That Feeling When The Devil Wants You to Run – Or – Living With Me is Half the Time Pee-Wee’s Playhouse and The Other Half Akin to World War III

Found this post on my I-thought-it-was-deleted-blog. It reads much differently to me now in 2019 – post-divorce, post-going-through-hell, post-diagnosis, and still inside some of the ugly and all of the repercussions of sin.

I wanted so much in 2016 to live in honesty – and I wrote that – but I didn’t walk in it – in honesty – at all. Even as I wrote the words below, I was caught up in boundaryless sin. Hypocrite to the core. In need of God. In need of hospitalization too. My temptation is to go through and change some of the wording, but I’m not going to, other than the names. Hypocritical me is contained in the words below and yet also, the me that cried out for help all while drowning and tossing aside the life preservers that kept getting tossed at me, near me, around me, on top of me. The me who did not walk in honesty.

Written on July 18, 2016

It was as if I woke up. Sitting there listening to Scriptures so familiar yet new to my soul on this particular morning. Today. A few hours ago and I’m still tossing them around in my mind, listening, churning, wondering, and I am grateful.
Wayne, a seasoned member of our church, brought the message today. There are reasons it was his privilege to do so and these are unnecessary to share except that it was alignment by the Holy Spirit – who also told me to get up and get to church this morning through my 19-year-old daughter who said she was going whether or not I did. The struggle. The struggle because someone did not want me to hear this morning’s message.
All through the song service, I felt flight. The driving need to give in to the consumption of worry, hurt, fear … all of that tore at me sitting there listening. I attempted to sing along with the songs, but tears stung my eyes and I wanted no one to see. So, sing much, I did not. For me … this is abnormal. Leave the room. Leave the room. Leave the room. It pounded in my chest and my muscles tightened and tears fell. The weight of what I held inside wanted to burst the seams of my heart and fall in pieces around me there in the second row of the church as I only wanted to hide my sadness.
See, we fought last night. We being myself and my husband. Ugly fought. That kind of fight where the only resolution is separation. That temptation to disperse and dispel all that we are and have built and have destroyed within each other lurks beneath the surface of what he and I have become, possibly always have been for these twenty-one years of marriage. Nothing new … see … I’m very good at going along and keeping appearances as need be presented. The perfect marriage to so many … yet, I’m also very good at keeping myself afloat whilst at the same time tossing said partner under buses of a variety of color and type. It’s all I’ve known to do as I have believed life dealt me the ugliest hand …
My oh-so tragic tale.
A long time ago … not in a galaxy far far away, but in the next state just under and to the west of us here in Missouri, in the land of Oklahoma I was raised. In the Southeastern corner of the state – a prison town. My story is the atypical good girl falls for the bad boy story – but it is my story and in my life there has been not one thing perceived more real. At 14 I met him. My world changed. My father objected. The boy and I fell harder.

Without parental knowledge, I continued to see him … until August 19th, 1989 – two years later. Insert long story here. Saving you from that.

My world fell apart. My father discovered what he perceived as solely my disloyalty toward him; he not considering for a moment that true care and love existed between myself and the boy – that there in that was something to be nurtured.

Without detail, I simply state, for 27 plus years I have carried the anger of that separation to the point that it has colored and discolored every aspect of my life. That boy always being center of my thoughts. Choices I’ve made – the many boys I teased and wrecked – inappropriate behavior with an older man – all in rebellion kept somewhat in check – wanting to keep the father content with my outward choices – portraying the goody-two-shoes Christian college girl while burning inside.

I harbored anger which festered and grew and became my choice to marry someone whose family I believed fit the mold of what would make my father give approval – calloused I was – and maybe then I would no longer hear of his disappointment with me and that situation with that boy where I destroyed my father’s world. And I married the unsuspecting young man who is my-still-husband of 21 years. I did not disclose to him or ever to my father the hate in my soul and my life has been a constant game of nondisclosure, of putting off on others what truly came from within my own self, of never being real, never participating in honesty … just repressed … Ugliness. Hate. Anger.

He never had a chance – after “I do” he reeled with “What the Hell?” and “Who are you?” My romantic soul only ever believed itself in love with one – that long ago boy. The hero of my youth, my very own Heathcliff. Those who know me or follow me get that that is to the core of my being a heartfelt and real reference. Without more details than I care to share – I move forward and I share today’s portion of the saga …

There I sat today – feeling flight. Feeling afraid. Feeling the want to take too many pills. Feeling isolation to my core … and Wayne spoke. His eyes lit up and he began the message. So simple. He stated his duty this morning was to encourage us.

At 72 years old, his voice boomed and he shared Scripture and I heard them today as I have never heard them before. Words I’ve known all my life today lifted me … today released me to even be able to write the words on this page! See … I am worth more than the sparrows that are worth a penny. I matter to God. I matter. My hurts. My pains … yet in those … I am not excused to poor behavior or holding on to ugliness … and Wayne quoted one of my favorite verses, which today AS PART OF THE LIVING WORD OF GOD gouged me gently – that separation of flesh where the one holding the knife rips at the skin, piercing the body, releasing blood flow all while holding the deepest of compassion within his eyes … I Corinthians 10:13 … “No temptation has seized you except what is common to man. And God is faithful, he will not let you be tempted beyond what you can bear. And when you are tempted, he will also provide a way out so that you can stand up under it.”

