Living Amends

Recently, I’ve come to a deep understanding of the nature of my struggles over the years, and I know now that my behaviors, dating back to my teen years were often alcoholic in nature – restless, irritable, discontent, fear-driven, though I never took a drink until I was 32.

Obsession and craving to satiate the restlessness, irritability, discontent, and anxiety-inducing fear started early, and I fed it with attention-seeking behaviors, getting good grades, and more anxiety and compounding fears. I existed emotionally drunk the majority of my life. Worried. Anxious. Lonely. Afraid. Reactive. What makes it all alcoholic in nature is that, and I know this to be true now that I’m on the recovery side, I was obsessed, craving, unable to stop those things. Incapable of controlling the fear and anxiety that consumed me every day. I fed those with attention seeking behaviors instead of truly leaning into God. I believed He didn’t hear me, that I wasn’t worth His time, though I played it very much the opposite outwardly.

When the drinking began, I found something else to feed the anxiety and fear, and I became obsessed with not only attention seeking but when the next glass of wine or vodka would come. And, for the most part, I played a great part and hid it from the people who loved me. I will not place blame anywhere than at my own feet for the choices I made as the intensity of 2015, 2016, 2017, 2018, 2019, and 2020 picked up.

Those years are a blur of pain and bad choices, and I spent a good part of them either working way too much or drinking myself to oblivion. My life became unmanageable! I should have been honest with those who truly loved me, but I literally couldn’t. Too ignorant. Too afraid. Too obsessed with my own preservation. I did not understand the depth of the problem within myself as it reacted to the circumstances of my life, and I certainly did not understand the impact of those years specifically on the people who loved me. I made awful and desperate choices – always seeking an out – and answer – something or someone to save me.

I drank in secret. I blacked out many nights. Hurting. Sad. Suicidal. I said I believed in God, but l, truly, did not believe He loved me. I wasn’t worth His love. I thought.

In, January 2021, I stepped into my first AA meeting, and I have been going ever since. I understand now the depth of the spiritual malady I have suffered most of my life. I identify as an alcoholic, and not just that, but as a sober alcoholic, who KNOWS God loves me, who knows that Jesus died for me! I am on no medication. I am working the program, and every day I thank God for an opportunity to do the next right thing.

Today, I know what peace is, and I am grateful for the life I have, come what may.
All of this is to say, I know that my behaviors impacted you and left you confused. I am sorry for that. I am sorry that I hurt you. Please know that. I love you. You’re amazing. Know that God is good, and He is real!

“I hope you bleed out.”

Before my last surgery, which was a hysterectomy and a bladder sling, it was said to me, “I hope you bleed out.”

I didn’t.

Still, those words did their intended job and set my alcoholic, obsessive mind into a flurry of fear – as if their being said would make that come to pass – and I would bleed out all over the surgical table and … die. I was terrified. The words hit their target.

Today, facing another surgery in the near future, those words came to mind, and I remembered the me who responded in absolute fear and anxiety to them and their intent, and I am grateful now, six years later, to be sober-minded, growing in faith, clear-headed, and no longer living in fear and anxiety.

There are a couple of responses, principles, now that I have, which I wish I had had in my response toolbox years ago but, unfortunately, I did not.

1). “Let them.” If someone is going to be ugly, have a temper tantrum, not like you, etc. Let them. That is theirs to answer for. Holding onto anger is detrimental to the anger holder’s own mental, spiritual, and physical health. It is for you (and me) to keep moving forward in your own journey toward peace. You cannot control others. You can, however, control yourself.

2). “Do the next right thing.” In each moment, this changes, but for me now, it begins with … God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference. Can I change it? Can I change the person? No? Well … ok then, not my business. My business is my reaction, how I respond, and my behavior as I journey this life I’ve been given. With courage and wisdom to consider, what is the next right thing? I will face God alone, answerable for only myself, at the end of my time on this earthly plane. So …

Eyes on God.

None of us knows what tomorrow holds. Maybe I will “bleed out.” Maybe I won’t. Regardless, I am alive for this time that I’ve been gifted to keep my head out of “self” and to keep myself in service to others … spreading the message that God’s grace is sufficient for us all. No matter what we’ve done or who we think we are or are not.

With sincerity, I hold no resentment toward the person for those words, “I hope you bleed out,” which were spoken out of anger. I understand the individual has a right to those feelings and will be answerable to God for things said and done, just as I will be as well. I pray peace for the person, and I thank God for GRACE, and for the principles, awareness, and contentment He has brought me to.

So be it.

Understanding Mitral Valve Regurgitation – My Story

“Can you describe how your heart feels abnormal?”

My cardiologist asked me that question last year, and I thought about it for a second, realizing that because he asked me how my heart feels abnormal, I understood that what I do feel is not normal. I realized I don’t know what “normal” feels like, and I don’t remember if I ever felt “normal.” In the eighth grade, I was diagnosed with Mitral valve prolapse; it’s something I never gave much thought to because I was told it was fairly common. I knew any time I was going to go to the dentist for work like fillings or surgery, I was to tell the offices in advance that I had Mitral valve prolapse so they could get me a script for an antibiotic, which I had to take for five days before those appointments. Still, it was not something I took seriously nor thought much about until this past February when I went to my cardiologist’s office for a blood pressure med check appointment, and the CNA I saw listened to my heart and expressed concern at what she heard. She ordered an EKG on the spot, gave me a heart monitor to wear for two days, and ordered an Echocardiogram. Truthfully, I was irritated – it was just a med check appointment, and I almost didn’t go.

Once all three tests were completed, I received a call from a cardiac specialist’s office, ready to set me up with appointments with the cardiac specialist and the cardiac surgeon. That phone call in April left me confused and concerned, to say the least; still, though, I didn’t think too much about it beyond, “What the heck?” Also, why hadn’t my cardiologist’s office contacted me themselves about the test results … So, Patrick and I made those appointments – and we walked away with the understanding that my heart does not function normally – that it is “severely leaking,” and it requires open heart surgery to repair it. To be told this was like unexpectedly getting hit in the head with a sack of potatoes. We left the building, sat outside the specialist’s office on a bench, and held hands, both of us in shock – thinking, praying, wiping tears, and wondering at the immediate future and beyond. In the weeks since I was told that I would be having open heart surgery to either repair or replace my Mitral Valve and had the status of my heart explained to me, I have thought a lot about that question my cardiologist asked me a year ago, “Can you describe how your heart feels abnormal?”

The answer is that I can only tell you I feel my heart. I’m aware of it most of the time. I have a heaviness in my chest – I don’t know how to describe it other than to say, ‘a heaviness.’ Sometimes, it is more pronounced, but I am always aware of my heart beating. Sometimes, I feel it and hear it beating in my ears – not audibly where anyone around me can hear it, but I do. Internally. It’s weird. Every time I lay down, I have a “flushing” – a rush of what must be ill-guided blood that flushes my body – and it feels central to my heart; it causes a dizzy sensation that overtakes me completely for 20-40 seconds – like a handheld lava lamp that you can tilt back and forth, and the goo runs one way and then the next. I worry that I might explode …. Over the last few years, it has gotten more pronounced – and it is every time I lay down – if Patrick is near, I hold on for dear life – as if he could do something about it. Sometimes, I am standing, and I get dizzy. No reason necessarily, just dizzy, and I grab onto whatever or whoever is near me. Sometimes, my heart feels like a ball with too much air pumped into it, which might burst. I feel short of breath, and I find myself touching my chest as if that can somehow calm how the most vital organ inside my body feels. Sometimes, I feel it “skip beats.” However, what I know now is that it’s not skipping beats as much as it is working overtime, fluttering (which is Premature Ventricular Contraction) because my mitral valve is “severely leaking,” which is called Mitral Valve Regurgitation. To better put it into words, here is what the Cleveland Clinic’s website says regarding Mitral Valve Regurgitation. It says, “Mitral valve regurgitation. This is commonly known as a ‘leaky valve.’ Your valve flaps don’t close all the way, leading to some blood leaking in the wrong direction. This is most often caused by mitral valve prolapse. Mitral valve prolapse. People with this condition have mitral valve flaps that are too floppy or stretchy. About 6 in 10 mitral valve surgeries are due to leaky valves caused by leaflet prolapse.”   The PVCs are my lower atrium working overtime to keep up with the inability of my Mitral Valve to pump blood through my heart correctly. According to the Mayo Clinic, “Premature ventricular contractions (PVCs) are extra heartbeats that begin in one of the heart’s two lower pumping chambers (ventricles). These extra beats disrupt the regular heart rhythm, sometimes causing a sensation of a fluttering or a skipped beat in the chest.”  The echocardiogram from April revealed that I have a “significant” number of PVCs occurring in singlets, couplets, and triplets. I feel these all day, every day … but I didn’t realize this was abnormal. Now, I do, and I’m hyper-aware of them.

“Can you describe how your heart feels abnormal?” is a strange question to ask someone who does not know how a “normal” heart feels because they’ve either never had one or gotten so used to subtle changes over time that ‘normal’ changed along with the functioning of the heart. Now that I know my heart is not “normal,” I’m looking forward to getting on the other side of surgery to discover what heart normies experience – what it is to not be aware of my heart every moment, to not feel, like I do right now as I’m writing this, that there is a heaviness in my chest, a burden, and I have to draw a deep breath for relief which only lasts a moment before the heaviness returns and the sensations of fluttering occur.

