The architect's garage

Hot fudge sundae

2012-01-25T10:20:00.000-06:00

I wrote a post (or two) some time back that addressed the opposite of deliberate touch. You can read it here. I've also written about my wrestling over the issue of touch at certain points in the somewhat recent past. You can read that here.

I rarely touch other guys. And the reason for that is I only do so if I feel lead to. I know that sounds vague. And it is vague, but I don't always give a hug when I rendezvous with a close friend. It may be a handshake, this time around, even if I haven't seen them in a while.

Being lead to do something is a byproduct of my environment, my own state of mind / heart, and my sense of my friend's state of mind / heart as well. I suppose you could call it instinct or calling on instinct prior to stepping forward. Now, I will insert this caveat: there are times when my emotions usurp everything that I've just described. When that occurs, it's like passing go and collecting $200 on the Monopoly board. There's no question regarding my desire to embrace in order to reassure or reconnect on a very personal level. This then results in more than a hug. It's something entirely different. The only way I know to describe it is giddy mystery magic.

Last night, I was encouraged in my attempt to utilitize thoughtful deliberateness relative to touch and that encouragement is still resonating within me.

To know that there are some individuals who benefit more from your motives than the actual action which are a result of the motives (or perhaps equal to them) is deliciously complicated to think about.

No wonder guys don't touch each other. Most people don't want to be labeled a con artist. So often, it has nothing to do with homophobia.

My mouth continues to water!

Lagniappe

Anger mismanagement

2012-01-20T17:06:00.002-06:00

By the time I was around the age of 12, I was an avid comic book reader. This interest was sparked via Richie Rich comic books that I acquired at the Tote-Sum adjacent to my mother's place of employment during my pre-adolescent years.

I'm not sure what drove my interest in Richie. There was a neighbor boy named Richie that had lived nearby. He and I weren't close friends. I don't know. Maybe the blonde hair and cute shorts. I don't know. Plus, he was always in such a good mood.

Eventually, this pursuit evolved into purchasing comics from one of the Jackson area's first comic book stores. My best friend introduced this avenue for burning threw funds, and boy, did he ever demonstrate how to burn threw money on comics / graphic novels, etc. By this time, I was primarily reading the typical super hero genre, though I do remember by this point in time, it was all beginning to grow stale.

On one particular afternoon, I was purusing the inventory within the store alone. I believe my mother had dropped me off and left me there to shop while she did some of her own burning around the corner. The building was a wood frame structure that was very rickety, almost like an antiquated schoolhouse. It had lots of natural light that flooded the interior thanks to the repetitively spaced single hung windows. And due to the lack of upholstered / carpeted surfaces, it was a noisy space as well.

The proprietor of the shop answered the telephone at the counter while I was browsing. It was a call he was expecting. I could tell this by his tone. There wasn't anyone else in the shop but he and I.

Keep in mind that this was probably 1986.

I could tell the man was faced with a dilemma. He knew I could hear his end of the conversation despite the fact that I wasn't spatially close. So, he tried to talk in a low voice. But, you know, he was a typical man. His voice was deep and therefore carried easily.

He was talking to a therapist. It was a return call from first contact. The therapist asked lots of questions. The man gave heartfelt responses. I discerned that a young son was involved and that the same abuse had been inflicted on this man when he was a boy.  Obviously, he wanted this to go no further. He wanted to learn how to stop before he ever lost control again.

I often wonder if he did.

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I have a brilliant friend who works as an electrician by trade.  I met him on a job site when I was in the private sector. His team installed the bulk of the electrical system within a particular building that I happened to design the lighting system for.  His request for information (rfi's) were the most eloquently written affairs I'd ever encountered. It was obvious that his cognitive abilities far exceeded his trade skills.

He's told me numerous stories regarding his father's outbursts of rage when he was a youth. On one occasion, he remembers he and his sister going door to door, house to house, in an attempt to find help for their mother, who they believed was close to losing her life. My friend's father was an avid collector of firearms.  Those mixed with his unstable temper, not to mention plenty of alcohol added to the mix, often resulted in some terrifying episodes.

My friend would go on to say that rarely, if ever, did any neighbor listen to their pleas for help. They simply didn't want to get involved.

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On Tuesday of last week, I got kicked in the teeth emotionally. When this happens, I rarely if ever respond in kind. My reaction is one of a cool cucumber. It's as if I'm saying, "No problems here." I did receive a partial apology accompanied by some very glib feedback from my friend.

And this was a close friend who did this. It wasn't like it was a emotionally unstable neighbor or somesuch.

When I get angry, it burns within me like a smoldering fire hidden under wool blankets. I encapsulate it quickly and then try to ignore it, going about my everday life, though never really dealing with it right then and there.

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I've lived with at least one woman for 16 years now. Women are very different from men in their demeanor and their demands. When Ang and I were still newlyweds, she went through a severe bout of anxiety / paranoia that frustrated me to no end. For two years, I had to cope with this. The hardest part was her clinginess. I'd never witnessed such fragility in my life. Where was the woman I had dated? That was the question I asked myself repeatedly. Not being willing to reach out to anyone for help with this also didn't help matters. I refused to allow anyone to adjudicate my newly acquired nuptials as anything but perfect.

On one occasion, out of anger and frustration, I pushed my wife out of our bed and onto the carpeted floor in disgust during an argument over "snuggle time". I remember that definitely got her attention. She immediately jumped up, screaming demands that I NEVER DO THAT AGAIN.  In writing about this, I'm amazed at how ridiculously insensitive my response was.

She was a woman, for God's sakes!

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Two of my father's brothers are / were divorced. One of these men did so because his wife / my aunt / was cheating on him with a younger, much hotter man. This particular brother / my uncle, by nature, was a bully with a massive temper. Though this man was warned to not hit his wife in retaliation for what she'd chosen to do, (I'm fairly sure) he didn't heed the advice. Those violent acts against her may have felt good at the time, but in the end, the result was more pain and suffering for him. She eventually divorced my uncle and married her new stud, taking the three children with her.

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The smoldering coals of my anger ignited instantly this past weekend. Ironically, it happened on Sunday morning, whilst trying to get my children ready for church (sans wife). The ignition was sparked by an unexpected phone call that my wife received, which in turn prompted her to quickly leave the house. Soon thereafter, the target of my outburst was my middle child.

As a parent, with multiple children, I find that you unintentionally keep score relative to their behavior. This is especially true as a father whose given regular updates from Mom that unfortunately tend to schew negative. I think this has to be the norm for most households with multiple small children.

The bright side to this event was twofold:

1. The child on the receiving end of my calousness, is extremely emotionally resilient.
2. I immediately realized my mistake, brought everyone together, and apologized. Attempting to explain myself was no small feat, but perhaps someday my children will read this post and it will make more sense.

I cannot describe to you how difficult it is to raise children, lead a family, work full time, engage regularly with friends, and attempt to stay physically fit. Not to mention read your Bible on occasion, pray, etc. It's no wonder so many men either throw in the towel via abandoning their families outright or cope with the stresses via physical / verbal abuse, drugs / alcohol, etc. It's like you're constantly running a marathon with no end in sight. It just goes on and on.

I wish I could offer some advice to better handle anger. It is an extremely difficult emotion to manage systemically. Especially when the brunt of the anger is brought on by someone you love. Someone you've invested a great deal in.

I refuse to be a robot, but at the same time, I refuse to continue to run the risk of boiling over on the individuals I care for the most.

Being very emotionally "vibrant" doesn't help matters.

The lonely parade (poem)

2012-01-16T14:38:00.001-06:00

This line is my own.
Though can I suppose that
Anyone really knows
The time I spend alone?

As the sun illuminates the sky
All the passers by
Appear before me.

They wave a hand
As I walk along.
They listen to the sound
Of our shuffling feet.

Forward. Forward I go.

But I do not see
The joyous throngs.
Their warmth, their praise
I refuse to prolong.
They're only here to demarcate, to pass
As I willingly display my boyish ass.
One half beat behind is where I play,
Finding it easy to meditate
on that which I care - helps me, helps me - maintain a stare
within the textured blackness of that bituminous slate
being pulled like taffy 'neath my gait.

What will it take to remove my smile?
When will I acknowledge these fettered miles?

Look up, young champion as you pass along!

Real love is the key.
Though finding it has been a chore.
Now that it's here, I habitually choose to ignore,
It's warmth, its steed is too regal to abhor.
Though not nearly as fanciful as I work to demand
Too much, too soon. Give me a break.
Let's both sit down and pontificate.
I need no one except my rhyme,
To find me, keep me, just a few steps behind.

So I continue to bake in the hurtful glare
As I work to shun this masters' where.

Finally its descent ends the call
And my time is over
Before the fall.

Within the pitch, I'm without my line
Alone in the street.
No matter.

Forward. Forward I go.
As I gaze at...

No longer able to see the gumdrops below, I stop.
Everyone is gone, but he's still there?

I feel the weight of an impish stare.
I look up into darkness and reach out high above.

His mare is gone, it is only he. His face, I find, steadies and shields.
Until a swift bite of my flesh forces me to repeal.

I punch at the air in front of this pimp, too complacent to fall or even to limp.

The orb slowly rises. Now I'm clinging to the curb. All hope is lost.