I’m quoting from memory so I may have a word or two incorrect … but see … I am important. And in that, God promises he is with me. He is faithful. He will not let me be set upon by more than I can bear … and at this point, I feel justified in thinking I’ve born more than my fair share … and Wayne went on to share more Scripture taking us to Hebrews – talking about faithfulness. The faithfulness of God and of faithfulness to what God has called me, has called those who believe to … and that to simply be sharing the love of Christ with the broken world … and Wayne talked about this broken world in which we live and the urgency of being the light of Christ to this dying place – to this godless nation we call home and then he moved to James.

The urge to leave the room lessened and I felt myself lean forward to grasp more. In the first chapter of James, he settled for some time … “2 Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters,[a] whenever you face trials of many kinds, 3 because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance. 4 Let perseverance finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything. 5 If any of you lacks wisdom, you should ask God, who gives generously to all without finding fault, and it will be given to you. 6 But when you ask, you must believe and not doubt, because the one who doubts is like a wave of the sea, blown and tossed by the wind. 7 That person should not expect to receive anything from the Lord.”

These words I have heard so many times. Can repeat them mostly verbatim. Bible college kicks in sometimes and my prattling can be impressive. Whatever … just whatever … I’m glad these words and ingrained inside of me … but TODAY I heard them new. Trials are to be my JOY. Thank you God for this journey – this opportunity to show YOUR love … whether it simply be just to my husband and my children … THAT then is the task at hand. To see trials as JOY … there comes where faith brings about perseverance. And here, Wayne talked about prayer. Do I thank God for my trials? No. Never. Never have I but been angry and asked God for justification, for a fixing of my perceived wrecked life. Never have I been on my knees and with fervent prayer asked for God’s intervention in my marriage. I wanted him to let me end it … yes. To let me run away from what is hard and ugly … but where can I run from myself? From my consumption of pride and hate? Do I not think that what eats my soul will not follow me? It is not a husband-based issue that I am consumed … it is a within my soul issue. This is my inner despicable nasty soul … that all along only God knew existed … that which I could not, nor would not let go, was salty with God because he did not ‘hear’ my prayers. I spit at him and pounded at him and hid … so much like Jonah – though I still sat in pews and smiled and ever-looked the sweet little wife, mother to many, poor little waif to be cared for by all.

Wayne continued …. Ask God … he gives generously … Okay … today? Wow. Today … I realized I do not pray for my husband. I do not pray for my father. I do not pray for the release of all that eats me alive from the inside out, that affects my children, that destroys at my marriage, that drives my husband to the brink of insanity … and it is to these things that I give the full of my attention. My oh-so-justified woe-is-me pattern of life … to these I dedicate my every moment and am consumed with all of the “unfairs” oh my life … and NOT to the will of God for my life. His will …. LOVE on people. Share Jesus. Be a light in this dying world. My trials are opportunities to SHOW LOVE. To let JESUS declare himself through the choices I make, through the moments HE gives me to shine.

This world needs the Love of God … and I have spent almost 28 years pent up inside a fortress of indignation – one that communication, honesty, prayer could have repaired all those years ago. No mind to that … no what if’s … because today is today. AND today …. I see that this soul of mine has to let it all go … let it all go and let GOD fill me with his peace. Let the trials of this life become only opportunities to allow GOD to walk my path for me and to use me as I’ve never allowed him to before. He has waited … and I’m so grateful. I’m so grateful I am more valuable that I can ever know … That He cares for those sparrows and does not let one fall to the ground that he does not know about it … even so more, will he not also then care for me and keep me and use this life as I allow him to show MORE LOVE to his world full of hurting people …. Wow. Just wow. I mean wow. By message end … I found myself released. Joyful. I shared this with no one until getting home … I pounced on my husband and told him.

He’s wary. Of course. Why wouldn’t he be? Living with me is half the time Pee-Wee’s Playhouse and the other half, akin to World War III and poor man, he never knows what to expect – I legit make him crazy – only ever responding to him out of defensiveness and rage – when he’s only ever wanted to understand me. Years of repressed negative emotions make a person volatile … Gah …

I want nothing more to do with that me! I want to FOCUS myself on the path ahead. Not waste this future – however long God allows it to be … see it for what it is … that I am here to LOVE truly on folks … in honesty, with humility, without hidden hate circulating in my soul. To revel in my circumstances – be grateful for what I have and who I am – in Christ!

Today after the message, my 20 year old son hugged me and said, “God put you two together.” He said, “I’m just a kid though.” Bless his heart. The message touched him also and in the ways the Holy Spirit needed him to hear …. I said, wow, what a message … he said, “Yes, because it was all Scripture!”

True.

