This is inspired by a video I watched from a Christian Youtuber where she talks about “Bad Christian Advice For Singles” when it comes to dating, from a woman’s perspective. I listened and thought that was cool. So, this list is from a man’s perspective.
Because here’s the thing. I’ve seen comments and complaints from women who say that there’s not enough Christian men out there. Or “good men don’t want them because they’re “too Christian.” This list might give you some greater insight on all that. These are my Top 3 Things That May Cause Me to Lose Interest in a Woman Who Claims to be Christian.
1. They Don’t Take Their Looks Seriously and Believe You Shouldn’t Either
It’s what’s on the inside that counts, right?
I have compassion with this one so I’m going to try and be delicate. If you’re a good Christian woman endeavoring to do what’s good in God’s eyes, why should you be concerned with your beauty? If you’re doing what’s good in God’s eyes and men aren’t attracted to you, then clearly those men must not love God, right?
I’ll Have My Fun Now and Get Religious Later…Would that work?
In this essay, I answer that question and describe the difficulties Christians face when it comes to resisting temptation, while trying to find that elusive good Christian mate if you’re not part of a congregation.
I’ll Have Fun Now and Get Religious Later… – A Theocratic Essay By Rock Tennie
When I was a kid, I must have been thirteen when I looked around the congregation and saw that it was mostly filled with older people. Aside from my brothers, about two other families had kids our age. There was hardly anyone in their 20s and 30s.
My parents became religious Jehovah’s Witnesses when I was eleven, effectively ending the fun things we used to enjoy, like celebrating birthdays and holidays. So, it was only a matter of time before I asked them.
“How about this? How about let me enjoy life and have all the fun I want while I’m still young. And then when I get older, that’s when I’ll get super religious and dedicate my life to God?”
My mom said, “It doesn’t work like that. Because you have the knowledge now. You can’t claim ignorance.”
At the time, I felt this was very cruel of them. I didn’t ask for that knowledge. It was thrust upon me. So when I went to school and saw my peers being able to join sports teams and hang out with each other after school, peers who could talk to each other over the phone and get together for fun events on the weekends…part of me felt jealous and left out, like an alien amongst humans.
Whenever something like this happens, I try to stay silent (as a black man myself) because more often than not, I don’t share the popular opinion. And by “popular” I’m talking about the ones that appear to have the moral high-ground. That being said…brace yourselves.
Is White Guilt Really Helpful to Blacks?
By Rock Tennie
Date – May 30th 2020
In the wake of the horrible murder of George Floyd…rioting and protests have broken out across major cities around the U.S. How much of it is really helping their underlining cause? What exactly is their cause and can it be helped? Here was my take:
“For all those who are so quick to post about the “injustices” done by police to black people…I confess, it does seem a bit disingenuous when they’re relatively silent on the black on black violence.
“You hear it on Facebook and Instagram how people are supposedly “heartbroken” and demand change. Which I agree with to some extent. But over this past Memorial Day Weekend, there was another 40+ people shot and 10 killed in Chicago. This isn’t new. Every Memorial Day weekend for years, it’s been this way. Don’t even get me started on the homicide rate of New Orleans and Baltimore.
“Does racism exist. Yes. Do police officers commit crimes. Yes. But please…miss me on all this outrage. Or is the argument that somehow the death of a black person has more significance based on the color of the murderer, or whether or not they have a badge. And if that’s the case, what do you say to all the mothers and fathers who lost their sons and daughters to drive-bys? What do you say to other minorities who have their own tragedies and injustices afflicting them? (MS-13).
“Murder is murder, whether you’re killed by a cop or a wanna be gangster.”
As you can imagine, those thoughts didn’t sit well with a lot of people, black and white. Continue Reading
It’s been well over a month since I’ve been in a gym and it’s strange. Growing up, I never thought “the gym” would be one of those things I couldn’t do without. It certainly makes me realize how much I appreciate it. Because if it wasn’t for Anytime Fitness…I’d probably still weigh 378lbs
By Rock Tennie
Date – May 4th, 2020
THE GLUTTON:
Let me take you back to the summer of 2007. Back then “Sexy Back” was getting played out on the radio and “High School Musical” was all the rage. I was coming up on my 21st birthday and weighed a whopping 378lbs. I was a glutton. I loved to eat. I lacked discipline. And my college job was a pizza delivery driver. So, I ate pizza almost every night and drank it all down with Dr Pepper.
I often wonder if some black people fantasize about the times of Slavery before and after the Civil War?