I kiss the concrete and smile at my find.
I'm back to that place! Just one step behind.

Look up, young champion! Your ass is mine!

The bit, it hurts as it chatters my teeth.
The straps and belts cinch tight under my seat.

I am yanked UP to walk
only to march forward down the street.
Though no one watches us enact this stylish feat.

My limbs are his limbs along with my head.
There's little I can do as I consider the dead.
The dead who walk next to me along this path
To hell and back as we face our Maker's wrath.
Their countenances are bleak, such squeam of the crop,
like burnt gingerbread soldiers anxious to stop.

No more delays. No more reprise. We now do his bidding.
His work. His lies.

The love is gone. It could not survive without being ushered in
Whilst defeating the lives. The lives that trip up and slow and
chafe the true passage of time as seen by a waif.
A waif who embellishes and stretches along each passing moment
Before it is gone.

Countdown to middle age

2012-01-16T12:51:00.002-06:00

$11,060.06 remaining as of today.

Staying out of playland

2012-01-06T13:24:00.000-06:00

I had a meeting with my Tim yesterday evening. I'd given him a copy of something I'd written months ago, as a Christmas gift, that attempted to capture my thoughts relative to an evening we'd spent together watching Brokeback Mountain, and we spent a good portion of our time together last night discussing this piece and his reaction thereof.

When I shared this work, I didn't know how he'd react.  This, I came to find out was the point all along. The point (in my mind) of giving this short piece to him, that is, though God had other plans...

The document was an email thread that I'd sent to another friend describing our time together that evening. What made it unique was the salaciousness of the text. Not just in terms of my diction but in terms of my tone. It wasn't pages and pages long. It was simply a few paragraphs, but...

Tim was offended. And he had every right to be. He told me that he read the piece soon after receiving it and then quickly banished it to the glove compartment of his car for weeks before picking it up again.

In the past, I have found myself willingly knifing people with my words in order to protect my own vulnerability. When someone got too emotionally close, I'd instinctively lash out indirectly with the "perpetrator" having little to no clue as to what was really going on. This was different than that in the sense that I wasn't being overtly critical of my victim but covertly critical.

Tim expertly revealed my heart i.e. how my heart's eyes saw / sees him at certain points in time. Essentially, for him to know that he'd being reduced to a piece of meat didn't sit well. And not that the overriding feelings relative to my gayness aren't relevant or worth recognizing, it was the act of DOCUMENTING those feelings in black and white, in a very methodical manner that creeped him out.

And who wouldn't be creeped out by this kind of thing?

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My childrens' imaginations are vivid and demanding. Since our kids don't watch TV, they're mostly playing pretend and sometimes reading books. Playing pretend, whether it be somewhere in the house or out in the yard, is their most popular pastime. Often, in order to get their attention, I have to announce that "YOU'RE NO LONGER TO BE IN PLAYLAND". Otherwise, they'll hear my requests (orders), but not comprehend them fully, and this results in problems relative to carrying them out.

I also have an imagination and a critical eye, as does every human being.  They're some of the most powerful tools that God has given man. But...

just because they're there and active doesn't mean that they have to be acknowledged at certain points in time.  Bringing those thoughts to the forefront of my mind willingly in order to document, or worse, imply that they manifest themselves via a wishful acting out, was a mistake.

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Tim asked: "What if your wife were to read this?"

I shrugged my shoulders, whilst secretly hoping that she wouldn't come unhinged if she did. I do know Angie well enough to know that she's definitely one to give an overwhelmingly long piece of rope from which I can hang myself with, but that doesn't discount her expectations relative to staying informed as to any gay feelings that might impede or inflict damage upon our marriage. That's always been an unwritten vow of ours.

What hit me the hardest was this very laid back, very trusting friend's obvious pain and disgust.

Wow. I mean WOW.

Never can I remember experiencing that with any other friend. At least in the flesh. To have him sitting right there in front of me at that point in time was very tough.

I wasn't embarrassed by what I'd written or how I'd written it or who'd I'd written it to. It wasn't that at all.  But for him to react this way was very heavy indeed.

Hopefully, those moments will linger in my memory and eventually lodge themself within my heart. Hopefully, by capturing this here, I'll be inclined to return and re-read when I do begin to forget. Hopefully, I'll work towards remembering others' feelings relative to my own no matter the distance between us relationally. I must work to decide now to look at my Tim as Christ does, flesh and spirit combined. And to remember that my primary focus within our friendship should be spirit, without aggrandizing the ebb and flow of my very unique mind.

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On a side note, Tim and I both saw the latest Mission Impossible film over the holidays and concurrently acknowledged two things about the film:

1. It was too long (Brad Bird should have edited out the sandstorm car chase scene)
2.  Despite Cruise being a really fast runner, he's aging. Gravity is taking its toll on his face and his pecs.
2a. Tim didn't like the neat and tidy ending.

Lagniappe

That's not my problem

2011-12-28T08:49:00.001-06:00

As an architect, I subscribe to promote the welfare of the public, striving to do no harm within the context of the work that I do.

If only this were a universal theme for educated professionals.

If only this were a universal theme for myself within every aspect of my life.

Angie and I subscribe to cable television. We have the most inexpensive package which provides us with around 15 channels. I can remember when I was a child how exciting it was to gain access to a television that carried premium channels like HBO, Showtime, Cinemax, etc. Just knowing that there was the possibility of seeing something "adult" was very enticing.

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I work in state government. The paradigm within my occupation is much different than it was within the private sector, though like the private sector, there's a plethora of personality types that make up the workforce. One distinct difference between the private and public sector is knowing exactly what your responsibilities are within your specific job description.

This is good on one hand from the standpoint of logic but difficult on another from the standpoint of compassion (or lack thereof).

I've had colleagues look at me and say that they literally didn't care one iota about me or my situation. I can appreciate that for transparency's sake, but it certainly hurts to hear it.

It took at least 8 years of working alongside the same colleague to stumble upon that kind of honesty within the private realm.

My colleagues and I care for the Mississippians that we serve. For me, it's part of my personality due to the fact that I'm a giver. To a degree, I care for those I work alongside as well, despite the fact that we're all somewhat autonomous.

Know this: I'm the guy who wonders how to help a homeless man (who doesn't look dangerous) as I'm driving by the sidewalk that he's traveling upon.

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Adult films are popular this time of year. There are a few in theaters currently. These are dark affairs with heaps of foul language, nudity, sexual themes (often with horrifically violent overtones), and so on. Eventually, these films move onto the premium channels / DVD racks at Wal-Mart for anyone to see who has access to the remote or a few bucks.

When I was a child, adult films were tame by today's standards. From the themes to the specific visual imagery / language, they are now cut from an entirely different cloth.

There's no sense of restraint or hold harmless within the current crop of adult films. They're meant to do much more than entertain or inspire on any level. I'm not saying they're no good, I'm just saying they're extreme. And systemically inching closer and closer to the edge as each year passes.

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Those who produce, direct, and act within these films may have, at some point in time, worked within government. That sense of autonomy between ones' peers that I described above is perhaps translated across the masses creating a definitive emotional disconnect between filmakers and audience.

Let's all think (and feel) different, for God's sake, no matter our calling. And no matter our circumstances. Everything we do and say with what little time we're given on this Earth affects so many other individuals, both young and old.

And for those of you who subscribe to today's version of this celluloid genre on a regular basis, I urge you to cease and desist. Don't support the films, etc. themselves and work towards avoiding the outlets by which they're impishly distributed. And, yes I realize that might lead to some inconvenience, but taking a stand for others' well being is worth it in the long run.

Lagniappe
Lagniappe
Lagniappe

Holiday regret

2011-12-26T23:14:00.000-06:00

"Tradition" is what so many holidays are made up of here in the deep South. Perhaps that's the case where you're at as well. Traditional events, traditional ceremonies, traditional foods, traditional decor and so on. Traditions are easy to replicate year after year. This is why they're so popular. Botching something new and untried is an easy target for criticism and gossip. We Southerners are well suited to honing in on those opportunities, therefore most people just stick with what they know and endure, knowing that it will all be over soon enough.

I'm neither for or against traditions, but what I am sure of is knowing when it's time for a change.

The holidays come around sooner year after year. Sit down and decide now what you will do differently next year...for whatever reason. Write it down if need be.

And then, when next year comes, either refine your traditions or turn them on their head. And don't worry about what anybody else thinks about it no matter what direction you choose.

Learn from your mistakes and from your missed opportunities. And if you decide to celebrate Christmas in July, please invite me. I have the perfect dip for it.

lordGay

2011-12-25T00:00:00.000-06:00

Deeply wounded

2011-12-17T23:00:00.000-06:00

What is the common thread that binds together gay / lesbian individuals? What overarching similarity is there between them, whether they be acting out or celibate? One might think it's their attraction sexually to the same sex, but I've discovered that attraction between the same sexes varies dramatically from individual to individual. It can run rampant like a pack of wild horses or be as quietly annoying as a leaky faucet. Both circumstances are derived from the same root but bring about their own challenges.

I had the privilege this past week to speak to a new friend who found me hear in cyberspace. It was great to have the opportunity to hear his story. He was as open an honest as one could be at one of life's crossroads.