Is everything resolved for me simply because of this message and its sinking into my heart today? No. And I know this. But my eyes are open. I am awake … and I must fall on my knees – ask forgiveness for so many, many things and learn this thing called honesty. Open the word of God every day and move through the trials of this life with God’s word swirling new in my mind. No more to be a hindrance to what God would do with this life He has given to me and the who I am married to and the circumstances I find myself inside and the trials which I face – which I can see so many of which are self-made.

I will begin with James. And I will read it today. Tomorrow. Let it soak into me. Let my soul rest … let God use me as I’ve never allowed before … how sad to have carried so much for so long … but forward to a new morning on the morrow.
Lamentations 3:22-23

22 Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed,

for his compassions never fail.

23 They are new every morning;

great is your faithfulness.

(Sidebar: Ironic that this lamenter {me} finds the verse for tomorrow in the book of Lamentations … ah, Jeremiah and myself … let it all go and let God do what needs be done.)
Micah 6:8: He has shown you O’ man what is good. And what does the Lord require of you? To act justly, to love mercy, and to walk humbly with God. Amen.

When A Student Teaches You a Thing About Love – Definition Essay

Written July 19, 2016

When the students teach you a thing or two – those are moments to remember – like refreshing splashes of crystal clear cool water on a hot summer day! Surprising. Unexpected. Renewing.

Those times when classroom discourse veers off topic, but somehow in its conversational tone winds its way back to the subject and everyone sits awed at the how. Last night we did just that.In a discussion on Thesis writing – topics switched gears to birth order theory, to commitment in relationships, to family dynamics – and round back to thesis and debate. How most things in life are argumentative, and to create an effective piece of writing, the ‘author’ must adhere to keeping the thesis debatable.

One student said, after trying to keep the conversation off course, “Dang, we are going to learn how to write in here!” Ah, yes, Daniel-Son, you will.

So, this was great, but greater still is that moment where I pause and think. Where my eyes open to a thought. Where I question my own presentation and see a thing through new eyes. Where what I present as truth, then suddenly becomes a thing to reconsider. Such as in our ‘veering’ off topic – as the students so thought they’d successfully achieved – the topic became love as a choice. I stated Love is a decision, not a feeling. My words stood challenged. He said he could not disagree more – that in fact, trust and loyalty were a decision, and that love existed as something else entirely. Not just feeling, but an existence that nothing could be done about.

My head tilted. I know that it did. He made his case and if only I could repeat it verbatim here. I cannot, however – I’m at a loss to pull it all back from short term memory – I can only state that I tilted my head much like my German Shepherd when he’s asked if he wants to go outside. That … what did you just say? Did you say what I think you just said? Cause I love to go outside? Do I get to go outside? Very much the same, I thought … what did you just say? Did you say what I think you just said? Love is more than an emotion or a choice? And you made your case make sense? Cause I love to know what love is – am always grasping at the definition of love – striving to know and understand and show that same thing. One of my favorite songs is “I want to know what love is.” Ah, love … more than a verb or a choice. A theme. A guiding force. An elusive idea innately needed inside the soul of each and every one soul. Yeah, yeah. I get it … don’t pigeon hole love. It is larger than a dictionary definition of choice.

Definition stretched. Wow, moment had. And all in the name of discovering the meaning behind Thesis and the use of argument. Find the angle that moves you. That causes you to bleed on the page. Where you write because the words must be said and you can do naught but obey and put them to pen … and we did this verbally. Not yet written. That’s next week. Next week – come prepared for Description and the writing the Descriptive essay.

Despise “White” People? I Get It

Written on July 22, 2016

That pissed me off.

Standing in line at the post office I witnessed injustice.

A tall young black man dressed all in white worked to package an item off to the side of the room. His white shorts were belted nicely, sitting just at the top of his back cheek area – his red boxers showed atop the shorts and belt.

In front of me in line stood a white woman – not quite middle-aged like myself. Her almost white outfit clung to her not so small body – more than fitting itself into her rolls of flesh.

She spoke to the man and I did not hear how she said it, but what I witnessed was him grab hold of his belt and tug his pants upward with a “Sorry” from his lips. She went back to forward facing, looking smug and justified.

Appalled was I.

He was not sagging. Not. And even if he was … Pull that tank top out of your rolls white lady. No one wants to see all that.

For true.

It made my heart sad this morning. I ensured a smile for him and started a small conversation before leaving. He was sweet. Simply mailing a package. Looking nicely put together. Color coordinated even.

Why do so many stereotyped people despise white people? I saw it today.

Slippery Marbles … Pre-BPD

In going through the blog posts I thought were gone forever today, I am finding gems. Reposting them as I find ones of substance. This one is pre-therapy. Pre-losing my marbles completely. It is pre-diagnosis. It is before I knew about Borderline Personality Disorder … and Bipolar 2. (I do not believe I have that 2nd one. Nope. Perhaps in denial, perhaps not. Anyone want to test it? The words below hurt my heart. It is me sneaking off to share my heart while remaining vague – me crying out for help and not being willing to be vulnerable and honest because of fear and anger and hate and hurt.