Heads up, I’m going to say a lot of things in this provocative essay that might be deemed insensitive or disrespectful. You don’t have to read this. I bow humbly when I say my intentions aren’t to offend. Picture this as me giving a dissertation in the center of some 18th Century university. I have the floor and I’m about speak theories. They may be stupid. They may be wrong. But if there’s one thing I’ve gotten use to in my old age…in saying stupid, wrong things, I’ve come out better enlightened by all those who are so eager (too eager) to correct me. Let’s begin.
In 7th Grade…I wasn’t a good person. All of middle school was a jungle, but 7th Grade was the worse. In 2010, I discovered “Worst,” a manga about a fictional high school filled with delinquents who liked to fight. I think the reason why I was so drawn to those stories was because it reminded me of my own middle school. It felt like my entire class was a gang and honestly…it was ridiculous.
In 7th grade, I cultivated a reputation that I’m not exactly proud of…and yet it served me well. I barely passed, and the main skills I learned was to lie, cheat, and get my way. It was fun at first. But then, things got really bad.
So let’s back it up for a second. Let me take you all the way back to 1999. Think Limp Bizkit’s “Nookie” or Juvenile’s “Back that Azz Up” and you got it. In 1999, I was living in a place called Augusta, Georgia. This is like Atlanta’s more down-south distant cousin, spread out with a lot of woods, flannel, 3XL shirts, and its own state of mind. Here, the culture wasn’t dictated so much by New York or Los Angeles, but by South Park, Power 107 and Y105.
This was the true Dirty South. And they were proud. This song was our 7th Grade Anthem.
And the racism…Don’t worry, this isn’t to complain. I don’t know about the other kids, but at thirteen, I never knew the racism was racism. Is self-segregation racist? Because that’s more or less what happened.
It’s like if you were born in the sweltering heat of Africa before you knew what air conditioning was. You just accept it as a way of life. We didn’t complain. We truly co-existed. Some blacks were racists against whites. And some white kids were racists against blacks. I had two white kids throw a big ass rock that almost hit me in the back of my head, but instead banged against the dumpster. Almost like a prison, in fact, a lot like a prison, everyone seemed to stick to their own.
Except if you were in my class. The arrow is pointing at me.I’m not kidding. If there was any racism from my classmates, none of us showed it. The blacks got along with whites and vice versa. Like I said, we were like our own gang and we took care of our own. I think that’s one of the reasons why we had so much fun.
Team 7B’s Ms. Thompson’s class was the place to be. Even other kids were trying to get transferred to ours.
You see, middle school was a place where money didn’t matter. No one was driving cars. No one had a job. You’d think this’d give us room to focus on things like grades and studying…but for us guys, all we cared about was our reputation. Whether you were a punk, whether you were cool, a baller, a wanna be gangster…or whether you could fight.
All my life, I believed that Jesus Christ was the son of God. Two years ago, I was told something different. I was told that Jesus was not only the son of God the way I think of a father and his son…but that Jesus Christ was God himself in the flesh, that Jesus Christ and God are the same person.
In this essay…I’m going to break down my pursuit of the truth. And mind you, everything I’m about to reveal is just my interpretation of the scriptures. I could very well be wrong. However, as a Christian, I believe it’s my responsibility to learn and make a decision about what I believe is the truth. Thus, when I stand before God, it won’t be with this indifferent attitude of “…well, I heard this and that…But I’m not sure what I believe.”
On that note…before you begin, I encourage you to pray. Remember, it’s by the grace of God that we receive our understanding.
Just to give you a little background about who I am. I’m a black 33-year-old Christian Conservative born and raised here in the States. I’ve never been to any Christian College or Theocratic School. I’m not a member of any church or congregation. I have no denomination. That isn’t to slight organized religions. I know God loves assemblies. I’m just a man who decided to pick up the Bible and read it cover to cover. To learn for myself why things are the way they are? How did it come to this? Is there any hope? What should I do? What is right? What is wrong?
So why am I questioning who Jesus Christ really was?
Because of a Lutheran.
Haha, so…at the age of 30 (in 2017) and having already read the Bible once in its entirety, I made up my mind to find a wife, a woman who also endeavors to do what’s good in God’s eyes. That’s easier said than done in today’s woke secular culture, unless you’re part of a congregation. I am not.