Yesterday, the required bloodwork was completed for procedures this upcoming Monday, June 3rd. My doctors will put scopes down my esophagus and up through an artery in my thigh, and they will take pictures with tiny cameras of the inside and the backside of my heart. It is my understanding that with these pictures, the surgeon will determine what type of surgery will be completed to help me be more ‘normal’ and have the greatest opportunity for good quality of life for a longer time. If left alone with no surgery, there is the risk of sudden death with my condition – and most certainly progressive Congestive Heart Failure, which is what took my Momma from us in a prolonged fashion that stole her quality of life and left her dependent upon an oxygen machine and incapable of doing all the things she loved to do. You better believe my sweet Momma is heavy on my mind. With her heart failure, by the time the surgeon went in to try to repair her Mitral Valve, her heart’s condition was too weakened. In their endeavor to repair her heart, it began clotting, and they had to admit defeat at correcting her condition. My doctors assured me that I am ‘young,’ which I thanked them for, and they believe surgery is my only option for, as I said, good quality of life for a longer time.

It will either be a Mitral Valve Replacement or a Mitral Valve Repair. I’ve done reading, of course, and the repair seems like the much better option. I’m not going to stress, though … this is in God’s hands, and what will be will be. I’ll either wake up from surgery with recovery to do and life to continue to live for as long as God has me here on this earth in this mortal body, or I’ll wake up in the presence of God, my tasks on earth complete. Either way, I’m choosing to live each moment in front of me as it comes right now, in the present, enjoying my husband, laughing with my children, reaching out to friends, learning to rest, making amends, preparing my classes, and anticipating a new batch of students, and just being grateful for this life I have and the opportunity to bring smiles and hope to others.

On the other side of surgery, I fully intend, God willing, to document the healing process—perhaps this will help someone else along the way to understand what “normal” is and what it is not so that help can be sought early. Normie heart people, apparently, don’t feel their heart every moment of every day or experience what I shared here … if your heart feels funky, get checked. Listen to your heart …

That reminds me of a song—”Listen to Your Heart” by Roxette, and now my mind is wandering. This is proof that it’s time to move on to another activity—like listening to that awesome song.

“Hair As Silver As the Moon” … And Other Comments Regarding Comp II

“My Soul” – written by a Comp II student – Spring 2024

I always found it difficult to understand people who were so enthralled in their passion because I could not relate. Passion was not exactly something that came easy to me, and I wasn’t too keen on looking for it in places unfamiliar. However, I had a passion for words and reading and writing once upon a time. It was a proper escape from reality that introduced me to fantasies and worlds unknown where the only limit was my imagination—the power the words could hold and the impact they could bring was a fascinating thing. Yet, the older I grew, the more detached I became from these wondrous stories. The world seemed to lose its color, and the magic of words no longer seemed to impact me. The voices on a page no longer came to life, and my pen no longer sang when I put it against paper. It was as if I was beginning to lose my passion for the things that made me human.

When I walked into the classroom of yet another composition class, I was greeted by my professor, hair as silver as the moon, and an energetic smile that seemed to fill the entire room. I hadn’t had much hope of becoming a strong writer since the first assignment. I was surprised at my grade. I knew I wasn’t a very adept writer, but my grade was lower than expected. To think I had gotten even something as fundamental as the formatting incorrect, “Remove space after paragraph” (Cunningham), my professor wrote. It stung. I was aware of my shortcomings as a writer and seeing it up close felt severely demotivating.

As the weeks went by, I found myself feeling lost in my abilities and drifting farther and farther away from the world of spoken and written. I was surprised at my weaknesses and the thought that the professor had about how I already knew how to formulate an argument because I can converse with people eluded me, and her outlook on writing and arguing clashed with my preconceived notions of communication. The more she spoke, the more enthralled I found myself in the words of my instructor, and I became absorbed once again in the magical world of writing.

The writing process was something I never followed religiously because I just had my way of doing things. I had always absorbed knowledge like a sponge, and I never found it difficult to grasp new concepts and ideas and put them into action. Without knowing the hardship of struggle, I was unable to break through my plateaus as a scholar and truly challenge myself. I became complacent, and it was later reflected in my writing. Now that I’m in college, I’m hitting steeper and steeper walls, and it’s becoming gradually more difficult to pick myself up. Because I had never known struggle early on, I never learned how to learn. I didn’t know what made a good writer. I never received proper criticism for my work until I walked into that classroom.

The lessons were difficult to follow, but as if my professor seemed to understand me, she gradually conditioned me to enjoy writing with the short stories we would read. My preconceived notion that there was little room for learning when reading fiction was completely shattered, and I was taught how to research effectively. My professor made me understand argumentative communication on a deeper level. She said, “We use argument every day. If you know how to talk, you know how to argue” (Cunningham). Although I felt weak as a writer, I felt myself slowly becoming obsessed with bringing my thoughts to life on a page.

Communication is an art, at least my professor stressed it to be. She emphasized the importance of communicating and the skills that followed in arguments. It was as if the body and mind would move as one. Thoughts would connect actions, and actions would connect words to exchange information effectively. She stressed the importance of finding reason in between the words of what is being said. To this, she said, “Once you find the ‘Why’- then, communication can begin. Then, a true argument can occur. But not until then” (Cunningham). It was eye-opening for me, almost like a lightbulb going off in my head.

Within the next weeks, I tried to fully apply myself and really, truly engage in classroom discussions, activities, and exchanges, almost like a child eager to play with his new toys. I tried my best to follow her advice, and the task of writing became less daunting to me. The concept of “if you can speak, you can argue” seemed so simple, yet it was exactly what I needed to break through the mindset that writing was difficult. It took me aback. When I was in high school, my opera director sought to put me at ease, seeing as I had difficulty easing the tension in my throat when I sang. He was professional and precise, like a surgeon of the voice. His voice echoed in the grand auditorium during one of our rehearsal sessions, “You sing like you know you’re going to fail. You’re a strong speaker. Why not sing with that same authority?” (Alvear). I had a breakthrough. Writing and communication, just like music, is an art. And it is through the exchange of information that we can truly connect.

The short stories that we read in class, I think, were one of my favorite reasons for coming to class. I enjoyed hearing everyone’s opinions, and the open discussions that followed were extremely productive. It took a little bit of getting comfortable with speaking to new people, but once I got into it, words, thoughts, and conversations seemed to spark. I was unaware at the time, but those conversations over those short stories assisted us students in honing our communication skills.

A certain thought-provoking story sparked a lasting discussion that seared itself in my mind. The Ones Who Walk Away From Omelas. It’s a short story by Ursula K. Le Guin about a utilitarian utopia that criticized the power of the state and capitalism. It brought such fiery conversations among my peers, and it became a popular essay topic within the class. The sense of unease within the class after reading the short story was tangible, and hearing everyone’s thoughts was like music. Through effective communication, I was able to better understand my classmates. Through effective communication, I was able to build lasting connections with scholars I could proudly call my friends.

It takes a certain courage to fully immerse yourself in a passion, to focus on the beautiful self-indulgence of the mind foolishly and wholeheartedly. I thought that to be a strong writer, one must constantly throw themselves toward the pages. Writing, writing, and more writing. But I was wrong. My professor taught me more than just writing. I was taught that to be a good producer of writing, one must also be a good consumer of it. One must learn to understand and digest not just the words on the page but the hidden meaning and intent of the author delivering it, “the A.I.M” (Cunningham), my professor would say. Communication is a two-way street. Being talked at is not communicating, and vice versa. I was too weak to understand at first that her critique was for my good. I don’t think I would have had such a positive experience had I learned from a different instructor. There’s a fear in me that had I not learned from this professor, my love and passion for writing, for art, for music, for my soul would have withered and died. I am forever grateful for such a wonderful experience.

Emotions felt more and more difficult for me to feel as the days went on. Everything started to feel the same, nothing new, nothing to look forward to, and nothing waiting for me when I finished with my day. My world was a morbid lens of monochrome, and the things that once enraptured me soon slowly began to chip away at my sanity. Every. Single. Day. Became monotonous, and I slowly felt myself slipping away from the things that made me human. No music could soothe my soul. No words could ease my anxiety. The only thing keeping me together was my school routine. I dreaded coming to class, yet my professor would greet me every day with a smile. As abrasive as I am, I didn’t want to admit at the time that that class had grown on me. Everyone showed concern for me whenever I didn’t show up. Everyone asked how I was doing. I was met with “good mornings” and several other greetings. For the first time in a long time, I felt warmth. I felt at home.

This semester has been a test for me, and not just my patience, but my growth as a person especially. There were many trials and tribulations that I had to conquer, and mindlessly going about my day like a husk of a man wasn’t getting me anywhere. The passion that I had for reading, writing, music, and art that I thought had been snuffed out long ago had been rekindled by such a radiant atmosphere. I truly felt at home there. I didn’t want to leave. Most days, I would have been completely fine with just existing and being around everyone. This isn’t even about the assignment anymore. I just cannot contain my emotions as I type this out.