Published on July 24, 2016

Marbles Slipping

Folks, I may have lost my marbles. It’s certainly a possibility. The crying. The snapping. The injustice of life. It all weighs on me and then in a snap I’m changed – laughing, on top of the world. Without notice then again a change, I am angry, irrational, crying again. These poor folks in my house is what I think as I struggle to accomplish anything beyond this feeling of deep gravity. Weighted down. Nothing possible. The only answer is run. But to what? To where? I legit do not know my own mind … Unstable. What do I want? To live in this moment and as I cannot think beyond, that’s what I know. My children need me whole and that I am not. Just not. Sad, crying, snapping, inward focused … So crazy because I do know better most of the time, I do … But the wind blows. And I snap with it and react. I react and don’t think. Then the tears come and I only want to laugh. Last week I knew encouragement and am ever grateful. I know this is all a process … But I’m not holding my marbles well. They’re slippery. Is this Peri-menopause? Heaven help us all. Just so angry. So lost in my mind … No pulling together my wants and needs … Don’t know them. Just ugh. Today … Curl up. Cry. Eat ice cream. Yeah.

What the Duck, Mrs. Mallard?

Normally – responses to “The Story of An Hour” by Kate Chopin have my students and I exploring the reasons for Mrs. Mallard’s death. Generally, we come up with themes of mental illness or female oppression. Until one day …

Dave Foster, Student in my Communications Cluster – English Comp I and II combined course turned in his assignment/response to the short story.

His response took me by surprise. My immediate rejoinder upon reading his words … “Hey, Dave, can I post it to my blog?” Might have tossed in a pretty please, but didn’t. Fortunately, he said YES. Perspective is everything, is it not?

This one … wow. Without further adieu … Dave Foster’s “What the Duck, Mrs. Mallard?”

What The Duck, Mrs. Mallard?

The Story of an Hour is a tale of irony about a woman who has been given the gift of
liberation in a time when such a thing barely existed, and subsequently has her newfound freedom ripped away from her before she can even taste of its sweet fruit. Certainly, Ms. Chopin’s tale has been interpreted by most to represent the struggles of a downtrodden woman, and her story will appeal to many who have felt lost and unfulfilled. But there is another story here, one that is unwritten, hidden between the lines. This is the story of a devoted, loving husband cursed to believe his greatest loss is the death of his wife, when in fact it may just be his most bountiful blessing.Ask most people what it takes to have a successful marriage and you’ll find a common
answer to be that a couple must learn to compromise. Any person who enters into a new life that so closely intertwines with another’s must certainly have to find ways to accept that person’s behaviors as part of their new life together. All people give up small freedoms, vices, and past-times in order to accommodate for sharing a home. The beauty of marriage lies in creating new goals and aspirations to accommodate your new life together.

Oh, but poor Mrs. Mallard. . . Long gone are the days when she frolicked in the
very sun she dreams of upon learning of her husband’s death. How dreadful must it be to find a man who loves her and works so diligently to provide her the home they share and, most certainly, the finer things she desires when her fancy is so inclined? Why should the reader pity such a pathetic creature as the one who dares to feel joy at the loss of a man who is so clearly depicted as a loving husband?

And what of Brently Mallard’s dreams? Perhaps his were much simpler. Perhaps
his dream was ever to marry Mrs. Mallard and provide for her and their family, to work for the railroad. Are we to find fault with the man simply because his dreams have come true?

I say we are at greater fault to believe such a thing. Quite probably, he had dreams of his own, dreams which he set aside as a child someday sets aside his old playthings, in order to fulfill the goals of more mature pursuits.

When Mr. Mallard comes home that day, he believes that he is returning, not to a
place of his wife’s broken dreams, but to a place of new ones, of a shared life, of a family. They are his dreams which are truly dashed as he opens the door only to witness the death of his wife.

Yet, how fortunate he is that his business didn’t keep him away longer? That he returned before his wife could admit her elation to her sister or a friend and gossip could carry the sickening news to his very ears?

The true irony of this story is not the freedom so quickly gained and then lost by Mrs.
Mallard, nor is it the cause of death misinterpreted to be overjoyed when it is, in fact, heartache. Instead, the irony lies in that Mr. Brently Mallard is the one who lives on to carry the burden of a woman’s death on his back when, in truth, it should be the weight lifted from his shoulders.

Hire Inigo Montoya? Yes, Please

Originally published on July 28, 2016

If you say, “Who is Inigo Montoya,” I might cry. No, I won’t cry, but I will raise an eyebrow in your direction. Inigo Montoya is only the most fabulous swashbuckler ever to grace the movie screen – a man who dedicated the better part of a lifetime to swordsmanship in the pursuit of justified vengeance for the death of his father at the hands of the 6-fingered man. He was but a mere child when the 6-fingered man slaughtered his father and that bereft boy swore to avenge his father’s death – pursuing the 6-fingered man with voracity. Want to know more? Watch “The Princess Bride.” My favorite, and quoted on the daily, movie.