I've known a number of gay and lesbians during my almost 40 years here on Earth. Some of them I didn't realize at the time resided in that camp. Others, I found there almost immediately. The most interesting experience relative to that occurred at a conference I attended years ago here in Jackson. Similar in build to "Love Won Out", it provided opportunity for fellowship and Biblical teaching for Christian gays and lesbians and their families.

During one of the breaks at this conference, I ran into an old friend from college. What could have been a very awkward encounter instantly resulted in a return to the familiar in terms of our tangential relationship during our short stint together. Both he and I were in the marching band back in the day. He was one of the first guys I met on campus due to the fact that I was required to be there one week prior to class starting in order to participate in band camp. Neither of us ever discussed our sexuality during those four years together, though we did talk openly about many other things. During my freshman year, I was even able to spend some time with this family as they lived there in our small college town. Upon seeing him in the lobby of the church where the conference was held, everything came together almost instantly within my mind. I knew then what I'd always known, and I felt a sense of belonging that I wouldn't have known otherwise had I not made that reconnection.

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Perhaps we're just not as thick skinned as most. I'm beginning to think that's where the crux of the problem lies. Or maybe we simply don't have immune systems that work correctly to begin with, therefore a simple emotional nick can easily get infected and become much more serious. And that, in turn, takes an extra long time to heal, not to mention be re-opened / festered with little to no effort. Finally, at least as children, this pattern sets in as the norm and the wound becomes more than an injury. It becomes, in many ways, part of the identifiable core of the person.

Eventually, a decision must be made regarding how to handle oneself relative to this wound / tendency to wound easily.

The most disturbing coping method to witness is the excel technique. This is not just putting your best foot forward. It's doing so after removing everything from it, leaving just dry bone. It's a divorcing of oneself from any authentic emotion(s) and therefore a decoupling from any recollection or even the slightest acknowledgement of the wound(s) or tendency thereof.

I digress...

Jesus Christ is the ultimate healer according to Scripture. He knew the wound(s) of each and every individual he met, and if they allowed, was able to minister exactly as needed.

We are all inherently broken people. Add to the fact that gays and lesbians are more easily crushed that much further during the early stages of our lives (and beyond). This only serves to complicate things that much more as we grow and become in a fallen world. How much more then do we need a Savior! Not only to be healed and ultimately reassembled, but to be consistently ministered to by the Holy Spirit, finding supernatural courage and testimony to embrace our weaknesses even during the most difficult of circumstances.

I'm too sexy for my television

2011-11-15T14:04:00.001-06:00

When you ride an elevator, you're usually unaware of how far you've traveled because there's no point of reference, unless of course one side of the cab is glazing, and you can see outdoors. There are actually two doors that work in tandem to seal off the elevator cab from the openings on each floor. If the inner door were transparent (within a typical setup), that would make all the difference. Then you could stand there and count the number of outer doors you'd passed as you traveled, or at least be cognizant of the movement within your periphery above and beyond the vibrations and humming noise.

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There's a decorative mirror in our "foyer" that I must admit serves to tempt me more often than not. There have been periods of time where its been purposefully covered over for this very reason. I used to believe it was all about vanity but now I'm more inclined to cite my tendency to fall back on my flesh to not necessarily tempt but to appease. Temporarily appease, that is.

I believe I could probably be a chest model. Or perhaps a nipple model. Is there such a thing?

I've never been more fit and "filled out" (as a friend of mine described it) in my life. I know. 180 lbs. isn't anything to write home about, but work with me here!

What I need is a mirror that would allow me to see beyond my skin versus one that provides a duplicate epidermis. One that would reflect the motives of my heart. And besides, no vision of a thousand lights could come close to the atmospheric care and attention of God Almighty. I mean, really, what's the point?

The Bible declares the heart to be shifty and unstable. I can attest to that. I find that mine is so much so that I sometimes find it difficult to see it relative to my "in the present" circumstance.

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My family spent a long weekend away six weeks ago to celebrate the beginning of Autumn. Our temporary abode was a lovely farmhouse on the edge of the Mississippi Delta. This rancher had been recently rebuilt after taking on heavy damage from a tornado years prior, therefore it was modern and fresh. One end of the building housed a sizable living area with a fireplace and flat screen television.

It's difficult for a man to ignore a remote control. Even one who rarely watches TV at home.

This was our third time to take up residence here. On every occasion, we've stationed ourselves in front of the TV during one of our evenings away and watched an hour or so of programming. Cartoon Network had provided some nice fodder in the past. So, we returned to that same watering hole. We ended up watching a visually stunning feature called "My Scary Godmother". If only the plot had been as well crafted as the imagery.

We all stepped away from that experience feeling less than we'd been before. As if we'd just wasted an hour of our lives.

In order to decide on that feature, I'd breezed through the channels a few times prior in order to familiarize myself once again with everything available. Because it was getting close to Halloween, that theme was woven throughout most every channel header and tagline. And some of it was cute, but much of it was quite frightening. That's all I'll say. Not just the visuals, but the lack of restraint that was behind those visuals.

Two things: One, it's unfortunate the CGI is as inexpensive as it now is, and two, television executives / actors must be the most shallow individuals (other than maybe gay men) on the planet. It's all about looking out for number one. And who gives a shit who might be damaged via the aftermath.

What really sickens me is knowing that black children (mostly living in poverty) are more prone to have access to this crap than any others i.e. their families watch more of it than most. This crap being mind numbing programming and advertising.

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Our super premium deluxe front load washing machine stopped washing our clothes a few weeks ago. After pushing the start button, it would start after engaging the electronic door lock only to stop a few minutes later. It then would display "READY" in the beautiful designed and uniformly backlit display after magically unlocking the door. The stinky load would only be partially damp. Too bad it couldn't actually clean clothes that quickly even when it was working correctly.

My car's automatic transmission fluid had never been changed before Friday. I hadn't planned on having it replaced until I felt the five speed unit slip slightly a few weeks ago whilst driving up a small hill on my way to work. The manufacturer's recommended fluid change interval is 110,000 miles. I was only at 88,000. No matter. Transmission repair work is expensive. Having the fluid replaced only cost me $79.95 (before coupon) and an hour of my time.

The super premium deluxe front load washer washed and washed our family's clothing for six years before malfunctioning repeatedly. It was an amazing machine. Quiet, efficient, and smart. But, it could not be repaired sensibly for more than it would cost to replace the machine outright. This made me very angry. I felt and still feel as if I'd been had. Our new, much more rudimentary top load replacement washer is scheduled to be delivered tomorrow.

I refuse(d) to lose all control again.

I need an automobile to get me to work everyday. I need a washing machine to wash the clothes of all five members of the Turner family. I need an elevator to get me to the proper floor in the building I work in.

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I am an appliance whore, but not a stupid one. Television is the most amazing appliance ever invented. It is a mirror and a window wrapped up in one device. And all you have to do is push one button to make it happen. Unlimited appeasement. No more alone. And the people inside don't even look like you!

But....like an elevator, there's more to this contraption than meets the eye. You really don't have much control over the experience itself. It may do its job, but there is so much that is constantly going on in the background that you know nothing about. In some instances, that may be okay, but because television is a decidedly visual appliance, the man behind the curtain must be taken into consideration. It cost a lot in the long run to not do this, regardless if you're a Christian or not.

If only we could sit in the television network board rooms with the rich white people and listen in on their agendas. If only we had some insight into what they truly were trying to achieve (besides making money). Maybe then we'd reconsider the allure of that magic remote control. Maybe.

The Bible talks about being mindful about what we put into our bodies. It describes the body as the dwelling place of God's spirit. It's to be a holy place. Set apart.

Besides the prominence of shocking CGI effects, I found there to be a prevalence of homoeroticism for all to see during my short stint with TV six weeks ago. For a straight man, perhaps this plays to the wind, but for a gay one, I beg to differ. To be more specific, why do all the white men on television look like fitness models? And I'm not talking about just the shaving cream commercials. I'm talking about the reality show hosts and so on. More and more of these men look unnaturally fit and muscular. All of which is prominently displayed through their tight fitting / low cut, very casual clothing.

If I were straight and watching television on a regular basis, this would have to depress me.

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I'm not stupid. My body's worth more than television has to offer. Yours is too.

Thinking of watching some television? Please reconsider. There's an infinite number of things to do that are far better choices. Pick one of those.

And if you have children, for God's sake, take them to the library.

Lagniappe

Stunning

2011-11-11T08:38:00.001-06:00

The Ennis curse

2011-11-06T22:16:00.001-06:00

2005's Brokeback Mountain is a film that captured the hearts of many a gay man and repulsed many a straight. I remember working with a woman who wanted very much to watch it with her beau who consistently refused. And who can blame him? The subject matter is tough to stomach. It's like a dick chick flick. I had the privilege to watch the film this past Halloween night with my Tim. Here are my thoughts on this brave celluloid undertaking.

When I was a boy I read DC comics, or at least a few DC comics' titles, on a regular basis. Marvel simply didn't have the art style that caught my eye. Oh how I loved George Perez' work! I had never seen women penciled so beautifully.

One particular DC character was secretly this gay man's favorite. And not only because she was a brunette. It was her origin story that kept me coming back for more. I can now look back (knowing much more about the Marvel universe - thanks to recent films) and contrast this character (Donna Troy) with another superheroine - Marvel's infamous Rogue.