For someone who was a loner and weak, I was shown kindness and warmth by the people around me, and for that, I am forever thankful. I understand that I have strayed severely from the topic of this assignment. I understand that what I am doing could be punishable by the docking of points. But why must I limit my emotions any longer? I don’t want to hold myself back from the things I want to feel and the things I want to say. I want to thank you so much for being there for me. I want to thank you so much for trying to understand me as a person. Without you, I don’t think I could have picked myself back up. You taught me more than just writing skills, more than just communication skills. You taught me how to love myself again and to strive to be better. Mrs. Cunningham, thank you for everything.

Works Cited

Alvear, Joe. Opera Rehearsal Session. March 2021

Cunningham, Dacia. “Essay #1 – Details are Important.” ENGL1213, 8 February 2024, Tulsa Community College

Cunningham, Dacia. “Defining Argument And The Most Dangerous Game.” ENGL1213, 20 January 2024, Tulsa Community College

Cunningham, Dacia. “Writing Tips And Tricks.” ENGL 1213, 11 December 2023, Tulsa Community College

I Tried to Control My Own Life, But It’s Not Mine to Control

Open heart surgery is in my near future. Yesterday, I found this out, and I have spent the last 24 hours in contemplation. My mitral valve is “severely leaking.” Those are the words used by the doctor. I’ve known since the eighth grade that I have Mitral Valve Prolapse, meaning that my mitral valve doesn’t function “normally” – it is supposed to control the flow of blood into the heart, and mine has always done its own thing. Beat to its own drum, if you will. Over the last few years, my mitral valve “disease” has progressively worsened to this point where the doctors have said it needs either repaired or replaced – as this is early-stage heart failure. They won’t know which of those, repair or replace, will be done until they get into my heart. So … I sit with this knowledge now, waiting for the pre-surgical procedures to be scheduled, and as I said, I have spent the last 24 hours in contemplation.

In those hours, I had a bear hug from my bonus son, who would not allow me to cook dinner last night but sweetly made macaroni and cheese with chicken for us. My husband Patrick and I surrounded ourselves with our physical family and our chosen family. I reached out to friends who I know would, after the fact, have found out that I had open heart surgery. and wanted to know why they weren’t informed ahead of time so that they could be in agreement and prayer with us as we step through this. This was humbling for me as I realized how many people fell into that category – and my gratefulness cup is overflowing this morning.

I called each of my six children and spoke to them individually – explaining the situation and expressing my love and gratefulness to be the birth giver of each one.

To my oldest daughter, I ended up inadvertently, in true me style, saying something that drew a strong reaction of “Mom!” from her, and I’ve thought it over a lot since the words rolled out of my mouth – somewhat in jest. To Kennedy, I said, “I’m not scared. They’ll put an IV in my arm, and I’ll go to sleep. I’ll either wake up in recovery with healing to do, or I’ll wake up with Jesus!”

“Moooooooommmmm!”

Can’t you hear that reaction? I’ll never forget it.

But do you know what? I meant it. I will either wake up with healing to do, or I’ll wake up in Heaven with my Savior, Jesus Christ, the Son of the Most High God, the Creator of All who loves me more than I can understand – who loves each one of us more than we have the capacity to grasp! This is what I believe. To my core.

There are people in my life who don’t believe that Jesus is the Son of God. There are people in my life who choose not to believe in God Most High. To each of you, I say … test it. Test the idea of Him. Test Him. With an open mind, actually, pick up a Bible and read it. Do not read it with pre-set bias. Forget what you thought you knew or the people in churches who hurt you. Keep in mind that with biases and a closed mind, you encounter no growth. That’s a fact. If you choose not to set aside preconceived notions, then you choose a closed mindset – and with that, there is no opportunity, on a personal level, to encounter new information, potential growth, and self-awareness. 

This is how I teach my Comp II students – encounter information with an open mind. Yes, hold your own viewpoints, but be open to possibilities. See what you experience! Test it for yourself – on a personal level. An individual level. No one needs to know you’re doing this. It is for you. Your own curiosity. Your own future. … I mean, hey, can you truly stand on your own belief until you can encounter opposing information and justly, with research, refute it? No, we cannot. So … choose to encounter new ideas. Or don’t. That’s your call. But me? I have read the Bible, and I have lived my life on my own terms, ignoring what the Bible says.

I have lived as a good church girl – raised to not drink or smoke, to not cuss, to not fight, to not question authority, to not be open about my sin struggles – especially at church, to not dance or play cards, to not have sex before marriage, to be a good girl – and I was the best “good” girl; I became judge and jury of anyone I felt didn’t meet standards I believed were “Godly.” I even went to Bible college, got a degree, and married a Bible College professor’s son, with whom I had 6 amazing children; I faithfully took them to church, making sure we all looked our best – all while never being truthful about the hardships or pain of my life whether they were of my own making or someone else’s.

See me? I’m a “good” girl – the best.

Yet, I tried to control my own life – not understanding the true freedom that Christ came to provide – I chose to live by rules taught to me in churches. I lived consumed by law and by fear. Long story short, in the midst of unforeseen life circumstances, I stopped going to church. I turned to alcohol to be my savior. I became an alcoholic. I became a workaholic. I became an adulteress. I left my family because of my sick mind and soul. Found myself in two psych wards – suicidal. I thought everyone was better off without me – I was told I was unlovable and that no one would want me, and I believed those words. I jumped on any motorcycle. I flirted too much. I drank too much – alone, blacking out most nights, isolated and sick. I set about finding a ‘hero’ on dating sights to save me from all of the pain. I lived in misery – abject misery trying to ‘control’ my own world and always on an invisible suicide mission – and I failed life in a heartbreaking, heart-wrenching way. Only when I was so broken, with no strength left of my own to even try to manage my own life, that the only place to look was up and cry out to God for His help did I begin to truly encounter Him!

I discovered what it was to be the woman in John 8, where Jesus tells those wanting to stone her that the one without sin can cast the first stone. Those standing in condemnation left. Then, Jesus said to her, “Woman, where are they? Has no one condemned you?” 11 “No one, sir,” she said. “Then neither do I condemn you,” Jesus declared. “Go now and leave your life of sin.” – John 8:1-11. She got up, full of gratefulness, a recipient of the greatest grace and mercy! On my right forearm, now tattooed on my flesh, are the words “By Grace.” A daily reminder that I am saved by Grace! God’s grace! Just as that woman and innumerable others who have found themselves in an utter lack of control, living in abject misery, unable to manage their own lives, and believing that only a power greater than ourselves could restore sanity.

In my life, and because of the ridiculousness of my own devastating behaviors and actions, I have discovered that God is REAL as I have encountered Him outside of the rules I was raised with and according to a whole new mindset—one of grace, forgiveness, and self-discipline, where true freedom exists. I have tasted His love, His mercy, His forgiveness, and His peace.

I believe that He exists, and I believe that Jesus is the Son of God. He did come to earth, live as a man, and die a beyond-painful and humiliating death on the cross at the hands of the very people He came to save – who, to this day, still reject Him. He rose from the dead and is now preparing Heaven for all of us, no matter our background or nationality, who choose to believe in His name and that He is the only way to the Father! God is good, and He brings peace.

I am able to look back over my life and see the journey – understand why this or that occurred, and I choose to let go of the past, let go of guilt, let go of hate, and let go of shame. To those I have hurt, I admit I was wrong, though I ask no forgiveness because that is between you and your own higher power. For me, though, with the people I have held onto resentment for and for how I want to walk with God, I choose forgiveness – because I have a personal relationship with God the Father and Christ the Son now – and only in that is there peace. This is my relationship, not yours (though you could test the idea of God and see what you discover about whether or not God is there—your choice). This relationship that I have found is for me and my eternity. I will stand alone before the throne of God one day, responsible for my own actions and choices, and knowing this, I live in gratefulness. I have peace because I know that I am covered by the blood of Christ.

I meant it when I told my daughter that I would either wake up with recovery to do or I would wake up with Jesus. NEVER before I came to know Christ on a personal level could I have said such a thing. Never. This is MY experience. I tested it … didn’t realize that was what was happening as those wretched years rolled out, but in retrospect, I see that my stubborn self, in order to come to a personal walk with my Savior, had to encounter a wealth of “opposition.”

Again, I say to you, test it. Or don’t. That’s your decision. Really, though, do you have anything to lose if you pick up a Bible and read, let’s say, the book of John for a few minutes? Not really. You don’t have anything to lose in the here and now other than a few minutes of your life. You might discover that you have much more to lose than you thought … or you won’t. I can’t walk that path for you; I am on my own path.

That said, my intent here is not to push my beliefs on you; I am simply sharing my own experience here, and I will, though, lay down this challenge of open-mindedness and critical thinking. Just like I teach my Comp II students, to write an effective argument, you must encounter opposing information. You must know and test opposing information. You must be able to strengthen your own argument to stand up to the “opposing” side with research and fair-mindedness. Until this (actually encountering new and/or opposing information) is done, any argument is biased and unfair – and true growth won’t happen, nor will peace be found.

I shared with my sister-in-law Veronica last night what I had said to Kennedy, and I told Veronica I was contemplating writing a post the night before surgery telling everyone that Jesus is the answer! She said, and God bless her for her gift of bluntness, “Why wait until then?” And do you know what? She’s right! Why am I just contemplating that as I’m facing a major surgery with unknown outcomes? Great question!