“Inconceivable!”

“You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means.”

“No more rhymes, I meant it!” …. “Anybody want a peanut?”

“Have fun stormin’ the castle!”

“Think it’ll work?” … “It would take a miracle.”

“We face each other as God intended. Sportsmanlike. No tricks, no weapons, skill against skill alone.”

“I am not left-handed!”

“Life is pain, Highness. Anyone who says differently is selling something.”

“Get some rest. If you haven’t got your health, then you haven’t got anything.”

“I’m not a witch, I’m your wife. But after what you just said, I’m not even sure I want to be that anymore.”

“Mawage. Mawage is wot bwings us togeder tooday.”

“He’s been mostly dead all day.”

“As ….. you ….. wishhhhhhhh ….” … “Oh, my sweet Westley, what have I done?”

Yes, I love the movie. I know the movie. I love its characters and the folks who cast them – Robin Wright, Cary Elwes, Billy Crystal, Andre the Giant, Wallace Shawn, Christopher Guest, Carol Kane, Chris Sarandon, Fred Savage, Peter Falk! What brilliance! BUT … Mandy Patinkin as Inigo Montoya? WOW. Because of him, the following line lives forever …. and is the reason for this post.

“HELLO! MY NAME IS INIGO MONTOYA! YOU KILLED MY FATHER! PREPARE TO DIE!”

A life-long pursuit. Goal Setting at its finest. This is the thought of Marc Cowlin on www.ragan.com. His post “8 reasons you should be more like Inigo Montoya at work” hit LinkedIn and that is where I scrolled across it. Naturally, it caught my attention … because I LOVE Inigo Montoya!

“You are sure nobody’s followed us?”

Without further accolades declaring my adoration and constant affection for the movie, I’m including Marc Cowlin’s article here within my blog. Click the link to see it on ragan.com or read it here below …. With all care and appreciation, I share Cowlin’s “8 reasons you should be more like Inigo Montoya at work” … “The swashbuckling avenger from ‘The Princess Bride’ has eight attributes you’d want in your next employee, says a top exec at Glassdoor. See what those traits are, swordsmanship aside.”

By Marc Cowlin | Posted: July 28, 2016 ….

What’s most exciting about revisiting favorite books and movies is finding a new lesson, usually related to something new in my life.

I had a chance to re-view “The Princess Bride” and I got to thinking about the character Inigo Montoya. You know, the swordsman looking for revenge and repeating his catch phrase over and over: “My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father; prepare to die.”

About a year ago I joined Glassdoor as director of corporate and employer communications, and I spend a lot of time thinking about recruiting, employer branding and all things HR. That and my encounter with “The Princess Bride” and Inigo got me thinking about what a great employee he’d make.

I have eight great reasons I would hire Inigo tomorrow (if I needed a swordsman on my staff). First, for those of you who do not remember Inigo, or the Princess Bride, let’s catch up:

Before you read on, a word of caution: The following article contains spoilers. If you have not seen the movie, please stop reading now and go watch it.

Here are eight reasons Inigo Montoya is the perfect employee:

1. He puts co-workers at ease in a tough situation.

Situation: Inigo and Fezzik work for Vizzini, who is not a nice man. One day, after they’ve kidnapped Princess Buttercup, things get a little tense as they make their getaway. Vizzini yells at Inigo and Fezzik without good cause, and Fezzik is distraught.
Inigo’s response: Recognizing Fezzik’s reaction, Inigo plays the rhyming game with Fezzik, thus taking his mind off the unpleasant situation.

How does this make Inigo a good employee, and what can we learn? A good employee recognizes the needs of other team members and does what he can to fix a situation.

2. He isn’t afraid to ask hard/unpopular questions.

Situation: At one point during their sea journey, Inigo notices a boat following them. He knows that asking whether they’re being followed will upset Vizzini.

Inigo’s response: He asks anyway: “You are sure nobody’s followed us?” Vizzini gets upset, as predicted, saying, “As I told you, it would be absolutely, totally and, in all other ways, inconceivable.”

Inigo’s lesson: Inigo is trying to do his job well and help them make a clean getaway. He knows someone is following them. He also knows this will upset Vizzini, but Inigo—being a good employee—doesn’t hesitate to ask the tough question.

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3. He sets goals.

Situation: Inigo explains that when he was a boy he saw his father “slaughtered by a six-fingered man.” Inigo tried to avenge his death at the time but lacked the skills. It was that moment that set his lifelong quest in motion.
Inigo’s response: “ I was 11 years old. And when I was strong enough, I dedicated my life to the study of fencing. So the next time we meet, I will not fail. I will go up to the six-fingered man and say: ‘Hello. My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die.’”
Inigo’s lesson: When you have a goal, stick to it; the payoff will mean that much more. Sure, your quest may not be to avenge a loved one, but the lesson stands strong.