Why take the time to do this within a film review? Be patient, dear reader. As many of you know, I rarely think linearly.

My first memory of being enamored with the same sex is probably somewhat similar to other mens' stray vestiges from the past - whether they be gay or straight. I can remember being monitored by an older boy (he was probably 8 or 9) when I was around the age of 3 or 4 whilst out in the yard swimming in an inflatable pool. Just to have him there completely focused on my antics was fantastic! Obviously, there was nothing unusual about that. I also remember briefly capturing his attention close to a decade later on a Friday night during the school year. My grandfather and I had stopped by his parents' home late in the evening, and he was just getting cleaned up from playing in the local academy football game. Oh, what a sight! Seeing that athletically built teen present his naked torso (he was just getting out of the shower) to us was truly a religious experience for me. It was like the second coming. Or perhaps the third or fourth, to be completely honest. I knew then that something was most definitely skewed within my psyche. I didn't stop thinking about that boy for quite some time afterwards. It was lust at first sight.

Donna Troy was found by Wonder Woman as a toddler. The child was rescued from her burning home and eventually adopted by the Amazon princess after it was determined that her kin were impossible to locate. Wonder Woman took the girl with her back to Themyscira (Paradise Island) to grow up in the care of her mother and "the village" of Amazonians despite the fact that Donna was mortal and all the other females weren't.

The Amazons hadn't just been (re)created by the gods as flawlessly beautiful women, many of them were also brilliant scientists. The "purple ray" device was one of their creations. With it, each woman transferred a small portion of herself to the young Donna Troy, thereby instilling her with an equal portion of "Amazon warrior woman" as the originals. Hence, she eventually became Wonder Girl.

Rogue is a mutated human being. A woman who gained her "gifts" through evolution. These gifts enable her to absorb the life from other humans and subsequently, similar "gifts" from other mutants for a short period of time. If she's unable to touch another individual, she cannot perform her unusual talent, and subsequently carry out her intended purpose as a member of the X-men. [Not much of an origin story, is it?]

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Ennis Del Mar, I believe, is damaged goods. Like every man, he has the ability to grow through what I like to refer to as masculine osmosis, but either isn't presented with the opportunity or opportunity enough. Therefore, he makes a poor choice which results in major heartache for himself and many, many others that surround him. This includes Jack Twist.

That poor choice was sodomy.

I believe Jack Twist had tasted this bitter fruit in the past and upon seeing Ennis was hungry for more. Ennis, though initially seemingly dimwitted, soon proved capable of sensation and nuanced understanding. Expecting an opportunity to present itself, he instinctively took control despite his better judgement. It didn't take long before he came to realize the severity of his actions, despite the fact that he was using their ramifications as a jumping off point towards a quick fix to his own monumental problem.

If you remove the sex and the booze and cigs, what you're left with is a strong friendship that survives much, much longer than most. That friendship is what's at the heart of this film.

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My grandfather, for as long as I can remember, has been a ditch digger. He works for Humphrey's county, cleaning out the network of storm water drainage ditches which crisscross the rural landscape within the Mississippi Delta. A dragline excavator is his modus operandi. Working alongside him is a bulldozer operator. Over the years, the men who've worked in that position, have become close friends with my grandad. Day after day, they meet at the jobsite at dawn, work until lunch (where they eat under a shade tree - if one is available), and then shut down at 3. The only deterent to this routine is broken down machinery. If you spend time alongside these men as they work (as I did as a child on many occasions), you will witness the following:

- It's unbelievably hot running an earthmover during the Mississippi summer.
- It's easy to get bored.
- Without the other man there to assist / accompany, the work ethic within either would collapse. In fact, I'd go so far as to say that neither man would last long without the other despite the fact that they rarely interact verbally during the course of the day.

The fact that both men are committed to their own role as well as supporting the role of the other carries them through day after day, month after month, year after year. And there's no hanky panky in the bed of either man's truck no matter how isolated their location.

There doesn't "need" to be.

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Passive Building Systems was a class I had to take as a freshman in architecture school. I had no idea what it was about until the first day. Overall, I really enjoyed the class, though not necessarily due to the subject matter.

A passive building system is one that is baked into the design of a building. Usually, these systems only work (at all) if they're considered and begin to be incorporated at the schematic design phase. Some of the most beautiful buildings utilize passive systems to heat and cool and provide interior lighting to the occupants. That's not to say that active systems aren't also provided to supplement extreme conditions, but overall it's the passive design that helps to give the building its integrity.

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For a man to sodomize or perform oral sex on another man requires two things:

- horniness
- the ability to transcend the holiness veil which separates one's mind into distinct compartments.

Combine these two components, and you have almost achieved what so many men simply find to be unthinkable.

Have you ever tried to force your mind to consider the pain of a huge emotional loss? Have you ever attempted to trick your brain by hypothesizing every last detail of this unexpected tragedy? If so, how far were you able to go with it i.e. how much pain were you able to endure before backing out?

Immediately prior to the 10th anniversary of the September 11th attacks, I divested a great deal of time looking into the details of this horrific event. I watched a few documentaries, read a number of articles, etc. I did this as an exercise to see just how much I could stand AND as a way to honor those who'd lost their lives in the attack. Unfortunately, it had long lasting implications. For the first time in my life, I truly felt completely removed from God.

Gay men are numb to the emotional pain / discomfort associated with the thought of gay sex. It simply doesn't exist within their minds, therefore seeing the same sex as fair game comes "naturally" to them. Despite the fact that they have a choice to pursue this road physically, many do so simply because their hormones as well as their circumstances propel them forward, as if they're riding an anamolous undersea current deep beneath the ocean's surface.

The message I appreciate most from this film is the one that challenges the viewer to think hard about the collateral damage that gay sex always brings with it.

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I heard a woman call into Dr. Laura Schlessinger's radio program asking for advice on how to erase from her mind the vivid and compelling memory associated with having her first orgasm. She wanted to do so because the man who'd helped her achieve this state of euphoria wasn't her husband but a previous boyfriend. In fact, he was the only other man she'd allowed herself to have intercourse with. The situation was causing the woman to doubt her love and commitment to her spouse despite the fact that her husband was well versed in lovemaking.

Dr. Laura could offer the caller nothing other than sympathy. She went on to explain that some individuals (women, more often than not) develop a deep emotional connection to men they sleep with, and that the situation was amplified due to it being not only someone the woman loved but the first man she'd allowed to penetrate and subsequently intensely pleasure her. Having his penis inside her for those few precious minutes was more than a physical act. It transcended the moment, and in her mind, bound the two of them together emotionally on a level that could never be duplicated.

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The scene that was most moving to me within this film occurs right after Jack and Ennis part ways for the first time. The camera follows Ennis as he walks down a dirt road until he steals into an open shed after Jack's truck is out of sight. He crouches down and begins to sob uncontrollably, hiding his face from the sunlight beyond. The camera is low to the ground as it captures the poignancy of this unexpected moment as if we're right there with the young cowboy.

This moment was pivotal in my understanding of Ennis. His weeping occurred not only over his loss of a dear friend but at his loss of hope over making peace with himself and his own personal demons. In fact, I'd go so far as to say that Ennis was also experiencing emotional anguish over the unnecessary impact he'd made on his much weaker and very different lover. It is a pivotal moment for a complicated character, that just happens to be acted out masterfully by a young Heath Ledger.

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I've never liked football very much, though I've attended hundreds of games over the course of my life. Football is a game that's not difficult to understand or follow due to the fact that it is well paced. Because of the controlled physical nature of the sport, it reeks of civilized masculinity. There's also a great deal of strategy involved as one team works to advance the ball within certain regulatory limitations. Lastly, if you're interested in visualizing what it means to participate in a team sport, there's few that trump the individual cohesiveness of this one.

Professional, collegiate, and high school football teams are followed closely throughout the United States. The obligatory quarterback is often reveled or reviled based on his performance on the field. Those who are the former, pitch everything from banking services to deodorant to the American public via television commercials and print ads.

If you were like me as a young man, you scoffed at this foolishness and turned your nose up in disgust, all in the name of taking the high road. But when I take the time to look back at my true motives, I see my own poor choices staring back at me.

When I had the opportunity (and no, there weren't very many) to learn to embrace masculinity in a healthy way (whether it be through learning to respect sports or any other masculine endeavor), I REFUSED. And I did so because I believed that all of that was beneath me. I allowed my pride to stand in the way of the one thing I needed most. Having missed that opportunity, I found myself like young Jack Twist. That is to say, very, very vulnerable and extremely "misinformed".

Thank God I was spared the curse of my own Ennis Del Mar. I shudder to think of where I'd be today if that weren't the case. I can tell you that there were a handful of Ennises (especially in college) that I orbited for a short while whilst carrying out my own secret fantasy. Where would I be had they taken advantage of the situation? Thanks be to God that I'll never know.

Final thoughts:

No amount of forced normalcy (via the media or porn) within our present day society will ever change the bastion deterrent relative to man on man sex. That is, there will always be a better way to achieve the same goal within every gay (or straight) man without ever laying such a destructive and ignominious path through their lives and the lives of the ones they love. For some, this is more difficult to do than others due to their individual circumstances and personas. But for those who do choose the "straight" path, it's worth the effort and even the sacrifice in the end. Especially if you find and ultimately follow Jesus along the way.