So, here I am, writing this post in the face of something major like open heart surgery, saying things I should have been saying all along – and maybe I have, but I don’t know that I have, and what I’m contemplating is that I mean what I said to my daughter, though it was said with a sense of jest; I meant it. Does that suggest there’s not some anxiety in me about the unknown? No, it creeps around, but I’m pushing it away as it comes and choosing to trust that God’s will for my life will be done. If He keeps me around on this earth after this surgery, then so be it – and I’ll keep on keeping on. I’ll teach those critical thinking skills! Because each person needs to be able to make their own critical life decisions and have the skills to do so! As I wrote the first few paragraphs of this post, the song playing in the background from my cellphone was “Even If” by Mercy Me, and I cried … but amazed and submitted tears. Wow. Just wow. Yes, Lord, EVEN IF.

“They say sometimes you win some
Sometimes, you lose some
And right now, right now I’m losing bad
I’ve stood on this stage night after night
Reminding the broken, it’ll be alright
But right now, oh right now, I just can’t

It’s easy to sing
When there’s nothing to bring me down
But what will I say
When I’m held to the flame
Like I am right now

I know You’re able, and I know You can
Save through the fire with Your mighty hand
But even if You don’t
My hope is You alone

They say it only takes a little faith
To move a mountain
Well good thing
A little faith is all I have right now
But God, when You choose
To leave mountains unmovable
Oh, give me the strength to be able to sing
It is well with my soul

I know You’re able, and I know You can
Save through the fire with Your mighty hand
But even if You don’t
My hope is You alone
I know the sorrow, and I know the hurt
Would all go away if You’d just say the word?
But even if You don’t
My hope is You alone

You’ve been faithful, You’ve been good
All of my days
Jesus, I will cling to You
Come what may
‘Cause I know You’re able
I know You can

I know You’re able, and I know You can
Save through the fire with Your mighty hand
But even if You don’t
My hope is You alone
I know the sorrow. I know the hurt
Would all go away if You’d just say the word?
But even if You don’t
My hope is You alone

It is well with my soul
It is well. It is well with my soul”

Ursula K. Le Guin, Kay Allen, & Shelby Scott – Women Making a Difference re: Omelas

To Mrs. Kay Allen, one of my high school English teachers, if you can hear me or see this up in Heaven, THANK YOU for bringing the short story “The Ones Who Walk Away From Omelas” to my attention and encouraging me to use it in my Comp II curriculum.

What a privilege to have had Mrs. Allen as a teacher – in 1988-89 and as a friend much later in life. Before she ‘moved to Heaven,’ I would tell her directly about student responses to Le Guin’s work. Today, I settle for a shout-out online to ‘let her know’ that time and again, Ursula K. Le Guin’s message has touched my students, opening their eyes to not just one but multiple horrifying dichotomies that exist in our world. Today, I graded, no, let’s use the word ‘read.’ I read a paper authored by one of my students regarding the impact of “The Ones Who Walk Away From Omelas.” To say that I am proud is an understatement. Today, I said to my student, Shelby, “You should be proud of your work; it is strong, argumentative, personal, and researched.” Her response was, “Thank you, that means a lot. I really did try my best to do Le Guin’s work justice.” She did, and with her permission, I share it here.

Shelby Scott * Professor Cunningham * ENGL 1213 * April 22, 2024

“The Ones Who Walk Away from Omelas” Rhetorical Analysis

A month ago, if you had asked me to name a short story capable of eliciting a range of emotions – shock, disgust, and anger, I would have struggled to find one. That was until I encountered ‘The Ones Who Walk Away from Omelas’ by Ursula K. Lee Guin. This narrative, set in a utopian city known as the ‘city of joy,’ initially appears devoid of any hardships – a facade that is shattered as the story unfolds. It is a testament to the power of emotional storytelling. However, before we delve into the story’s intricacies, it is crucial to understand the author behind it.

Ursula K. Lee Guin grew up in Berkley, California, with her parents, Alfred Kroeber and Theodora Kroeber, both of whom studied anthropology. According to Merriam-Webster’s dictionary, “Anthropology is the study of human beings and their ancestors through time and space and about physical character, environmental and social relations, and culture” (Webster). Later in her life, she would pursue a career in writing. She dabbled in many genres, according to the National Endowment for the Humanities: “including poetry, historical fiction, picture books, essays, translation, and, toward the end of her nearly sixty-year career, writing a funny and opinionated blog” (Phillips). Yet, she was mostly known for writing science fiction, which had become a blossoming genre a decade before Le Guin began to write due to the rise of technology. The online Encyclopedia Britannica can support this, “developments in technology, such as nuclear energy and space exploration, coupled with the end of World War II, ignited the public’s imagination surrounding ideas of space, dystopia, alternate futures, and militarization.” (Sterling).

Le Guin became a prominent figurehead in this genre, exploiting its unexplored prospects. The Museum of Pop Culture, located in Seattle, Washington, is dedicated to making creative expression a life-changing force by offering experiences that inspire and connect our communities, explains Le Guin’s method of writing. “She used the genre to convey her messages of anthropology, gender, environmentalism, and anarchism” (Museum of Pop Culture). “The Ones Who Walk Away from Omelas” is no different, expressing themes of morality, happiness, and individuals versus society, all based in a utopian city. Throughout the story, the narrator tries to persuade the reader to consider Omelas a wonderful place. Describing the people of the town as never having lived complicated lives, as mentioned in the story: “They were not naïve and happy children – though their children were, in fact, happy. They were mature, intelligent, passionate adults whose lives were not wretched” (Le Guin). As the narrator goes on, the reader can sense that they want readers to be convinced that Omelas is all it’s made out to be. They try to explain that good things happen in this city. This can make readers wonder why all this persuasion is needed.

It isn’t until the reader nears the end of the story that they realize why the narrator went to great lengths to glorify Omelas. Hidden in a basement under one of the buildings in Omelas, a child is kept captive in a closet. They sit naked, in their excrement, malnourished and abused. The narrator reveals that this child is why Omelas is a city of joy, free from all pain and misery. It is like a stab to the gut for many readers, including myself, to learn of this. As the story progresses, the knife begins to twist as the narrator tries to explain why the child must be kept in the closet. They are a sacrifice, placed there to keep the people and the city happy. All of the people know of this child, and most are complacent with its treatment as long as they can continue without a complicated life. Thus, it leaves the reader with rage and disgust while encouraging them to think about our views of utopia and our perceptions of happiness. “The Ones Who Walk Away from Omelas” is a short story by Ursula K. Le Guin, who skillfully uses Logos, Pathos, and Ethos to explore the themes of morality, happiness, and human nature while criticizing society’s idea of utopia and why it should never be achieved.

Throughout my Composition II class, I have read six short stories, all of which I have interpreted the Logos, Pathos, and Ethos to see if the author used them to help get their message across in a memorable way. Stories such as “The Story of an Hour” by Kate Chopin and “The Yellow Wallpaper” by Charlotte Perkins Gilman greatly impacted society and myself. I heavily considered writing about them for this essay. Yet, once I read “The Ones Who Walk Away from Omelas,” the other stories I read were not comparable. One of the reasons for this is Le Guin’s use of logos. Logos in the literary world means to appeal to the audience’s sense of reason or logic. The use of logos can be seen throughout the story, with the narrator describing the city and the people.

From the story’s beginning, the narrator describes the luxuries the city offers, detailing all the things Omelas offers or doesn’t offer to try and convince the reader that the city is a utopia. Descriptions such as “They did not use swords or keep slaves. They were not barbarians… As they did without monarchy and slavery, so they also go on without the stock exchange, the advertisement, the secret police, and the bomb” and “What else belongs in the joyous city?… But as we did without clergy, let us do without soldiers. The joy built upon successful slaughter is not the right kind of joy; it will not do; it is fearful and trivial” (Le Guin). From these examples presented, the narrator is appealing to what might be the reader’s sense of utopia—describing how Omelas does not need an oppressive monarchy or slavery to function as a proper city.

The other example shows how Omelas does not need wars or the military to experience joy—acknowledging that joy derived from violence is not the right kind of joy. Yet, the second example is hypothetical. It can be hard to catch since the narrator does a good job sweeping the reader into the sweet details of this supposed utopia, but not all the descriptions of this ‘glorious’ city are accurate. The narrator does not know if the military exists in the city of Omelas, but if that’s something that will entice the reader, then there is no military. These theories blur the line between reality and fantasy. This can trick the reader into thinking some of these promises are true, and that’s what the narrator wants you to believe. The more the reader feels enticed, the harder it is for the reader to judge Omelas for its sin.

Moving on from Logos, the next from the rhetorical triangle is Ethos. Ethos Focuses attention on the writer’s or speaker’s trustworthiness. When considering the Ethos of this story, it’s good to look at the author’s life to understand why they write their stories. Understanding an author’s life, going all the way to the beginning of their life – can establish credibility with the readers and the story. As stated before, Le Guin was born in 1929 in Berkley, California, to her parents, Alfred Kroeber and Theodora Kroeber, both anthropologists. Due to growing up in such an environment, the influences of anthropology can be found in multiple works written by Le Guin. Works like The Dispossessed and Always Coming Home have Le Guin’s twist on utopian stories. Unsurprisingly, Le Guin would once again write about her ideas of utopia in “The Ones That Walk Away from Omelas.”