4. He is a master at his craft.

Situation: Did you ever meet someone who is just great at what they do, a pure master of a craft? That’s Inigo, a master at his craft; no one knows swordsmanship like Inigo-no one.* In his famous swordfight with the Man in Black, the two discuss his motivation and his craft. Inigo is asked, “You’ve done nothing but study swordplay?”
Inigo’s response: Inigo’s response says a lot about who he is, “More pursue than study lately. You see, I cannot find him; it’s been 20 years now, and I’m starting to lose confidence. I just work for Vizzini to pay the bills. There’s not a lot of money in revenge.”
Inigo’s lesson: Simply, Inigo has a goal, so he has mastered his craft to achieve that goal.

* Actually, the Man in Black might be a better swordsman.

5. He doesn’t always take the easy path.

Situation: In the same swordfight, things are not going well for Inigo, so he says, “I admit it; you are better than I am.” The Man in Black replies, “Then why are you smiling?”
Inigo’s response: “Because I know something you don’t know,” says Inigo. “And what is that?” asks the Man in Black. “I… am not left-handed…”
Inigo’s lesson: The premise is that Inigo is so good that he takes on The Man in Black left-handedly. Sometimes, the easy path is not the best path for continuing to improve. Inigo knows that, so he challenges himself accordingly.

6. He speaks up, even in telling the boss he’s wrong.

Situation: Vizzini has a catch phrase, “Inconceivable!” He says it over and over again, often mixed with other words for emphasis. There comes a point where Inigo has had enough and calls him on it.
Inigo’s response: “You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means.”
Inigo’s lesson: A good employee speaks up when a problem arises or a co-worker is getting it wrong, regardless of the risk.

7. He’s trustworthy.

Situation: After escaping with the kidnapped Princess Buttercup, the three encounter the “Cliffs of Insanity,” where it becomes obvious that the Man in Black is indeed following them. Fezzik and Vizzini push on and leave Inigo to fight the Man in Black. Inigo waits at the top of the cliff and, growing impatient, asks him to hurry up. “If you’re in such a hurry,” says the Man in Black, “you could lower a rope or a tree branch or find something useful to do.”
Inigo’s response: “I could do that. I have some rope up here, but I do not think you would accept my help, since I am only waiting around to kill you.”
Inigo’s lesson: Inigo could have lied, but he takes pride in his integrity, so he stays true to his values. He answers with truth and continues to wait. An honest employee is a must; with honesty comes trust.

8. He admits what he doesn’t know.

Situation: The end of the film shows Inigo aglow with the realization that he has achieved his goal: He has killed the six-fingered man. He then realizes he doesn’t know what to do from now on.
Inigo’s response: “ You know, it’s strange: I have been in the revenge business so long, now that it’s over, I don’t know what to do with the rest of my life.”
Inigo’s lesson: A good employee admits what they do not know. Not knowing is not a fault; not knowing, and admitting it, means you’re willing to learn and grow.

A friend pointed out that this list of eight is just the beginning, that there are many more lessons we can learn from Inigo. If you see or know of more, please share them in the comments section.

Marc Cowlin is the director of corporate and employer communications for Glassdoor. A version of this article first appeared on LinkedIn .

ALL IN w/ Cam Newton – Momma Likes

Written on July 28, 2016

Cam Newton! The Quarterback! On a children’s educational show! He helps kids realize their dreams! Cool. Cool. Cool. Season 1 on Amazon. In the intro he says he could not have achieved his dream of playing in the NFL without mentors and trainers … So that’s what he is doing for kids!

He’s the producer and the host! I think I love Cam Newton!

Look at my kids and my nieces ….

They can’t get enough! They’re talking about what they’d have Cam help them learn! They’re dreaming! This rocks! Enraptured!

My class and I talked last night about whether television has much quality programming anymore … THIS show is a yes! Here are some scenes …

He tries it all right along with the kids! So great! And my kiddos … My sons and my nieces … Are loving it. Their laughing and dreaming and here I am sitting with them NOT doing all my busy stuff that usually keeps me out of the room. This show rocks. Yes, I said that already! It’s just the right word!

Even Jesus Hates Hillary

Written on July 30, 2016

In a wife-beater tank, he held his sign high. In a cut-his-throat motion moved his free hand in a sweeping motion under his chin and then proceeded to offer a thumb’s down in my direction. I watched. Disbelieving what I saw for a couple of days previously, his sign said #BlueLivesMatter and my thought was – Odd to stand on that corner of all places, but rock on, dude. Rock on. This sign though – the message it bore was altogether different.

Even Jesus Hates Hillary.

I looked at him. Just looked at him. I know my eyebrows pulled tight together because my faced froze as we locked eyes and the cut-the-throat motion happened again with his eyes staring firmly in my direction. What the? Dude. My furrowed brows released when the light turned green and I turned my vehicle to the left and onto the busy main road, taking me away from the man. Looking back in my rear-view mirror, I saw him face another direction, holding his sign high and cutting throats in his minds-eye.

