and off spasmodically) relative to supporting one of the "boy band" lip sync acts.  No doubt, their song of choice was "Jump".

Our bunkhouse of boys had +/-12 young men within with one college-age chaperone.  His name was Greg, and it was he who made such a distinct impression on young Rob during that week (& beyond).

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What is an archetype?  

To me, it's a figure of mystery that's sexualized relative to timing, in part due to the inevitable awakening of one's sexuality during puberty (childhood).  

Greg was mysterious to all of us boys.  He was very quiet and built like a much older man than his college age suggested.  Therefore, we were all quite intimidated by him.  Yet we were as well, glad to know he was amongst us.  It wasn't that his presence threatened us overall, but you could sense - particularly due to his quiet demeanor - that he wasn't all that pleased about spending his week that summer with us.  

But this mystery was catalyzed when I had a personal encounter with him on the eve of the day we arrived.  This occurred as he stepped naked out of a shower stall.  Both he and I were alone together in the men's room with me standing at one of the lavoratories when his naked and wet reflection in the mirror caught me off guard.  I remember laughing out of shock, and him reacting to my laughter with a "What?".  

Me sharing this very innocent yet intimate moment with him served to elevate this young (but very mature-looking) man within my mind.  Eventually to reside high above the stratosphere throughout much of the remainder of my childhood.

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I longed to be pursued by my archetype.  That was my ultimate desire as a boy.  Not having a father, older brother, uncle, etc. that I felt close to / mentored by, I chose Greg instead.  From there, lust and sexual fantasies ensued.  And this was a bittersweet solution, as you might imagine.  For it certainly didn't reconcile well with my Christian faith, yet it was at times exhilaratingly satisfying to have - within my mind's eye - an older male within my life serving me at my beck and call. 

So how do you demystify these figureheads within your mind?

You don't.  You can't.  They've grown too big, become to strong and are so far removed from reality.  I know that because I attended a funeral a few years back at my home church, First Baptist Church Jackson, and Greg was there with his mother.  They were seated on the same pew as I was.  I realized then how useless an attempt it would be to defang my mind's understanding of the archetype that was birthed out of him.  

But what you can do is face it by providing a narrative to the archetype itself that's best described as back / forward story.  And this needs to be a narrative that's grounded much more so in reality than (sexual) fantasy.  Sure, the archetype can still be over the top aesthetically within this back / forward narrative, but what you're striving for is grounding the character somewhat within your adult mind.  From there, I've found at least, that its influence begins to diminish.  From the standpoint of the archetype being such the exclamation point versus a series of paragraphs (if not more) within your grey matter.

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Why is this important to consider?

The narrative (back / forward story) you contrive for your archetype will reflect your ideals as they exist today versus what they were during your childhood.  And this will reflect clearly upon who you've become as an adult, having grown out of childhood.  

This gives the archetype legs so to speak, and in turn, somewhat equal footing to stand on as you yourself.  In lieu of simply existing as a puppet.

Also, my hope is that you're no longer isolated as you were as a boy, having involved yourself in some form of authentic Christian community like Samson Society.  This should, in turn, diminish the authority of your archetype as you dialogue about it with other men.  And maybe too, what comes out of those conversations will provide you with inspiration therein.  Inspiration that's relative to how best you might approach expanding your ideal into more of a reflection of yourself and less of a teddy bear.

Positive Peer (Silas) Pressure

So much of what we choose to participate in and believe as individuals is massively influenced by our personal peer group.

Yet, often Samson guys intentionally limit their personal peer group by avoiding The Path.  They'll attend weekly meetings, often times quite regularly, but rarely, if ever, step onto The Path.  

Why?

One reason is they're convinced their issues with _______ are "under their control" at the present, therefore attending meetings is plenty involved in Samson Society (at the present time) relative to their issues / current state of mind.  

For me, I compare the experience of Samson Society to being an architecture student back in the early '90s at Mississippi State University.  As a freshman, I was beside myself with both the academic demands put on me coupled with the newly realized (Starkville / dorm room home) setting.   It wasn't 'till my sophomore year though that I began to develop personal friendships.  Obviously, these were friends who I felt comfortable investing in and vice versa.  And what I found whilst making that decision was holistic flourishing / vibrancy / renewal / fun there during my college career.  And this, in turn, undergirded my resiliency and focus relative to enduring my major of choice.

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There were only 7 students (out of +/-45), who started their 5-year stints as architecture students in 1990 at Mississippi State University, that passed through the 5-years uninterrupted (taking a year off / co-oping) prior to graduating.  I was one of those along with my oldest friend, Jason.  Were it not for what I chose to do within my sophomore year, I would have never made it through, uninterrupted or otherwise.  This is crystal clear to me whilst looking back.

A few thoughts for those of you who're resolved to avoid following The Path.

1.  Look closely at your end goal as it pertains to involving yourself within the Samson Society.  Ask yourself, at what pace and what exact goals have you set for yourself, again, as it pertains to ________.

2.  Look closely at the Samson Society group you're now affiliated with (assuming you're involved in 1 of the 5 Metro Jackson groups).  Specifically, analyze the specific men involved within your default group.  Are they within the same age group, demographic?  What about articulation / intelligence?  Analyze.  And from there, determine your comfortableness overall with the group itself.  From there, take stock in your good work by considering a change in setting if you believe this is the best course of action relative to your actually following The Path.

3.  Try to own up to how your abstaining from following The Path is restricting the work of the Holy Spirit in and through you yourself.  Often men see The Path as a one-way street, but it never is.  God can and will use you just as readily as he uses your Silas.  It is no doubt a selfish pursuit to abstain from The Path.

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In closing, I'm the Samson Society zealot I am today due to me finally embracing The Path by asking another man to firstly be my Silas.  

And what an amazing journey it has been.

   

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