Yet, the reader might ask ‘why’ Le Guin would write so much about utopia, and there’s a plausible explanation. Le Guin started writing in the 1950s and continued her writing for the next sixty years. Many world events during this time would strongly influence writers – including Le Guin. One of the most significant events of this time was the Vietnam War, which began in 1955. The Vietnam War was a long and costly war against communist North Vietnam and South Vietnam, along with South Vietnam’s ally – the United States, who joined out of fear that communism would take over Asia if North Vietnam won. More than 3 million had died, and 58,000 of those deaths were American Soldiers. Many say that the U.S. should have never entered that war. A poll made in 1971 found on Britannica.com noted that “71% of Americans believed that the U.S made a mistake sending troops to Vietnam, and 58% said that the war ‘immoral’” (Spector).

The controversy and disillusionment of the war led to the birth of a new movement called the Hippie Movement. It was born partly to oppose the Vietnam War. Hippies advocated for peace and love, promoting tolerance and fewer restrictions in life. Many opted to leave society and join communes where they could live amongst other hippies—living a life of what would be considered taboo in regular society, such as participating in open sexual relationships, recreational drug use, and seeking out different spiritual practices that deviated from Christianity.

Readers will better understand Le Guin’s world and where the ideas of utopia come from if they know the time and history of Le Guin’s society. It has already been established that the narrator creates a lot of hypotheticals to make the city of Omelas more enticing. One of these hypotheses was the town orgy. The narrator fears their description of Omelas has become too ‘goody-goody.’ The narrator begins with this one-paragraph description of what the town orgy might be like saying:

“Let us not, however, have temples from which issue beautiful nude priests and priestesses already half in ecstasy and ready to copulate with any man or woman, lover or stranger who desires union with the deep godhead of the blood, although that was my first ide. But really, it would be better not to have any temple in Omelas – at least, not manned temples… Surely, the beautiful nudes can wander about, offering themselves like divine souffles to the hunger of people in need and the rapture of the flesh. Let them join the processions. Let tambourines be struck above the copulations, and the glory of desire be proclaimed upon the gongs, and let the offspring of the delightful rituals be beloved and looked after by all” (Le Guin).

It’s a lot to process, and it took me days to try and understand why Le Guin would write this. Sure, one can say that sex is appealing, and it sells, so it would be a no-brainer to add that tidbit. For some, the idea of people who readily offer themselves to those who are in need or desire sex would already be a utopia, and that’s precisely how most hippies saw sex. An excerpt from a book I found on the website Cambridge University Press called American Hippies by W.J. Rorabach – an American historian and retired history professor from the University of Washington, perfectly explained how hippies viewed sex and the human body.

“Hippies worshipped the human body…This elemental celebration was rooted in the philosophy of the hippie counterculture. The body’s existence was a matter of simple fact, and freaks reveled in facing facts openly. To do so was part of the search for authenticity. “Hippies despise phoniness; they want to be open, loving, and free,” noted the counterculture journalist Hunter S. Thompson. Glorification of the body is beautiful also expressed a preference for simplicity and honesty. Nothing, including the body, should be hidden from view. To hide the body was proof of impure motives. Mainstream culture’s prudish attitude toward the body was proof of its corruption. Nudity expressed purity” (Rorabach).

Now, comparing the story to the actual views of hippies, it’s not hard to see how Le Guin mixes her reality with Omelas. The idea of people being readily available to whoever desired them and encouraging copulation with the strikes of tambourines can be viewed as the hippies encouraging the authentic nude body. Encouraging all that the human body had to offer without any phoniness. Like how the narrator did not think it would be suitable for there to be a temple filled with beautiful priests and priestesses ready to copulate at any time; it should just be anyone who feels the need to fulfill other townspeople’s desires. Learning the details of Le Guin’s life and the world she lived in can help readers not only understand why she wrote about a hypothetical town orgy but the city itself. The city of Omelas mirrors the hippie’s idea of utopia. A town without slavery and soldiers, a place without a monarchy, where all types of love were celebrated without judgment.

It’s incredible how much Le Guin took inspiration from the world around her and used it in her writing. That’s why the ethos is so powerful; she skillfully shows her credibility without having to say it outright. A few Google searches were all it took, and I quickly understood what this utopia was based on. Using real-life details gives the author extra credibility and adds another level of immersion to the story.

Even though ethos is strong throughout the story, it can be difficult for some readers to understand it. It took me a few days, along with research, to grapple with the entirety of Le Guin’s message. The Pathos stood out the most in this story, as it seemed to jump right out and in front of me and give the gut punch of a lifetime. Yet, before I ramble about Pathos, readers need to understand it. Pathos is persuading an audience by purposely evoking certain emotions to make them feel the way the author wants them to. Le Guin was adept at conveying pathos in her message in a way that stands out from most of the stories I have read.

The over-explanation of Omelas can set off red flags in readers’ minds as they begin to wonder why the narrator feels the need to over-hype the city. Then, it is quickly understood why once the city’s dark secret is revealed. The narrator begins to describe that in a cellar or basement of one of the beautiful buildings of Omelas, there is a small, foul-smelling room, and in that room sits a child. The narrator calls that child an ‘it,’ taking away what little humanity they have as they go into depth about their living conditions. The narrator explains that they sit naked in this small room, in their excrement. Going on to say that the child is feeble-minded due to neglect. The description of the child is infuriating enough; descriptions such as: “It could be a boy or a girl. It looks about six, but is nearly ten. It is feeble-minded. Perhaps it was born defective, or perhaps it has become imbecile through fear, malnutrition, and neglect” (Le Guin). It is a disgusting and gut-wrenching read as more information is revealed.

The child is not afforded the luxury of a proper meal or even a kind word. Instead, people come to gawk at it with fear and disgust, or even worse, beat on it so that they will stand for their entertainment. The child has little to no muscle left on their body, their buttocks and thighs covered in sores from sitting in their own excrement continually. They are left in that closet for the rest of their days, and why is that you may ask; well, because the child is a sacrifice. This child is the reason Omelas is allowed to be continually joyful. Everyone knows about the child and understands why the child must be there. They know if the child were to be removed and shown even a mere smidge of kindness – the city would lose its joy, wealth, and abundance.

The narrator continues with their excuses for the people of Omelas. Going on to say: “They feel disgusted, which they had thought themselves superior to” and “Often young people go home in tears, or a tearless rage, when they have seen the child and faced this terrible paradox. They may brood over it for weeks or years” (Le Guin). This is interesting to me. This is supposed to be the city of joy; these people should be content never to be met with the face of hardship. Yet, they find themselves feeling negative emotions when faced with this child. In all fairness, some cannot handle the treatment of the child, so instead, they leave the city without a word. Never to be seen again. Still, even though they are upset to go, too disgusted by how their city must keep its prosperity, they never try to free the child. They leave without a word or trace. These people could do something; in a sense, they have nothing to lose. They no longer want to live in Omelas, assuming they no longer care for the others who decide to be complacent – in theory, at least one should be okay with freeing the child. It’s an infuriating fact. One of the few facts about Omelas that some readers may wish was just another fallacy by the narrator.

The pathos presented at the end of the story can leave an unforgettable mark on readers. Many people are already aware of the injustices many children in the real world go through each day. To read in graphic detail what the child in Omelas is going through could more than likely be a reality for a child out in the world. According to the American Society of Positive Care for Children (American SPCC), which is a nonprofit dedicated solely to the prevention of child maltreatment and raising awareness of the lifelong impacts of adverse childhood experiences – found that 4.276 million child maltreatment referral reports were received in 2022. Child abuse reports involved 7.5 million children, and 89.0% of victims are maltreated by one or both parents. Only 3.096 million children received prevention & post-response services (American SPCC).

These harrowing facts make the story weigh heavy on readers once they finish it. The child’s treatment in the story is the reality for millions daily. The child in Omelas will likely die in that closet one day, never being able to see the sunlight again and never being offered kindness. Again, this is another reality for five children each day. According to the SPCC, five children die every day from child abuse. It can and should make readers feel nauseous or angry when they read this story. If the emotional impact were not as strong, readers would not be left sitting there thinking about what they could do to help protect children and other victims of abuse better. This story is meant to stick into a reader’s mind, forcing them to truly consider what it means and what they can do to impact our society positively.

There are few meanings laden in this short story to leave a mark on the reader’s psyche. Our idea of happiness and utopia, and how easy it is for many of us to forget about those who are without a voice – constantly abused while we try and chase our selfish pleasures. I am not saying that there is anything wrong with trying to find personal joy in one’s life, far from it, but we as a society tend to get so wrapped up in our world that we hardly ever consider another person and what they may be going through. Even if topics such as child abuse are brought to our attention, many try to look the other way and shove their nose into something that will distract them from the fact. Stories like “The Ones Who Walk Away from Omelas” remind readers that they should not be complacent in the injustices others face in our society while trying to chase the selfish idea of utopia. These stories are required to make an impact on society and ourselves.