I recommend that everyone take the time to see this film. It is well worth it.

Lagniappe

My spiritual gift

2011-10-31T08:33:00.001-05:00

I had lunch with our pastor fairly soon after he arrived at our church. One of the questions he asked me (unexpectedly) was: "What do you believe your spiritual gift is?". I didn't know how to answer. He then listed a number of gifts that are referenced in the Bible. Again, I didn't know how to answer.

In the past, I've joked around with the notion of my spiritual gift being vacuuming. After last night, I'm beginning to believe that it may be true.

I truly have a knack for bringing out the worst in people.

I'm beginning to believe this is no gift but a curse.

Fantasy

2011-10-24T20:23:00.001-05:00

Someday I'd like to have someone line the freeway with bubble wrap. I'm talking about the large-bubbled bubble wrap. The kind with the bubbles that are the size of giant marshmallows, adhered with super strong mastic to the asphalt.

I think that about five miles of cordoned roadway would be sufficient for this exercise. The day would have to be breezy and cool with no ceiling.

I'd then haul ass with the top down in the convertible of my choice while relishing the aural redundancy of my firecracker symphony.

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I used to think that I could ask to do this in heaven, but worshiping is where it's at up there.

I wonder how adversely this would affect my fuel economy.

I'd have to bring the kids along for the ride. Their screams of delight would only add to the fun.

Weekend End

2011-10-11T18:24:00.001-05:00

When I was growing up, I had no siblings but many cousins. All of them were younger than me except one. And all of them were boys. There were no girls in my extended family.

My Dad's mother lived in a sizeable home that she raised her four boys in. It was situated on a deep lot very close to downtown Belzoni.

The things that I remember most about the house were the exceedingly tall ceilings and the convential foundation. The house was at least 48" above grade. It's one of the only homes I've been in that had its HVAC ductwork within the crawlspace.

I was the ringleader of the group when all of us boys would stay over at my grandmother's. I savored the attention and would just about do anything to get a laugh out of my cousins. Or even a scare...

One of the younger boys was terrified of a small metal sculpture my grandmother had sitting on display. After realizing this, I decided to orchestrate a seance using the object as some sort of supernatural antenna.

I sat down with all of the younger kids in a circle in the front room of the house where we could have some privacy (my grandmother was Charismatic - she would have not been too happy with me doing this if she'd found out). I then put the antelope / elk sculpture in the center after darkening the room and asked everyone to join hands before attempting to call up the spirit of our dead grandfather.

My young cousin began to sob. I couldn't ignore it for long, though I probably made an attempt to calm him down in between my pleas to the spirit realm. At this point, I quickly disbanded the group and put the Satan deer back on its shelf - in the back - where it could no longer be seen.

I had made a decision to not make things worse for the little guy. He simply wanted to be included but couldn't overcome his fear. He was as brave as a five or six year old could muster despite the circumstances. And besides, his crying was just too much to bear.

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When I was in upper elementary school, I befriended a classmate who had two older siblings. His parents were much older than my own. In many ways, they reminded me more of grandparents than parents. Jeff lived in a very spacious home. It was actually more fun spending time in that house than it was spending time with him.

On a few occasions, he asked me to sleep over on a Friday night. I remember watching the Manimal pilot and Friday Night Videos on TV in between playing with his mother's automated bidet (which I was fascinated with). We probably also delved into some Atari 2600 games before I had to head home the next day. Jeff was a really nice boy. He was definitely the baby of the family. He even still had some baby fat to prove it.

Jeff's older brother was much older and built like a varsity athlete (I can only assume he was). He apparently would routinely beat up his little brother for the fun of it. I happened to witness one of those routines one Saturday morning after a sleepover. He simply barged into Jeff's bedroom and started beating the crap out of him. Obviously, it didn't take long to accomplish this before Jeff was left sobbing on the floor in a heap. Thankfully, my presence was never acknowledged during the pummeling.

I didn't return to Jeff's house after that. I had no desire to be big brother's next victim. And besides, some people's houses are just too big.

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When I was in high school, I would usually attend a church sponsored youth conference in the summer when I was off from school. On one particular occasion, I was one of the oldest boys to attend during what was probably my last year of high school.

Eric was a younger boy in our youth group who was disabled both mentally and physically. Looking back, he had probably been in an accident early in his life which had caused his facial deformities / slurred speech, etc. He also walked with one leg dragging behind. It was painful to watch him move since it was so unnatural. Eric had no real friends, only guys / girls who'd be polite when he happened to move within earshot.

During one of the afternoon sessions, we were all together with the other kids being lectured to within a large auditorium hall. Eric was sitting in front of me next to some of the other kids from our church. It didn't take long for me to pick up on the boy and girl sitting adjacent to him. They were mocking his garbled speech as they discoursed between themselves and Eric and back again. At first, I was dumbfounded. I couldn't believe what I was seeing / hearing.

Then something clicked inside of me, and I reacted swiftly.

Before I knew it, I was escorting the two dimwitted kids out to the lobby. I don't remember what I said, but I hope it made a lasting impression. They were shocked to have been called out by an older kid.

Thankfully, Eric was oblivious.

Later, the boy's father asked me about the incident. He happened to be there with us over the course of the week serving as a chaperone. From what I remember, He didn't rebuke me for singling them out nor did he support it outright. He may have been as stunned as I was, or perhaps he felt that I overreacted. I didn't care either way. I didn't do it for anyone other than Eric.

Kids do stupid things. Especially when they're around other kids or when they're left alone with too much time on their hands.

Let's all grow up and act our age. We're no longer children, no matter what day of the week or time of day it is.

I needed to hear this more than anyone.

Temple Inventory Update – July, August, September 2011

2011-10-11T13:14:00.001-05:00

In looking back over the past three months, I cannot honestly update you because too much time has past. This is my own fault. I can tell you where I’m at today and intermingle that with tidbits from the past.

I’m not being fed right now. Our pastor is an academic and his deliver method is robotic. It’s unfortunate because our church is well positioned to minister to the masses, but so many (men especially) refuse to sit through a service that has no heart. I tolerate it because I know that we’re supposed to be there during this time despite my situation. And I believe that change is coming.

Since school started back in August, Angie has been suffering greatly from chronic sinus pain. Whether its due to allergies or head colds, its only been in the past two weeks that she’s been able to shake it. That on top of other difficult circumstances that she’s been faced with outside of our home have left her only sporadically interested in sex. For me, this hasn’t been overtly difficult to bear. I’ve found myself okay with just going with the flow in an attempt to be sensitive to her situation. But, not being physically intimate dramatically changes the dynamic of one’s marriage. It’s inevitable. This needs to change very soon.

I believe I’ve looked at internet porn thrice. Once was after reading a “news” story about a substitute school teacher in FL who lost his job due to the more risque portions of his resume being concealed from his employer. The other times were fueled by exhaustion and my refusal to cast my cares onto my Savior. Thanks be to God, I’ve found myself interested in porn less and less, though currently I find myself at a crossroads regarding this deadly seed. The holidays are approaching. They are my least favorite time of year. Systemically, I’ve delved into porn more so then than ever. What will this year look like? The Lord is currently very disappointed with my failing to choose wisely. I do not want this trend to continue. In fact, I’d like to be able to tell you in January 2012 that none of it has graced my eyes since yesterday.

I’ve been inconsistently reading 1 Samuel. I could hit the highlights, but won’t do so this time around. I must admit that I did my reading more from the standpoint of it being an obligation as a Christian than anything else. I did enjoy narrating the story to my kidlets on a few occasions. I hope to continue that trend.

The anniversary of Sept. 11 was more difficult to bear than I ever expected. I went through a period of doubting the existing of God, which for me was terrifying. In many ways, I feel as if I’m just beginning to come back from that dark place.

Speaking of dark places, I alluded to shame during a previous post. I have recently found myself keenly aware of my gay feelings. It happened unexpectedly as they were willingly drawn out by a brother, though it wasn’t overt seduction. More like a mixture of reverse psychology and posturing in an attempt to prove a point. And the point was proven, but since I haven’t heard back from Tim, I’m left alone with this shame. This shame that isn’t rational, but because I feel it, one I most certainly can’t deny. I appreciate his solidarity as a brother but wonder where we go from here.

And here it is in a nutshell… I now fully understand what it means to be a gay Christian man. So much of that experience is accepting that part of me. That part of me that’s like a caged tiger pacing back and forth, back and forth waiting for an opportunity to be set free. If it’s ever released, me and my victim would be changed forever. The sex would most definitely be scorching hot, consuming both of us.

I used to kid myself about that kind of thing up until recently, but coming face to face with my “potential” has changed all of that. I’ve struggled with understanding God’s take on my situation, and I feel sorry for my spouse, knowing that she’s married to someone who walks this tightrope (despite the fact that she’s more than willing to do so). The crux of the matter is I’m anticipating a weighty resolve soon. I know it sounds self-righteous, but I do believe that all of this tension will someday be worth it. How can one find healing and change without overtly acknowledging his own servitude to his sinful desires?