I attend the Jehovah’s Witnesses Memorial every year, but I couldn’t attend their meetings on a regular basis because it reminded me of the turmoil of my youth. They study these articles in magazines called “Watchtowers,” where a lot of the substance is about how to be a better Jehovah Witness. Since I’m not a Witness, I felt like an outsider. Alone, despite surrounded by others. Continue Reading
First off, I want you to know that I in no way take these labels too seriously. You’re about to read about personalities, stereotypes, Feminism, and Red Pill Philosophy that may sound offensive, as if I’m saying one is better than the other. I’m not. Different does not mean better.
Discovering the Sigma Male – We’re Not All Betas and Alphas
Growing up in my teens, one of the biggest frustrations was that my own peers had a difficult time understanding me. This is important to any youth…because we barely understand ourselves. When everyone around you seems to behave similarly, fitting in with the culture and trends, where everyone seems to have their own little clique except for you…you begin to think, “Maybe there’s something wrong with me.”
In fact, most people used to describe me as happy and friendly, always smiling and laughing. They’re not wrong. At the same time, they had no idea about the amount of anger and resentment I had pent up. Every year, I had a different best friend. If I wanted (needed) to, I could blend in with whatever scene I was part of. Whether it was hood/goths/ anime geeks/Save By the Bell pranksters/or Drama Club techies.
I never wanted to shoot up the school or anything like that. Just always had a chip on my shoulder to graduate and get the fuck up out of my parent’s house as soon as possible. I love my parents now, but back then…let’s just say it takes mental effort to fight back all the hate and focus on the good times. Back then, leaving the nest was my number one goal. My focused mission…And if you read my essay about the time my mom tried to have me arrested, it should sum it up.
Ever since I was a kid…it was very difficult for me to ignore the truth.
“Rock did you have a good time?”
No.
“Rock, are you happy to see us?”
No.
“Rock, you should focus on the positives!”
I can do that…but that’s not what you asked…Sounds mean and heartless, doesn’t it. But those were literal answers I gave to grownups when I was just a child. Back before I had any concept of tact or sugarcoating…telling people what they want to hear.
If it’s the truth and you asked for it, I think a piece of me really does die inside when I have to come up with some pleasant positive response while skirting about the honest truth. And worse…if you go about doing this all your life just to make others feel good when the responses you give are far from the truth, do they really know who you are? Do they really know the truth about you? Or is it, that so many of us don’t want people to know the truth about us?
When you die and they describe you to others at the funeral…wouldn’t it piss you off to hear how far off from the truth they are? Last year, an associate passed away and I experienced such a case. I’d hear others describe him as such a happy person and they couldn’t understand why he died. That may be the truth as they knew it…but I saw a different truth. One that left me with little questions when I heard he had taken his own life.
During my sophomore year in high school, I truly was a pathological liar. In an upcoming essay about Sigmas, you’ll get a better grasp of why I was like this, but I can tell you there’s a lot of credence in the phrase, “it takes one to know one.” I was a pathological liar, thus, I understand what it means to lie and why people do it.
“What do you mean you were a pathological liar? I thought you were dropping truth bombs as a child? So what happened?”Continue Reading
Last August, I wrote a tribute about a girl I had a crush on in the 8th Grade who died. Six months later, her family discovered the tribute. Their response was…incredible.
Patricia Griffin – Sophomore Year
Last year, on August 18th 2019…I woke up on my birthday and was compelled to write about a girl I had a crush on in the 8th grade. Patricia Kay Griffin. It was inexplicable. She was never my “official” girlfriend. I hadn’t seen her since before 2005, and I don’t think I watched or listened to anything that would trigger my memories of her…but over the years, all too often, this girl comes to mind.
Patricia died in 2008. I didn’t find out till years later when my thoughts and curiosity prompted me to do a search. Sadly, I found her obituary. She was only 21 when she passed and I think that’s what I hate the most, aside from her being one of the good ones, a kind-hearted loving person. She was so young. It’s impossible to see her and not feel inspired, energized, encouraged to get up off my ass and do something with my life. I loved her. It’s just one of those things.
I poured out most of my memories of her. How we first met. The embarrassing blunders. The truth about what she meant to me. The truth about what I “thought” had happened to her. That was six months ago.
Then, a few weeks ago. On a busy Tuesday night in the middle of February, I was multi-tasking on a number of projects when I just happened to check my G-mail and saw two new messages with the name “Patricia” in the heading.
I’m not kidding. If there was any racism from my classmates, none of us showed it. The blacks got along with whites and vice versa. Like I said, we were like our own gang and we took care of our own. I think that’s one of the reasons why we had so much fun.
Stage In The Sky 