That brings me to the impact “The Ones Who Walk Away from Omelas” had on society and myself. While sleuthing around the internet, I could not obtain a clear answer as to how exactly the story impacted our culture. There are no blockbuster movie adaptations like “The Most Dangerous Game” by Richard Conell, and no widespread theory was made from the story’s events, unlike in the story “The Sound of Thunder” by Ray Bradbury. Yet, I think it had a better impact based on the story’s message. We as a society tend to sacrifice our morality for an easier life since many of us don’t want to face the hardships life constantly throws at us. If one were to sit down and think about it, we try hard to avoid negative feelings, events, conversations, etc. It can be understandable sometimes; it’s hard to be uncomfortable. Yet, especially in the age of smartphones and the internet, we’ve become deluded by the world around us. There have been many instances where an altercation has broken out, and instead of people intervening, they pull out their phones to take a video to post online for the whole world to see. To try and get fifteen seconds of fame. This is more commonly known as the bystander effect, which became known after the 1964 murder of Kitty Genovese when she was murdered on her walk home, and thirty-eight people were witness to it. According to Brittanica, The bystander effect is the inhibiting influence of the presence of others on a person’s willingness to help someone in need (Brittanica).

It’s a common phenomenon in our world. I witnessed it myself multiple times growing up and have shamefully participated in it. The most prominent memory I have of it was when I was in school, and my classmates and I just watched, some with glee, some with apathy, as a girl beat another girl’s head into a lunch table. None of us tried to stop her; some egged it on, enjoying the violent display before us. Yet, none of us tried to stop and help the victim. The girl stopped once a teacher finally found out what was happening and pulled her off the other girl. Thankfully, she was okay, but I’m ashamed of myself and my peers. Just like the people of Omelas, we allowed that girl to be continuously assaulted for our selfish joy.

It happens all the time. When people drive down the street and see a homeless person sitting in the sweltering heat, many avert their eyes and ignore them. They don’t want to interact with or think about them. We try so hard to forget the atrocities that happen in our world and our communities, electing to scroll endlessly on TikTok to try and continue on our dopamine highs until we reach a point where the dopamine doesn’t hit the same anymore—leaving some running around trying to chase a new level of high like a mindless zombie so they don’t have to think about what is going on in the real world.

Reading “The Ones Who Walk Away from Omelas” thankfully made me sit down and think not only about its meaning but also about what I’m currently not doing. It made me remember all the times in school when I disregarded a child being bullied. All because I was taught it was “one of my business.” How I watched apathetically when that poor girl was viciously assaulted because she had supposedly said something about the perpetrator’s mother.

Since then, I’ve learned to pull up my big girl britches and speak up when others cannot, but I feel I can do more. Over the past few weeks since reading that story, I’ve felt like there is more that I can do for others. I’ve recently begun talking more about topics such as child abuse and better education for our state. Forcing people to wake up and stop worrying about ‘what this celebrity said’ or ‘what Travis and Taylor did today.’ Because it’s all just a distraction. A distraction many people are willing to fall for in the name of ‘entertainment.’ It’s more like media to rot your brain quicker. My main goal is to get the adults around me to give up apathy and pay closer attention to what happens around us. They must be mindful of the media they consume on a day-to-day basis. I’m not saying I don’t want them to enjoy some mindless fun here and there, but that’s all they consume. It’s just mindless entertainment. If people could comprehend what they read or watch, there might be more thoughtful conversations, leading to more action.

“The Ones Who Walk Away from Omelas” is a story that should be an essential read for many. Not only does the tale invoke strong feelings that most stories may not be able to, but it can also lead to personal introspection. Le Guin encouraged the reader to examine society and themselves and ask if we are living a life of comfort or continuous self-growth with the ability to help those around us. The story also allows you to look through the lens of Le Guin herself and possibly see how she viewed her society at the time this was written. Letting us see inside her mind gives the readers a better understanding of why utopianism can and shouldn’t ever be attained. She told us that happiness cannot be achieved without trials and tribulations. That is why “The Ones Who Walk Away from Omelas” by Ursula K. Le Guin skillfully uses Logos, Pathos, and Ethos to explore the themes of morality, happiness, and human nature while criticizing society’s idea of utopia and why it should never be achieved.

I believe this story should always be included in the Comp II curriculum. It would be a disservice to future students not to include it. The story offers incredible usage of Logos, Pathos, and Ethos, engaging readers in a story that closely reflects our society. “The Ones Who Walk Away from Omelas” forces us to rethink how we decide to live our lives and how we think about those abused within our communities. The story allows readers to start change within our personal and public worlds. If “The Ones Who Walk Away from Omelas” were to be removed from the Comp II curriculum, it would be a missed opportunity for young adults to read this impactful story. They may never read it in their lifetime and get the wake-up call to rethink how they live, compromising their morality for comfortability.

Works Cited

Child maltreatment & neglect statistics. American SPCC. (2024, April 4). https://americanspcc.org/child-maltreatmentstatistics/#:~:text=4.276%20million%20child%20maltreatment%20referral,prevention%20%26 %20post%2Dresponse%20services.

Le Guin, U. K. (n.d.). The Ones Who Walk Away from Omelas. https://shsdavisapes.pbworks.com/f/Omelas.pdf

Phillips, J., Heitman, D., Gillis, J. R., Tonguette, P., & Holsinger, B. (n.d.). Ursula K. Le Guin was a creator of the world. The National Endowment for the Humanities. https://www.neh.gov/article/ursula-k-le-guin-was-creatorworlds#:~:text=Born%20in%20Berkeley%2C%20California%2C%20in,and%20The%20Dispos sessed%20(1974).

Rorabaugh, W. J. (n.d.). Bodies, sex, and gender (Chapter 3) – American hippies. Cambridge Core. https://www.cambridge.org/core/books/abs/american-hippies/bodies-sex-andgender/ABA6ADB4F3379997E3E6006E46E590AF

Spector, R. H. (n.d.). The United States negotiates a withdrawal. Encyclopædia Britannica. https://www.britannica.com/event/Vietnam-War/The-United-States-negotiates-awithdrawal

Sterling, B. (2024, April 5). Science fiction. Encyclopædia Britannica. https://www.britannica.com/art/science-fiction Ursula K. Le Guin. Museum of Pop Culture. (n.d.). https://www.mopop.org/ursulakleguin#:~:text=Celebrated%20for%20such%20science%20fictio n,gender%2C%20environmentalism%2C%20and%20anarchism.

Speaking in Questions … Ugh. But You Know What … Let Them.

This trendy new speech pattern that many young women and some men have adopted and have conformed to in the last couple of years is making my brain hurt. Ending most sentences in a manner that sounds like the sentence is a question makes me want to disregard everything that comes out of those individuals’ mouths. These people, with their upturned tones at the end of sentences, sound timid, like they are unsure of what they’re talking about – and I do not understand why anyone would do this damage to the way that others perceive them – probably they do not understand that it is damaging their professional image – that it makes them sound ineffective, unsure, insecure, without information, and unreliable – if not to their own generation, but to older generations who do matter and to those in their own generation who understand the viability of nonverbal language. I’m watching the news right now, and a woman who is clearly close to my age is speaking in that manner (she’s a celebrity reporter – insert a roll of the eyes), and I cannot take her seriously.

I hear students and younger-than-me educators talk like this. It permeates most places I go. These individuals sound like they are unsure whether what they are saying is true or factual. My thoughts here are not unfounded.

Nonverbal research proves that 90% of communication is, in fact, nonverbal. With 38% being tone of voice. In the article “How Much of Communication is Nonverbal?” by The University of Texas – Permian Basin, this information is discussed. “According to the 55/38/7 formula, nearly 40% of a person’s attitude is conveyed vocally through tone and inflection, so try to ensure that your tone matches whatever message you’re trying to convey. You can also try speaking in a deeper voice. Research has shown that people who speak with a low-pitched voice are rated more authoritative and competent than those who speak with a higher pitch.” This is not the only research study regarding these statistics or this fact-based information. There are innumerable studies online conducted by a vast array of researchers – and the studies come to the same conclusions. The Social Skills Center in the article “Why Your Tone of Voice is So Important” says, “Your pitch is how high or low your voice sounds, as well as how it fluctuates during communication. A high-pitched voice can sound immature or uncertain; in contrast, a low-pitched voice generally is interpreted as serious and authoritative. Additionally, the way pitch fluctuates throughout a conversation can affect the way it is interpreted, such as how when pitch suddenly grows high at the end of a sentence, it generally means the speaker is asking a question.” – Asking a question because they are unsure of their message! They are not confident, and it is evident in their nonverbals, which they are unaware of – and that starts another conversation. It is imperative to be aware of your nonverbals! Imperative.

After consideration, I have come to this conclusion – Let them. Let them speak that way. Let them be unaware of their nonverbals. Let them not consider their tone of voice. Those of us who are bothered by vocal trends, like the valley-girl trend of the 80s, who understand the importance of tone in Nonverbal language will continue to move toward serious and confident exchanges. I will continue to use the tone of my voice to espouse confidence and intelligence, and I will sound like I know what I’m talking about. This is scientific study-based, not just my irritated-by-the-trend opinion. Now … I will continue to address this in my classrooms when we discuss job skills … but anyone else … “Let Them” will be my approach.