How gay men walk through their lives secretly fulfilling their sexual desires behind their spouse’s backs without putting a gun to their heads, baffles me. What do we have if we don’t have honesty? But, at the same time, I can sympathize with their situation to some degree knowing full well the onslaught of confusion that comes from being where I’m at today.

I have found myself feeling lonely at times, living in this family that I’ve found myself within, though going about our routine helps tremendously in that regard. And what a routine it is!

In the past, I was always all about anticipation. The next milestone, the next event, the next, the next… That’s no longer the case with me. I anticipate nothing. I just look for opportunities now. Opportunities that I believe God has placed in my path. This new perspective is also foreign to me. Finding myself concretized within the present is one of the weirdest things I’ve ever experienced.

And those opportunities keep coming. Men continue to be drawn to me. There are two in my life now that listen intently to my words. It’s almost magical to have the opportunity to counsel and challenge on the level that I’m able. Thanks be to God for that. Also, thanks be to God that I’m not doing it to impress or prove anything. I understand the importance of accepting my own failings in an attempt to reach out from a place of care and concern. And also, it’s not just about proselytizing when I’m around my pagan friends. I’m trying to remember that they are completely in God’s hands.

I cannot help but observe the faith of my children. Seeing their love for Christ and such deep a commitment to their understanding of God buttresses my own sometimes wobbly faith.

I want a man in my life who is just across the street, waiting for me when I get home from a long day. That guy who I deeply respect but who I also wonder about when I look hard. The mystery man who excites and intimidates. Someone who encourages and rebukes. Someone I truly look up to. It wouldn’t hurt for me to be attracted to this man as well. Whether he be gay or straight, he should deeply love the Lord.

This description will never be fulfilled until I see Jesus in heaven someday. I know that deep down. And sometimes this frustrates me immensely.

Lastly, I finished reading Desiring God. Highly recommended. If you doubt your faith, read this book. If you think Christians are idiots, read this book. If you want to get inside the head of a man who isn’t about critiquing secularism, read this book. If you want to know the rigor of looking hard at scripture, read it. You won’t be disappointed.

Vomit Duty 2

2011-10-06T13:23:00.001-05:00

Work has been a bear. I mentioned before that my territory now encompasses the Delta, which I'm very pleased with.

Yesterday, I took a colleague to south MS to introduce him to the primary agency that I've been representing for the past 5 years. So, it was a long day involving a lot of travel time and one 3 hour design review meeting.

I got home around 5:45 PM. The house was empty. I relish these times...especially after an arduous day. I looked forward to grabbing a bite to eat before heading to church to sing my heart out.

But...

I knew the women were home when my wife burst through the door calling my name and announcing that we had a problem.

Baby three had vomited all over itself and its car seat while they were in route back to the house from running errands. Middle child apparently had come close to hurling herself after witnessing her sibling's abdominal expulsion.  Thankfully, the oldest child instructed her to pinch nose and cover mouth post haste, obviously speaking from experience.

So...

Vomit duty called! This time it involved:  Taking baby three around to the patio to hand off to my wife for an outdoor bath, removing the high dollar european car seat from the vehicle before disassembling it in order to separate the upholstered cover from its plastic base, and finally removing the cover itself after unfastening multiple hidden straps as well as threading various belts over and under and back again through tiny slots in the base. As I did before, all saturated cloth items were doused with gasoline and burned (after the baby was taken inside from the hose bath) on the patio.  I then decided to run the car seat base through our local automated car wash a few times after bungee cording it down inside the kids' red wagon.  I had to slowly snake it through the "Tunnel Wash" from the opposite end with a long rope tied to the painted metal handle. Despite my ingenuity, there were still numerous stomach acid marinated lima beans that needed fishing out of the crevices within.

Around 8 PM, I found myself holding baby three whilst rocking her for a few quiet moments after arriving back home. Hoping that the previous episode had been an isolated incident, I was caught off guard to her sudden involuntary movements followed by the feel and smell of warm vomit oozing down my bare chest. It came to rest in a chunky pool all across the front of my khaki shorts.

I called in a panic for my middle child to come assist, but despite my cries for help, neither sibling would step foot in the nursery for fear of seeing or WORSE smelling fresh vomit.

So, I was stuck. Eventually, baby three quieted down and fell asleep. And to be honest with you, the smell wasn't all that bad. I wondered if it were possible to bottle the scent and sell it by the ounce at a premium price at the fragrance counter of our local department store.  How celebrities would compete to represent such an odor!

Late into the night, when the house was quiet, I decided to attempt to move. The wife had long since retrieved baby three from my arms.

Unbeknownst to me, the vomit pool had eaten through my shorts and saturated my crotch while I'd slept. My entire groin area was crusted over within a hardened shell.  My boy part looked to be encased in peanut brittle. The more immediate problem was that I had to pee badly.

I began to cry.

"You stupid dick.", I thought to myself. "If it weren't for you, I would have never found myself in this mess."

Lagniappe

Weekend End

2011-10-03T18:08:00.000-05:00

I grew up in a neighborhood that was built out in the early to mid '70s. It consisted of +/- 400 ranch houses laid out on gently radiused streets. The topography was basically flat. Each lot was essentially the same size. Each house size was similar if not the same. Overall, there was a fair amount of diversity between the design of the small buildings relative to detailing despite the fact that growing up amongst these structures, I found the families which inhabited them to be altogether different.

My parents hired a neighbor to provide after school care during my elementary school years. She seemed to be a genuinely unhappy person who was married to the most intimidating man I'd ever come across as a child.  Mrs. Dorothy was a small, overweight woman who looked to have lived a difficult life. Her husband was tall, ruddy, tanned and scarred from his laborious vocation. I rarely saw him, but when I did he refused to speak. I was afraid of him from the moment I first saw him, therefore I would purposefully avoid him whenever I sensed that he was in the house.

I especially dreaded rainy days. I would stand outside the schoolhouse hoping my caregiver would care enough to come pick me up. She didn't. Inevitably, I'd have to phone her home from the principal's office and politely ask to be retrieved. Always the last to be picked up, she'd eventually show. Funny, I can't remember what kind of car she drove. The private academy that I attended was at the edge of the neighborhood, therefore walking to her house certainly wasn't out of the question. I simply refused to do it in the pouring rain.

Their home had an "L" shaped parti. The den was small and cramped. Like so many ranchers, the living / dining room combo was uselessly cordoned off from the rest of the house.  It served as a perfect repository for unused furnishings and boxes of Christmas decorations.

The brown paneling throughout the home combined with the small horizontal windows made for a dark interior.

That darkness seemed to perfectly reflect the heart of this family.

Living there as well were two daughters. One was my age. The other was younger by a few years. The older of the two grew to hate me because her mother would dote on little Rob.  This girl was also quite forward and manipulative. On two or three separate occasions, she persuaded me to join her in play that seemed ill conceived and forbidden. During one of those times, her mother came close to catching us behind her daughter's locked bedroom door. I felt certain that we would both be severely reprimanded afterwards for the obvious, but that wasn't the case at all. Mrs. Dorothy simply turned a blind eye to our antics.

I remember confessing this event in detail to my father years later, only to have him confirm that I'd done nothing wrong. It was hard to believe him, but eventually I reconciled the situation within my mind.

The most awkward event occurred due to me ratting on the girl to her mother (over a minor infraction that happened out on their driveway) after arriving at her home after school. Immediately following, the woman brought the girl inside and beat her in front of me. She literally ripped off her clothes, threw her over her knees and beat her ass severely. The child screamed in anguish. It was incredibly humiliating to watch.  I can't remember if she used her bare hands or a belt. Not that it matters. Looking back, I wonder why she failed to even attempt to corroborate my story before reacting so swiftly.

The last details I heard of the daughter were very sad. She became pregnant from a boyfriend and after delivering twins, their father (her boyfriend) was convicted of child abuse soon thereafter. The girl's father confronted the boy and physically assaulted him before threatening his life if he ever came near the children again.

From a child's perspective, this family was impossible to comprehend within my mind. I always felt completely out of touch with the realities of the situation whenever I spent time there. I was always walking on eggshells. My only escape was through their furniture-like television every afternoon at 3.

As an adult looking back, I wonder what was really going on. I shudder at the thought.

As an aside, on occasion, Mrs. Dorothy's parents would also keep me in the evening if my parents needed a sitter. They also lived in our 'hood. I distinctly remember sitting on their couch with the small framed, older man (Mrs. Dorothy's father) watching television on one particular occasion. After a few minutes, he unabashedly flipped to the adult entertainment channel which was showing some sort of Las Vegas style awards show. The women on stage were all topless.

My eyes grew wide as I'd never seen anything like that before, and I knew in my heart that not only was it wrong for him to be watching it but it was much worse for him to be showing it to me. Eventually, the man's wife voiced her concern when she realized that there were a lot of boobs on the boob tube. Only then did he begrudgingly change the channel.

This, I believe, was my first foray into porn at the tender age of nine or ten.

Lagniappe

Face the shame

2011-09-29T17:04:00.002-05:00

Imagine you're in a room that isn't very big, say the size of a typical bedroom. There's no furniture and no windows, but it's lit uniformly (from an unknown source), because otherwise you wouldn't know you're in a room.

Every surface is white and delicately soft. The floor, walls, and ceiling are this way. The ceiling actually sags down because of this, and the floor is heavily wrinkled due to the slack in the thick, virgin, organic membrane.