How do we get from #BlueLivesMatter to #EvenJesusHatesHillary in one fail swoop? Not that it was necessarily a fail swoop … but the messages do not coincide to my mind. Fight hate, then share hate. Pick and choose what our evil is and what is our good. Force a message. Protest. It’s our right … but can it at least seem consistent? And maybe I’m letting my own perspective get in here … I don’t see “BlueLivesMatter as a negative force of hate, but maybe its agenda is there underlying the message with a form of its own hatred and then, as that, it makes complete sense that Jesus hating Hillary might seem a rational thought process to that thinking of hate-consummation. My thoughts swirl around, striving to grasp the reasons for ugliness, to maybe understand so that compassion can birth in me beyond the questioning eyebrows and disgusted with hate self that I have and am … centering on simple ideas … those things that burn in me.

First of all, Jesus does not hate Hillary. He doesn’t.

In fact, Scripture says 2 Peter 3:9 in The Message version states … “Don’t overlook the obvious here, friends. With God, one day is as good as a thousand years, a thousand years as a day. God isn’t late with his promise as some measure lateness. He is restraining himself on account of you, holding back the End because he doesn’t want anyone lost. He’s giving everyone space and time to change.”

God does not want anyone to be lost – meaning to be apart from him. Why? Because He LOVES all of His creation and He is patient – waiting for His Love to be spread.

John 3:16, the most beloved of verses, quoted in every Sunday School classroom around the world shares this amazingness … “For God so loved the world, that he gave his only Son, that whoever believes in him should not perish but have eternal life.”

See, God so loves the world, that He sent a portion on Himself to the earth in the form of Jesus so that ALL would have the opportunity to know Him and to be called His beloved.

Acts 10:34-35 states that God shows no partiality – He wants ALL – even Hillary Clinton. “So Peter opened his mouth and said: ‘Truly I understand that God shows no partiality, but in every nation anyone who fears him and does what is right is acceptable to him.’”

If God shows no partiality, who are we, who am I, then to do so? For me to state who He loves and who He does not …this is NOT for my lips to proclaim. What is it mine to do?

Matthew 5:43-48 lays this out … ““You have heard that it was said, ‘You shall love your neighbor and hate your enemy.’ But I say to you, Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, so that you may be sons of your Father who is in heaven. For he makes his sun rise on the evil and on the good, and sends rain on the just and on the unjust. For if you love those who love you, what reward do you have? Do not even the tax collectors do the same? And if you greet only your brothers, what more are you doing than others? Do not even the Gentiles do the same? …”

We are to LOVE all. Love our neighbors as ourselves … that’s in several places in Scripture. My favorite reference is Matthew 22:37-40 where Jesus is questioned by the Pharisees as they hope to trap Him into saying something untoward, so they can crush him, much like the politics of today – specially federal election season. Did the Pharisees trap Jesus? Heck no, not until He let them in the Garden of Gethsemane and there HE WENT WILLINGLY on the long, ugly path to the cross where His blood spilled for us all. Because of LOVE.

Because God does not want ANYONE to perish without knowledge of His great care and love for all. This is the whole reason Jesus came to this earth – born as a baby and lived to die – raised from death to life and now seated at the Right Hand of God waiting for the Great Day of God to come – when our Heavenly Father will roll back the sky, the trumpets will blare, and He will appear to the whole of the Earth at Once and we will rise to meet Him in the air. Oh, what a day! Maranatha, Lord!

Does Jesus hate Hillary Clinton? NO. He does not. He loves her. He loves us all. He loves the guy holding the hate sign, making sweeping motions of cut-throatedness. Jesus loves the haters. He loves us all. And because of that … and second of all, #AllLivesMatter or #LifeMatters … Same.

So … #EvenJesusHatesHillary … NO … #JesusEvenLovesHillary … or … #JesusLovesEvenMe

Even me. And I’m so glad.

Micah 6:8 … He has shown you O man, what is good. And what does the Lord require of you? To act justly. To love mercy. And to walk humbly with your God.

Amen.

Invite Willie Nelson to Church? The Preacher Said He Wouldn’t.

Written July 31, 2016

Invite Willie Nelson to church? The preacher said he wouldn’t.

My face must have portrayed my “What the heck?” response. To my thinking, if he isn’t invited, then why am I here?

Isn’t the entire purpose of being the church of God to welcome all and love all in the name of Christ, not to choose who can come and who cannot.

The sermon still goes on but that’s all I hear …

Willie Nelson may have a deep connection to the Father. That is not for me to judge. Would I welcome an opportunity to sit and talk with him about life and allow the conversation to naturally turn to spiritual things, as most conversations seem to do, …. Yes. What a beautiful talk I know that would be.

I’m distracted and now picturing Willie sitting near me … To the right … Just down the way. He’s looking at me too, like, really?! He shakes his head, looks away with a roll of the eyes. He stands and walks toward the back door of the sanctuary. His own voice plays through the speakers around the room – a Willie rendition of In the Garden plays. https://youtu.be/hz1f5NcNK40

He’s gone, still, I hear him sing. And I am caught between wanting to leave and sitting stuck to my chair. I know he’s not really there, but to have a conversation with the old guy about life and God seems to be a much greater use of my time.