Thank you to Mel Robbins and the “Let Them Theory” for helping me to state my opinion, but then to also … Let it go.

{Neither of my Gen Z daughters talks in questions – and I am PROUD of my nonconformist daughters who do their own thing – even with their speech patterns!}

Tradition – the Lottery & AA

It struck me how exceptional and unparalleled the traditions of AA are as I graded rhetorical analysis essays written regarding “The Lottery” by Shirley Jackson, which is a commentary on blindly following tradition.

The 300-person village depicted by Jackson follows a strict ritualistic tradition once a year – wherein the inhabitants of the village gather on June 26 in the town square at noon. The villagers assemble in family units, and the fathers (and in cases where the father was gone, the eldest son) draw a piece of paper from a black box that is precariously perched on a stool near the ever-so-eager-to-complete-the-Lottery Mr. Summers, the official of the Lottery. All of the pieces of paper are blank – except one. That slip of paper has a black spot on it – drawn by Mr. Summers the evening before as he stepped into his role of preparation for the yearly Lottery. The family of the man who holds the spot – in the case of Jackson’s “The Lottery,” this is Bill Hutchison – is thrust into the spotlight. Singled out. All eyes are on the Hutchison family, which consists of Bill, Tessie, Bill Jr., Nancy, and Little Dave, as the family then participates in, in essence, their own family “Lottery.” The black spot slip of paper has been put back into the black box perched precariously on Mr. Summer’s stool, along with 4 blank slips of paper. One at a time, the family members draw a piece of paper from the box. One at a time, Mr. Summers calls on the members of Bill Hutchinson’s family to open their slips of paper – and it is the mother, Tessie, who has the black spot. The entirety of the 300-member town, including Bill Hutchison and his children, then picks up stones, moves in on Tessie, and stones her to death before resuming their normal daily activities. “Lottery in June, corn be heavy soon,” the oldest man in town, Mr. Warner, declares is the reason they do this grotesque thing, this ritual, this tradition, each year on the 26th of June.

As the story unfolds, the reader discovers that the villagers do not remember the actual significance of “The Lottery”—only that Old Man Warner says they’ll have good crops. The reader finds out that at one time, the villagers believed there was a chant or a song that accompanied the Lottery – but they do not recall it. The reader discovers that some towns nearby had done away with the Lottery or were at least discussing not continuing with the tradition; however, Old Man Warner declares those towns to contain “packs of young fools.” The reader finds out that there are many aspects of the Lottery that the villagers did not remember or had let lapse, but the text of the short story says, in true human nature form, that “They still remembered to use stones.” Of course, they did – every single one of them. They remembered the violent part of the tradition – and the story says that someone placed pebbles into the hands of Little Davey Jones so that he could help stone his mother to death in the name of tradition. Man, you hope their corn came in heavy that year …

The rhetorical analyses written by my students point out that taking a deep dive into the life of the author Shirley Jackson is a must in order to understand the message of her short story, “The Lottery.” This is done in class discussion, and then, in their essays students take a more intensive look for themselves into exactly what Shirley Jackson’s message to humanity was in 1948. Jackson’s bio, in brief, is that she was an unwanted and unloved child whose mother was abusive to Shirley but doted on her younger brother. Shirley found solace in reading and in writing. Her parents forced their religious ideals on her, which led Shirley to rebel against their Christian Science beliefs, and she found acceptance and purpose by dabbling in the occult and witchcraft. Her writing caught the attention of another writer named Stanley Edgar Hyman, and he purposed to marry Shirley sight unseen. He pursued Shirley, and she acquiesced, marrying him and finding herself in another abusive relationship – wherein he controlled all the money despite the fact that Shirley was the breadwinner in the relationship. Stanley openly cheated on Shirley – parading his students into their home for his sexual exploits. The couple had four children, and Shirley focused her energies on her children and her writing, which held horror vibes from the get-go. I have read that Shirley read each night to her children … horror stories. This woman, Shirley Jackson, was trapped in a life of abuse – her mother never ceased in her criticism and rejection of her daughter – and Stanley never ceased in his belittling and gaslighting of his wife. Life kept her stuck – traditions, societal expectations, gaslighting held her in their talons – and she never left. She never stood up for herself. She stayed – but she wrote, and she wrote horrifying tales – birthed out of her own pain and anguish. She wrote her ideas and beliefs into the stories we hold today in collections of Jackson’s writing. In her writing, she pled with her readers to not succumb, to question … to ask questions, to question ideas, traditions, societal expectations, and beliefs. To not settle, to not let others tell you how to live. She begged her readers to not live trapped … as she did. The trappings of her life took her life; the woman who wrote “The Lottery,” which is a short story about blindly following tradition and not asking questions, not standing up for yourself, not saying NO, died of heart disease at the age of 48 in 1965. Still married to that man.

There are many traditions, rules, and laws that encompass our lives. A rhetorical analysis of “The Lottery” will set you about thinking these over – the areas in your life where you go along with the crowd, where you allow others – from a friend, a boss, a spouse, a mean girl in high school, a preacher, a parent, all the way to the government leaders who claim to have your best interests at heart – to determine the outcomes of your life, where you do not put your foot down and say, No, something about this bothers me. So often, we just go along with what has always been. We don’t know why. We don’t think about it, aren’t aware of it, and/or don’t care enough to find out in what ways our lives are directed with rules, laws, rituals, traditions, and societal expectations, and WHY those rules, laws, rituals, traditions, and societal expectations even exist. We just go along …

Except at AA. This is what I thought about a couple of nights ago as I sat in a meeting listening to the room read one of the Twelve Traditions of AA. We read through Tradition Four that evening – each of us reading a paragraph or two of the text and then talking about what the passage means to each of us on an individual level. AA’s Tradition 4 states, “Each group should be autonomous except in matters affecting other groups or AA as a whole” – https://www.aa.org/the-twelve-traditions. As the conversation went around the room, I looked up the word “autonomous” to clarify for myself the exact nature of Tradition 4. The Cambridge Dictionary defines autonomous as “independent and having the power to make your own decisions” – https://dictionary.cambridge.org/us/dictionary/english/autonomous. According to Tradition 4, AA has the power to govern itself – each group, independent, apart from the over-arching AA organization (in so much as their actions/decisions do not affect other groups), is to be self-governing, with each member of the group given a voice in the group conscience, which is a monthly meeting of each AA homegroup’s members. AA has been running this way since 1935.

That’s 89 years and going strong; I have never witnessed a company, a church, or any organization function the way that AA does – effectively, staying true to AA’s core principles found in the 12 Steps – where each member has the same opportunity to have a voice no matter their length of sobriety, their background, their education, their anything. None of that matters – we are anonymous in the sense that only what pertains to our common issue, which is the disease of alcoholism, comes into the rooms. This is because of the 12 Traditions. These Traditions are read at every meeting. They are studied every week in meetings – with one particular day of the week dedicated to studying a Tradition. Every AA (the way members and attendees refer to themselves and one another) becomes familiar with, to the point of memorizing, each of the Traditions – not only for recitation but to understand each Tradition’s function within the context of AA and for each individual attending meetings, how the Traditions protect the message of AA, and how the Traditions ensure that all AAs have the opportunity to recover from alcoholism as we all pursue the common goal of, as we step into our own sobriety, we also “Take the message of AA to the next suffering alcoholic.”

AA’s 12 Traditions in their short form are (with my commentary):

1. Our common welfare should come first; personal recovery depends upon A.A. unity. (Every member of AA has the same issue – Alcoholism. That comes first. We are all the same. We have the same disease. That comes before all else. Our recovery depends upon it.)

2. For our group purpose there is but one ultimate authority — a loving God as He may express Himself in our group conscience. Our leaders are but trusted servants; they do not govern. (There is no “leader” in AA apart from God – as each individual member understands Him. Each member of AA is allowed and encouraged to come to a relationship with God on their own as they walk through the 12 Steps of AA. This Tradition alleviates any “power” getting misplaced or usurped in AA. This program is about servanthood, never ‘positions’ or ‘power.’)

3. The only requirement for A.A. membership is a desire to stop drinking. (We are all the same, and every person who desires to stop drinking is welcome.)

4. Each group should be autonomous except in matters affecting other groups or A.A. as a whole. (Self-governing. There is no president, king, or elected board, but rather rotating servant-leader roles, which last a quarter of the year each. Every AA homegroup group conscience member is encouraged to take a service role – and these change every 3 months.)

5. Each group has but one primary purpose — to carry its message to the alcoholic who still suffers. (The succinct common mission of every AA member. In order to be sober, each AA understands we must strive to help others be sober. The best way to heal is to get your mind off yourself and onto how you can be of service to others. This is the beauty of the mission of AA.)

6. An A.A. group ought never endorse, finance, or lend the A.A. name to any related facility or outside enterprise, lest problems of money, property, and prestige divert us from our primary purpose. (AA never puts its name on anything. We are anonymous. We endorse nothing except AAs finding sobriety as we seek to be of service to one another. That is all. AA backs nothing. AA supports nothing but the sobriety of all who desire to stop drinking. AA owns nothing – we rent.)