There's a way out of this room but you're unwilling to create it. And frankly, everytime you move, you apply pressure to another part of the floor and consequently, you feel it within yourself.  This movement makes you fully aware that you're stuck in here. So you don't want to move much. Better to simply stand in one spot and hope that your friend might come rescue you. Unfortunately, you've been waiting a long while for that to happen. All the while, you've found yourself pretending that you're somewhere else in an attempt to lessen the emotional strain. The experience of believing yourself trapped in this room quickly became very hard for you to deal with.

And understandably so.  At first, this was so very new to you. Throughout your life, you'd known of this room and even been inside on occasion to sweep out the dustbunnies, but never have you found yourself living out day after day after day inside this centralized space.

Curiously since you've been here, you've been able to hear other people outside of the room interacting with each other, and some of them even interact with you. You're not sure how they can see you, but obviously they can. And you can see them as well, if you concentrate hard enough. They're right on the other side of the wall, though carrying on a conversation with them isn't always easy because the fact that you're in this room is something you simply can't ignore no matter how hard you try, despite their demands or their individual circumstances. You find that moving through your daily routine is possible, though it doesn't change the fact that you're stuck here. Driving the kids to school, going to work, exercising, are all part of your day with the room in tow.

Eventually, you do find yourself beginning to appreciate this unique space, though you would never admit that to anyone. In fact, when you're really brave, you gingerly move your body over to one wall and lean in. This allows you to feel the warmth radiating from the perfectly smooth surface. You also delight in running your fingers up and down the organic bow, like you would the underside of a sleepy, well-fed puppy. This experience feels both frightening and comforting at the same time, though also a little unsavory.

Eventually you've come to realize that what you fear most is how vulnerable this space makes you feel. Knowing that any sharp object could easily tear into and ultimately rupture this cocoon with one swift strike terrifies you. You imagine this leading to intense pain and suffering as bodily fluids and entrails would be released violently. In fact, you've always been able to see these fluids moving through their patterned network right behind the veil following a rhythmic flow.

At the present, the rooms outside of this one have begun to diminish in importance to you. Now you are somewhat ashamed for feeling as you did when you first found yourself here. This oft ignored space is no doubt very important. You've become settled with the fact that you wouldn't have been brought here otherwise.

But, you still don't know the righteous way to get out. Eventually, you believe, you do want to get your emotional life back to normal. If there ever was a normal.

So, you wait patiently. And you pray. And you hope for the best.

And you try to be thankful that you have a friend who was brave enough to come here with you.

Though he's left for now, you find yourself thinking of him the most without worrying too much about his own situation.

One thing I failed to mention. There's a sharp knife in your back pocket, though it isn't your own. It belongs to your friend. He used it to expertly craft an opening into this space, and you're beginning to believe that it may be the key to finding / making a way out. You've ignored it up 'til now.

You continue to wonder about when he'll return and just what part his blade will play then, if any.

What if he doesn't return at all? Will I look for someone else to help me make a way out?

Must concentrate on the routine of my life. This too shall pass, though I am determined to savor the shame. And not face it alone.

Top 12 reasons to marry a gay man

2011-09-25T22:51:00.000-05:00

12. His ability to manage chaos (multi-task). Not as good as most women mind you, but for a man, pretty darn good.

11. He will encourage versus compete with wife. Seeing her succeed at her dreams / aspirations is of upmost importance to him.

10. He sits down to pee (neat freak).

9. His motto is: "Communication is a key to success" i.e. verbally proficient.

8. He knows how to pleasure himself / knows what turns himself on (coupled with #9, this can result in a very satisfying marriage bed).

7. Knows how to wait his turn (excellent hair trigger control).

6. Usually isn't fat

5. Usually isn't interested in ESPN 1, 2, 3, or 4

4. He will attend the ballet with you (and enjoy it).

3. Gay men who choose to marry women are fiercely dedicated to making the marriage work so long as the wife is as well (see #11).

2. Fathering seems to come to them instinctively, having taken the time to put their own father under a microscope.

1. They're intelligent.

Bonus: When you ask them how you look, they'll tell you the truth and almost always be right about it.

Supersense

2011-09-22T17:32:00.000-05:00

There are those of you out there who are ready to throw in the towel. You're sick of the pain. You're tired of being treated unfairly. You're beat down. You're hurting. And you don't know why it seems to just be you. Why don't other men go through this, with such intensity?

First and foremost, if you're where I'm describing, I would encourage you to remember that you are male. You have balls having from between your legs for a reason. And no, they're not just there to assist in reproduction.

"But, but, but...it just hurts so much."

I know. That is unfortunate, but for some of us, it is simply a reality that we must learn to deal with. Over time, you must discipline yourself to cope with the pain in a healthy, productive way and not a destructive one. And that's where your testicles come in. That's why God gave them to you versus a vagina. You are not weak. You are not overcome by your emotions. You are simply working towards managing them day by day.

Do not suppress your feelings. It's futile and results in poor health. Allow them to surface, but protect yourself by exhausting them smartly. But do exhaust them. And enjoy it. I mean, the ones that are fun. The others, you work to expunge for the sake of doing so alone.

It can get better, but you must remember who God made you to be, and you must not allow yourself to become jaded. Draw strength from your masculinity. And no, I'm not talking about jockstraps.

Don't know where to start? Pick a gospel. Look to Jesus Christ.

Weekend End

2011-09-19T22:43:00.001-05:00

My parents were very naive and frankly not all that parent-like when I was a child. In so many ways, they existed more as siblings than anything else. On one occasion, they dropped me off at a girl's home (I don't remember how I knew where she lived) for a Christmas(? - perhaps) party. The problem was, the party either had been the night before or was going to be sometime in the future - perhaps the following weekend.

The 'rents let me out on the driveway in the dark before speeding away, therefore by the time I discovered this small detail, I was stuck. My Mom and Dad had their own event to attend that evening. I didn't know where exactly they were going or how to get in touch with them. And this type of thing was somewhat typical. For the most part, there was a real sense of nuclear optimism coupled with a general disinterest in specific details between the three of us.

This particular embarrassing event probably served to begin to enlighten me to the contrast between my home and those of many of my peers. I do remember this occurring while I was in junior high which only served to enhance the awkwardness.

Thankfully, the girl's family was home which I discovered when her father answered the door. I remember awkwardly explaining to the girl about the mix up after he called her downstairs. I don't know what we occupied our time with over the course of the next two hours, though I can imagine I probably talked her ears off as we both watched the clock. Their home was posh and expansive compared to my own.

I do remember her Dad not being upset with me over the mix up. I specifically remember asking him about his profession. He was a physician. Perhaps an internist. He seemed super smart. Never dumb enough to make this kind of stupid mistake with his kids.

Ready to die

2011-09-16T16:45:00.000-05:00

There's no denying the reality that death is imminent. Being inundated with reminders of 9/11 only emphasized this fact for me.

As a Christian, my faith is hinged on the belief that I'm more than my flesh, bones, organs, blood... All that I am and all that I've done with my life is everlasting. It will exist forever whether it's contained within my earthly flesh or not.

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Have you ever experienced love? Or hate? Or disgust? When an emotion burns within you, consumes you, what is the origin of that fuel? Where does it stem from?

The first man, Adam, felt shame after sinning. So much so that he actually hid from God.

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Perhaps I'll someday be elderly having lived out my life to an old and ripe age. Perhaps I'll die this afternoon in an unexpected event. I may be shot by a gun or hit by a car, or die suddenly from cardiac arrest. Perhaps I'll someday be incapacitated via an injury or disease that will leave me disabled until death.

Every day, my body ages further into the future. I see less, my flesh thins slightly, and the pull of gravity causes my bodily shape to react unnaturally.

The end result is my blood stops flowing through my veins and very soon thereafter brain death. Someone will more than likely buy a box and put my remains in it and bury it. And then that will be it for Rob's life on Earth.

No more blog posts.

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The only person I've had die who was close to me was an uncle. And even then, we weren't close. I didn't feel much during the funeral. I simply didn't allow myself to. I MOST CERTAINLY didn't allow myself to think about the hereafter. And besides, it was easy to ignore that. There were plenty of distractions presented to me on that brutally hot August day.

But, when you witness thousands and thousands of people die in the matter of a few minutes, it's more difficult to ignore anything other than DEATH. So many people's brains are no longer functioning. No more breath. No more heartbeats. No more thoughts. Nothing left but a corpse.

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So, where did those people go exactly, if they did live on within another place? Obviously, we aren't witness to this. There's a barrier between here and there. We're left in the dark if you only think in terms of that place. And it definitely is a place. The Bible describes a distinct place for both God's children and otherwise.

In the meantime, we can know it through its purpose. That purpose being to be focused entirely on our Creator. No more distractions. No more sin. Perfection.

The Bible talks about glorified bodies and "being above the angels".

Sounds exciting to me.

Collateral damage / Spread the love

2011-09-12T13:04:00.001-05:00

There are times when I see handsome men in public who I wonder about. Men that give off that certain vibe. And that gets me thinking about not being a husband to Angie and a father to my three children and wondering what it would be like to be in a sexual relationship with another gay man. A relationship that would consist of living together, sleeping together, raising our pets together.