As the church … Am I, are we, not called to a life of love, acceptance, gospel sharing? Of self-sacrifice? Of seeing everyone through the eyes of God? Of living in open invitation to moments to share God’s grace and mercy with all people? That’s what my heart says.

But that’s not what my ears heard today.

Forced Creative Writing for the WIN

Grown adults stifle creativity in life unless they’re naturally creative people and they cannot help but burgeon forth with ideas and wonderment. Harsh thing about that perceived lack of creativity in adults is, we all have a form of creativity burgeoning inside! So, my class begins with a free-writing session … A forced free-writing session. It’s wonderful. Each week, I post a creative writing prompt picture and the class has 15 minutes to write! Each week, the stories loosen up. Creative juices flow. This past week, several of the stories jumped at me. I asked student permission to share! Their responses are below this picture (art design by Doris Salcedo) ….

Free-Writing Results Share with Permission. Written by my students.

by K. B.

“All of these chairs,” I thought. “Where did all of these chairs come from?”

There I was, surrounded by all of the natural beauty that Detroit had to offer, and all I could think about was these chairs. wooden chairs, plastic chairs, metal chairs, chairs that looked like they were older than I am. Chairs for adults and chairs for kids. What is the deal with these chairs? My train of thoughts was interrupted by the sight of an aged man hobbling towards the pile. He had a chair in his hand! He extended the chair in my direction with a reach, “Young man, give me a hand, eh?”

I didn’t even think about what was going on at that moment, I just grabbed the splintered brown chair out of the man’s grip.

“Now then,” he said.”Give her the old heave ho!” As he said, this he made a motion with his arms like was throwing the chair himself. “Heave ho! Heave ho!” he kept repeating it with an excited tone and a gleam in his eye. It made me chuckle.

I reared back and threw the chair into the pile with all of my might, as though I was going to be the last person ever to throw a stupid chair on this stupid pile. I looked back at the old man who was still standing there. As our eyes met, he perked up.

“Feel better?” he asked.

I peered at the giant worthless mountain of discarded seats that lay before me. When I turned my head to answer him, he was gone.

“Yes, I do.”
************************

by K. H.

Oh my god!! I was walking down main street, you know the street that has that frozen custard place. Just past the hot dog vendor. Anyway, I saw this huge wall of chairs. All kinds of chairs. There were kitchen chairs, recliners, desk chairs. It looked like Rothman Furniture Warehouse threw up.

So, I stopped and asked this guy, Harold, “What up with all the chairs?”

He told me it was the last entrance into the city, and they used the chairs to build a wall to keep out the ZOMBIES!

“What Zombies? I have been catching Pokemon for the last forty-five days like some Pokemon catcher guy … Harold, are you listening! Stop trying to bite me, Harold! Oh, no, you’re a Zo ….”

That was the last thing Kortney had recorded. We don’t know what happened to the Pokemon. We’re afraid they all died.
***************************

by D.D.

“Are you serious?” Herbert asked incredulously. “Just right out the window?’

“Yep,” Nancy replied. “That’s what they said.”

With that, they began in the first classroom at the end of the hall, and continued down until every last chair on the fifth floor through the eighth had been tossed into the alley.

Herbert asked again as they hiked the stairs to the ninth floor. “Wouldn’t it be cheaper to repaint these and keep using them?”

“Nope,” said Nancy. “It’s not about the costs. They want to start using this new method where everyone sits on a rug in a circle.”

“You’re serious? … No, I can’t tell with you.”

“No, of course, I’m not serious. They just got a good price on the furniture and the demo and disposal guys said it’s easier if they dump all the chairs out there.”

“Oh,” Herbert said, panting at the top of the stairwell.

Nancy wondered if Herb sometimes just spoke to have something to say. This was pretty close to the truth. Herbert couldn’t handle her being silent, so he scrambled to say anything at all just to elicit a response.
**********************************

by M.D.

Oh, how the mighty have fallen: James D. Chairstacker.

The man who had balanced many of chairs in his day looked to break yet another record. But at last, he is no more after stacking 6 million four hundred and ninety-three thousand chairs on top of a three-story home in downtown. Tonight he is dead after the tower of chairs came crashing down like the tower of Babel. The through street of 3rd is completely blocked off tonight as crews work feverishly to clean the mess up. Mrs. Chairstacker arrived on location and his this to say …

“James lived as he died, surrounded with chairs.”

Onlookers search for anyone who may have been caught in the avalanche of chairs and there’s plenty of room for onlookers and injured to have a seat as we wait for the mess to be cleaned up.
*********************************

LOL … hope you enjoyed these too. Loved the picture. Loved my student’s responses to it. There were many more, but these, in particular, I had to share. Such creativity.

Free-writing is strenuous, stressful, challenging, freeing, refreshing … the gamut of writer’s feelings happens in front of me as my student’s write. Each week, I see more of the latter part of the list and smiles, smirks, light bulbs over heads. Good stuff to free the mind to express self and let creative juices roll.

Thanks to my students for allowing me to share!