7. Every A.A. group ought to be fully self-supporting, declining outside contributions. (This is simple – we take no outside money. No business, or entity, or politician, or church can donate money to AA. It will be returned or rejected. AA supports itself with the donations of its members – whether that be $2 a meeting or $3 a meeting when and if the AA can participate in this act of service. Sometimes you can; sometimes you can’t. What is always said is, “We are glad you’re here.” And that is everything. The rent will get paid, and the coffee will get bought – if each AA gives when they can. It never fails.)

8. Alcoholics Anonymous should remain forever non-professional, but our service centers may employ special workers. (Again, AA is not an organized, professional business. There are service centers where books and materials can be purchased, but each group is fully self-supporting and autonomous; each group seeking the same mission – to share the message of AA with the next suffering alcoholic.)

9. A.A., as such, ought never be organized; but we may create service boards or committees directly responsible to those they serve. (Self-explanatory. Group conscience – meets once a month. It’s efficient; it works.)

10. Alcoholics Anonymous has no opinion on outside issues; hence the A.A. name ought never be drawn into public controversy. (AA participates in no social agenda. AA participates in no politics. AA participates in no specific religion. AA exists solely so that those desiring to stop drinking will come to the means of accomplishing that very task – this has been found to occur when a personal relationship is formed with a ‘higher power’ – who many come to know as God – through the 12 Steps. In AA meetings, there are republicans, democrats, professing Christians, atheists, people who in any other environment would not interact with each other, might even ‘hate’ one another, but inside the rooms of AA, those ‘identities’ are set aside. No opinions aside from getting free of alcoholism and seeking sobriety matter. We all have the same purpose. Amen and amen.)

11. Our public relations policy is based on attraction rather than promotion; we need always maintain personal anonymity at the level of press, radio, and films. (AA has no advertising. None. We do not advertise. We are anonymous. If a person desires sobriety and seeks an AA group, they will find one. We are not hidden, but we do not advertise.)

12. Anonymity is the spiritual foundation of all our traditions, ever reminding us to place principles before personalities. (Always principles before personalities. We are there to be a unified whole of suffering alcoholics seeking recovery. We have one purpose – to be sober – and we do not need fame – we need healing and purpose. This is everything. Life based upon principles. Do the next right thing. Always. Help the next suffering alcoholic.)

As I sat in that AA meeting a couple of nights ago and listened to the discussion of Tradition 4, “The Lottery” played through my mind – how the people of the town did not even know why they continued the Lottery. Not only that, the people of the town didn’t know why the Lottery even existed, truly. Old Man Warner had to tell them, “Used to be a saying, ‘Lottery in June, corn be heavy soon.'” The people didn’t know that there had been a chant or that other towns were giving up the practice. They didn’t know what the original black box looked like; they thought that the current box was made of parts of the older box. They didn’t question Mr. Summers. They didn’t question Old Man Warner. Mr. Adams said, “You know, some times are talking of giving this up,” but then, at the end of the story, he is in the front row stoning Tessie Hutchison. He dared mention questioning their tradition, but he chose to do nothing further – instead, he lead the charge to perpetuate the very thing that none of them even fully understood. No one knew much about their Lottery … but “they still remembered to use stones.”

That short story grains on my last nerve. It makes me angry.

Despite that, I will keep it in my Comp II curriculum because it is necessary. Students need to be faced with the terribleness of the story – with the dehumanization of the people in the village for the sake of going along with crowd, for not upsetting the boat, for just going along, not questioning anything, just believing that what the ‘government’ or religion or politics or the “in-crowd” says we should do is the right way to go…. Every time this is read in the classroom, students are stunned that the people would continue something so barbaric. Then, we discuss Tradition, the rule of Law, societal expectations, and the fact that a woman trapped in an abusive life wrote a story BEGGING her readers to not get trapped but to instead question tradition, question society, question the rule of law! Stand up for what is right. Stand up for yourself. Know why you believe what you believe. Know why. Know how. Know who. Know when. Know where. Know what.

Be a critical thinker.

Know why laws exist, when they were written, and to whom they were written.

Know why traditions exist, when they came into existence, and for what reason they exist.

In AA, we know.

We know our Traditions. We know why they exist. We know how they work. They are unparalleled and exceptional – and I could not be more grateful for this life I live today – a life steeped in Tradition that I understand and keeps me sober. (I also apply these principles to how I view politics and religion – but that’s a conversation for another post.)

Amen.

Pawn or Pray

To say that I will never understand the hate that permeates our world is not true, though my feelings produce these words, “I do not understand how quickly people can hate!” With my rational mind and with wisdom that comes from a relationship with God the Father and Christ the Son, I understand and know that these are not republicans vs democrats, white vs black, a growing number of people vs. the Jewish people, gay vs. straight, religious vs. non-religious issues. Not at all. This world is encompassed in a battle between good and evil – though it’s a war raged by the devil against God Most High – it’s not even about any of us beyond being the devil’s pawns if we are willing, naive, and uninformed. The devils goal? To pull as many people away from God as possible before the end of days – and it’s not hard these days for him because people do not think; they rely on feelings in these post-truth days. He is slick-Rick telling people God is controlling and possibly not even real. Here’s the thing … God is love. God gives true freedom. But you have to find Him, seek Him, choose to not go along with the crowd and think for yourself. Pick up a Bible. Pick up the AA Big Book if you don’t want to read the Bible. Read one of them. Read both of them. Give God a try. Live according to His basic principles of … love Him (meaning recognize that we cannot manage our own lives well left to our own devices, and we need a higher power to truly help us) and love others as you love yourself. Not the rules churches and people create … just live by God’s basic principles. Live that way for a while. Do the next right thing because of love. Try it out. God is not the author of hate and chaos. He is the author of love.

Chivalry Is In Danger

He reached the door before me, and as I do, I stepped up my pace a bit quicker to reach the door into Quiktrip that I assumed would be held open for me, as it is most mornings, … and there, I see my mistake. Assumption. I assumed the door would be held open for me.

The young man, dressed in jeans and a hoodie, made no eye contact, just walked headlong to the door, opened it, and went inside, letting it close in my face. He continued on into the store, beelining to the soda area. I followed him as a barrage of thoughts flooded my mind – not thoughts I’m proud of, but I course-corrected and focused on getting my own soda. Though, I will admit that I side-line watched him; trust was broken.

With a large QT styrofoam cup full of Diet Coke, I approached the checkout counter – as did a Glenpool police officer. He was in front of me, and he stepped up to the counter and asked for his 5 cans of tobacco. Only one checker was working. I was next in line, and two more men walked up to the counter on the other side – one of them being a Glenpool police officer as well. Reddish hair and a bushy beard. As the cashier handed the 5 cans of tobacco to the officer in front of me, the other officer, who stood at the other register, said, “I’ll take two of _________.” I don’t know the names of cans of tobacco, so the words did not remain in my head. What did implant in my head is that the second officer assumed he could and should go next … What? Because you’re a law enforcement officer? I was next.

I glared at him. This is why I remember the reddish hair and bushy beard. He made no eye contact with me, and I wondered if I was invisible this morning. That … or Chivalry is dead. Maybe dying … because let me tell you … there are still some gentlemen in this world. Just not this morning at the QT in Glenpool on Main Street.

Some gentlemen still do exist; I know this because my husband is such a man. He would not let a door shut in a lady’s face, nor would he assume to step in front of a lady standing next in line.

I had a conversation with myself as I left Quiktrip – arguing for the side of the not-so-chivalrous men I’d encountered. Perhaps this day and age that we live in has them confused, even turned off, and they don’t want to get chewed on by a female who champions equality with men to the point that chivalry is somehow offensive. With that consideration, I give the men some leniency … some. Another thing I decided as I drove to work was that I will continue to hold doors for folks when the opportunity arises, and I will continue to say “Thank you” when doors are held open for me. Not that I’m being chivalrous because I see myself in any sort of masculine or equal-to-men way, but I do choose to be kind.

Let me say this … I am all woman. I embrace feminity and the power of womanhood. There are skills and abilities that I have that compliment my man and vice versa. There is strength in the way God created men and women to be … and the devil hates that. He confuses ideas of what right relationships are … and we ended up in this world where chivalry is in danger.

This is an interlude in my day. One in which I’m considering that to be upset with those men is not where the focal point should be. No, my focus needs to be on the fact that the biggest and fattest liar, who confuses the world because he wants nothing of the order of God’s creation to function as intended, exists, and he takes great pleasure in stirring dissension, discontent, and drama in humanity. And … we let him.

Well, I’m in check now. Thank you, WordPress, for walking me through my feelings and my thoughts this morning and for the clarity and soberness of thought that came as a result of writing. My thoughts for the day as of now …

  • The devil is a liar.
  • He does exist.
  • God’s ways are right and good.
  • The devil does not want us to discover that.
  • I choose to not listen to the devil’s lies.
  • I choose sobriety of thought sans emotional reactions.
  • I choose God’s ways.
  • I choose kindness and consideration.
  • I am grateful for my husband, who follows God’s ways and is all man.
  • My sons better be gentlemen … this includes biological sons, bonus sons, sons-in-law, and grandsons. 9 of those ‘sons’ walking around out there so far. Enough to be difference-makers!