A friend of mine was in a sexual relationship with a friend of his for quite some time. He’s also married with children. He made a comment to me that if his buddy would have reciprocated his love, he often “saw” them having a happy life together within his own mind. Fortunately for him and his family, this relationship was a farce. The sex they were having was based on pity and hormones alone. My friend had been had, but in his mind, it was worth it for the sex and the anticipation thereof.

Ang and I have a handful of neighbors who are either gay or lesbian. Some are more public than others with their relationships. One of the gay couples is middle age. They’ve lived on our cul-de-sac for close to a decade. Neither men interact much with anyone else on our street. There’s a real sense that they’re “laying low”. You rarely see them out of their home together. They primarily drive separate vehicles and frankly seem to have completely separate lives despite the fact that they live together.

How do I know they’re gay?

I’ve been in their home once or twice. It’s obvious that they share a bedroom.

The media sometimes works to portray gay men who are in committed relationships. It’s interesting to delve into that genre and see what’s come about from a group of writers efforts to entertain / inspire.
Straight actors who play gay men aren’t believable to this gay man. To me, they look like they’re trying too hard.

Gay porn is a thriving source of entertainment on the internet. Thriving. Gay men use it. Straight / gay women use it. Even some straight men use it. Intense guy on guy sexual activity. For so many, it epitomizes what it means to be gay during this day and age.

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The results of not being in a sexual relationship with another man for me is workable. God has provided me with a wife. Thank God for Angie. I’m so grateful for finding a woman who’s willing to put up with me! But, if I weren’t a husband / father, where would I be? Would I be willing to compromise my faith and have sex with a close friend or otherwise?

Let’s think about this for a moment.

What options would I have? How do I cope with my gayness even today?

I turned my sexuality over to the Lord when I was in high school. As a Christian, I needed direction, and I knew from scripture that there was no wiggle room for acting out on my sexual desires. Plus, none of that activity has ever made sense to me, though I am beginning to deal with the shame that demarcates that portion of my life and subsequently am attempting to understand its root.

But, what if I didn’t feel this way? What if it made complete sense to me? What if my family had encouraged it? What if my gay neighbors seemed genuinely happy to be having sex with each other, and their lifestyle looked normal?

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Many years ago, I would purchase Playgirl magazines from our local Books-A-Million. Playgirl was my first foray into gay porn as an adolescent. And it wasn't purchased just for the images. It was the experience of purchasing the magazine from the bookstore. Having to ask for it from the clerk (since they were stored behind the counter) brought about physiological changes which resulted in such a high for me. But, there was always one caveat: the interaction that HAD TO TAKE PLACE between myself and the clerk. The fact that my Christian witness would (and was) be shattered. No Christian should ever buy or use porn. Ever. The only portion of Jesus many people will ever see is that which you present to them as you rub shoulders with pagans throughout your life.

I remember on one occasion asking for a Playgirl mag from a large black woman one afternoon. After handing me the periodical, she said, “You go and tell all of your kind to come back here to me” with a big grin on her face.

I didn’t reply, before exiting the store hastily. The periodical was in the garbage within an hour after it was purchased. Too bad that wasn't the last time I ever did that.

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If I were to have a sexual relationship with another man either publicly or otherwise, my witness as a Christian would be completely flushed down the toilet. Gone forever in at least one individual’s eyes.

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Years ago, I asked a new neighbor of ours to join us for dinner one night. He agreed to come a week or so prior, but to our surprise, he asked to bring “a friend” the evening before. I had no problem with that. The friend turned out to be a girl he had recently started dating. She was pleasant enough. A few weeks later, we noticed that they were shacking up. We felt certain that neither of them were Christians, but their willingness to publicly eschew any attempt to hide their fornication confirmed it.

Everyone has a right to call it like they see it. It’s difficult, if not impossible to get past that sometimes.

All of us are constantly observing everyone else. Some more than others. If you’re a Christian, you’re called to consider, always consider your witness. If it’s damaged, it’s never easily repaired. And, at times, it breaks into so many pieces that repair is impossible.

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Where does that leave me? Or you? Let's say you’re a Christian and you’re married. Sometimes you feel constrained. Sometimes you (I) ache to be in the arms of another man. Sometimes you look at yourself in the mirror after everyone’s gone to bed and take comfort in the illusion of another man’s company. Another man’s interest.

Come out of hiding. Find another Christian man that you trust and come out. Then do it again. And again. Work to be a friend to the men God provides you with. Go above and beyond and don’t hesitate to tell them that you NEED THEM in your life as a friend. Your situation isn’t as off the wall as you might think.

When starting this process, make certain the first men you approach are straight, to the best of your ability.

You’ll be amazed at how the Lord leads you during this process. You’ll be amazed at how adept you are at loving these men, and how quickly more and more opportunities open up for you to minister and be ministered to. I believe that gay Christian men are called to do this until the Lord takes them home.

Eventually, you’ll find your soul knitted together to some of these gents. And vice versa. These deep rooted connections should be cherished, protected, and respected to the upmost degree. The Lord will work to sustain you through your darkest days via these intangible connections.

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"The great breakthrough in human evolution, the one that made civilization possible, was the discovery that two alpha males could form intense bonds of ur brotherhood instead of the normal pattern of fighting 'til one is dead or driven away. It is the story of Gilgamesh & Enkidu. A man will plunge into hell for his friend. Thus the male DNA is tricked into sacrificing itself to the benefit of unrelated DNA. Story triumphs over instinct. The monogamous civitas triumphs over the patriarchal tribe. Instead of one alpha male reproducing his superior genes over & over again, a far higher proportion of males reproduce, even though some die in war. All because human males learned how to trick themselves into loving each other to the point of suicidal madness." Orsen Scott Card - Empire - 2006

Satanic

2011-09-11T00:43:00.000-05:00

Why didn't God destroy Satan when he rebelled against him? Why allow him to live?

The only answer to that question is we can't know why because we don't understand the ways of God.

Adam, the first man, was created in the image of God from the dust of the Earth. God breathed life into man after fashioning him together. Woman was formed out of man. Each of them were innocent beings. Adam was given sovereignty over the Garden of Eden. And only told to not do one thing.

Satan was there. He persuaded Adam and Eve to disobey God. Their innocence was then lost forever.

Man and woman were forced out of the Garden. It was cordoned off so they could never return.

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Satan was created prior to man. He existed in Heaven with the triune God before being thrown down to Earth. The Bible deems Satan as the "Prince of the Air". It also describes him as being the most beautiful angel within Heaven.

A connection between Satan and Death exists according to scripture (see Hebrews 2:14).

Would humanity have experienced Death had the fall not occurred?

God immediately began favoring certain individuals even before they were born, as if their hearts were already known by Him. Throughout the Old Testament, God's chosen people, the descendants of Abraham, were explicitly instructed to follow Him alone. And, no intermarrying with pagan peoples! God would often demand that every living thing relevant to a pagan kingdom be killed during an Israelite siege. And, that no plunder be taken.

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At the beginning of the book of Job, Satan negotiates with God over Job's future plight. God agrees to Satan's conditions and is confident that Job will pass the test.

God has Satan on a leash.

God flooded the Earth during the time of Noah in order to kill off humanity. A wicked world was drowned by God's wrath. Only Noah followed God, therefore only he and his family were chosen to be spared. God promised to never do that again after it was all over.

Abram reproduced with Hagar, his maidservant, at the recommendation of his barren wife Sarai. This resulted in the birth of Ishmael. This novel idea was not within the will of God. The Bible describes Ishmael's character bluntly.

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+/- 2000 years ago, Jesus was born.

Jesus is part of the triune God. He's always been, but made his extended appearance at this point in time. After His death and resurrection, no longer were God's people merely identified via bloodline. The Old Testament pointed towards a Savior. Jesus was it.

After Jesus was baptized by John, he spent over a month with Satan. Perhaps Satan was interested in knowing just how human Jesus really was.

The early Christian church is documented within the book of Acts. It and many of the apostle Paul's New Testament letters serve as the foundation of the Christian church today.

Satan infiltrates the church early on. Paul's letters document this.

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Jesus dealt with demons harshly. He encountered them during his ministry. His communications with them are recorded within many of the Gospels.

Just how many demons were thrown down from Heaven with Satan?

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Your life won't end with Death. It will continue without the body that God fashioned for you.

Satan is the Father of Lies. Do not listen to him.

Repent of your sin and turn your life over to Christ today!

Want to know more? Read any of the four gospels (Matthew, Mark, Luke, or John).

And don't forget that Satan, even today, is on that same leash. Thanks be to God for that.

"In the Lord I take refuge
How then can you say to me:
'Flee like a bird to your mountain.
For look, the wicked bend their bows;
they set their arrows against the strings
to shoot from the shadows
at the upright in heart.
When the foundations are being destroyed,
what can the righteous do?'

The Lord is in his holy temple;
the Lord is on his heavenly throne.
He observes the sons of men;
his eyes examine them.
The Lord examines the righteous,
but the wicked and those who love violence
his soul hates.
On the wicked he will rain
fiery coals and burning sulfur;
a scorching wind will be their lot.

For the Lord is righteous,
he loves justice;
upright men will see his face."

Psalm 11

Lagniappe