LifeRevelation

Life is a Revelation…be encouraged

Archive for the category “wonder”

I am more cautious now…

http://people.tribe.net/reiki_jewel/photos/e79831a6-93d0-45b4-ab1b-b916a5522ce7

This post won’t contain any catchy stories (as if any of mine ever are), nor will it be witty, charming, or dramatic  This will be just the plain, ordinary words of someone who has learned a few lessons in life the hard way and feels compelled to share what little wisdom those lessons have generated.

Susie and I have a wonderful old fashion fireplace in the living room. It is surrounded by a couple of comfy chairs and a sofa that has the ability to lull me to sleep every time I curl up on it. So let’s imagine we are sitting there with our warm teas and the dogs and cats are stretched out in front of the fire, so close you can not help but think about the possibility of spontaneous combustion. The lights cast a low warm yellow tinged light that recalls the old style kerosene lanterns with the glass chimneys. From the kitchen you can faintly hear the comforting notes of a Brahms’ lullaby. We are relaxed and the conversation has that low tone which comes late at night when the cares of this world have receded and the walls we cling to so furiously during the daytime are only a distant memory.

Our conversation begins…

There was a time when I threw caution to the wind. Caution, what was that? An antiquarian concept that had long out lived it’s usefulness . Caution, if it still existed at all, was something for the timid, the weak , and the needy. It was for those who knees shook when they looked into fear.

Caution had no place in my world. A world dedicated to my wishes and desires. I could act anyway I wanted. I was above it all. The rules didn’t apply, nor did the laws, or morality, or ethics. Those were silly childish concepts man had conjured up for those who couldn’t handle reality. They were crutches used to support those who couldn’t or wouldn’t stand on their own two feet. I was a self-made man. Without a high school diploma, I had built a business that supplied me with enough income to live, as a popular TV of the era proclaimed, “The lifestyle of the rich and famous.” even if I was having to constantly look over my shoulder for the long arm of the law.

Caution…I spit on the word.

It has been many years since I lived that life or felt that way. I’ve been brought down from my once lofty perch by the realization I was a fool. The reality I once thought others were too weak to handle was no reality at all, but just a world of smoke and mirrors, propped up by lies and deceit. I found that looking into the mirror and being able to look back brought rewards far greater than the riches I once coveted so wholeheartedly.

My world is much different now. I clearly see the errors of my youth. I find strength and contentment in the “little” things of life now. I am happiest when I get to sit by this fire and talk with good friends about what my heart feels.

I live a quiet, simple life now. I try to do good to others. I covet the silence that living in the midst of the woods brings. However, most of all, I enjoy the returned smile of a complete stranger, I cherish the laughter of a child, I am in awe of the grandeur of life, I never tire of hearing my wife profess her love for me, nor do I consider it a burden to return that love, I feel encouraged by the love I receive from you my readers, and I hold precious the time I spend with my Grandsons Matt and Hayden.

I see the wisdom in being more cautious now…and I’m grateful I do. My eyelids are starting to droop a little and I can feel warm sleep starting to creep into the edges of consciousness, but before I leave I want you to know just one thing…I have truly enjoyed sharing this post with you…and the prayer of my heart is that each one of you will find true peace, contentment, and love in your life…I’m going to bed now…and even if I never have the privilege of making your acquaintance in this life…know that I love you just the way you are…good night…please turn the lights out as you go…and be encouraged!

Before I Die I Want To______________________.

http://twistedsifter.com/2012/07/before-i-die-i-want-to-street-art-project-candy-chang/

Okay this is what’s going on. An artist named Candy Chang wants to change how our cities exist. She wants to make them more emotional. So here is what she did. She started with this rather rough looking abandoned building in New Orleans. Then with the help of some friends she covered it with black boards and stenciled in, “Before I die I want to ___________.” When she was finished it looked like this.

before i die street art project in new orleans on side of abandoned building

http://twistedsifter.com/2012/07/before-i-die-i-want-to-street-art-project-candy-chang/

Then she put out some chalk for folks to use.

close up of chalk holder and chalk sticks for before i die project in new orleans

http://twistedsifter.com/2012/07/before-i-die-i-want-to-street-art-project-candy-chang/

Then she waited and this was the result

close up of before i die wall with peoples entries

http://twistedsifter.com/2012/07/before-i-die-i-want-to-street-art-project-candy-chang/

Then it spread around the world

before i die goes wordwide and in multiple languages

http://twistedsifter.com/2012/07/before-i-die-i-want-to-street-art-project-candy-chang/

So here is what I want all of you to do. I am going to write out the statement and I want you to fill in the blank via comments. Let’s open the door and continue the process of creating a better world.

Be encouraged!

BEFORE I DIE I WANT TO ___________________.

Another Gem

http://ihearttosweat.blogspot.com/2012/07/6-super-simple-ways-to-clean-up-your.html

Most of you reading this post are already aware of the type of person I am. I tend to lead toward the simple. I don’t like to get too complex. I feel life can get away from us easy enough without me adding some convoluted writing to the process. Plus, if the truth be told, I’m just not that smart, so simple comes rather easy and natural to me.

Today I was turned onto another blog site called MysteryCoach and can this woman write…check out http://mysterycoachdsi.com/hoping-this-guy-is-it/ for some straight forward, no-nonsense, honest soulful writing about trying to find your true love. Awesome piece. Well I decided to follow her. So almost immediately she returns the favor by following me…which is impressive…I love folks who live on their computers like I do.  Then I decided to see if I could find something out about who she is so I went to her ~Welcome~ page. While scrolling down the page I found this gem and fell in love (not that kind, Susie is still the only one, but you know what I mean) all over again:

Give this woman’s blog a look at…I promise you won’t be disappointed…then follower her…I suspect this a very deep well.

Be encouraged!

For You

http://www.desicomments.com/flowers/good-afternoon-flowers-for-you/

This post is going to ramble somewhat, but hopefully you will extend me a little grace as I get to my point for writing today.

Maybe it is because I spent the afternoon with a couple of old friends who race bicycles and we just had a great time talking as they laid down some very respectable times on a 12 mile time trial. We reminisced about the old days and how we were getting along as age begins to affect our riding abilities.

I guess it could be that I just finished reading the autobiography of a rock icon who I have followed for over 42 years, Gregg Allman.  I remember the effect of the Allman Brothers’ Live at the Fillmore album had on me some 38 years ago. As a youngster, all of 17 years of age, I was simply blown away. Now I listen to him with tears in my eyes. Our lives have paralleled one another in many remarkable ways, but the thing that got me the most was when he has spoken about how he felt regarding his music. The power of believing rock n’ roll could save your soul. I felt that for a long time and it was a very rude awakening when I discovered possibly the complete opposite was true.

Or it might be that today is Sunday. And Sunday’s have always produced a certain melancholy mood in me. Even long before I became a Christian, when I was about as far away as one could get from any type of moral, ethical lifestyle I would feel a difference on Sunday. If I were on a multi-day bender of cocaine, alcohol, and debauchery, when Sunday rolled around I always pulled back from the edge. Many times I would take off by myself and just go someplace where I could be alone. I remember several times I parked across the street from a church as it was letting out. I watched as they came out, talking, laughing, the kids running, and the couples walking arm in arm. Some carried a black book that I was fairly sure was the Bible. I sat there in my new black-on-black Porsche  928 and wondered why people would get up early and come to this building. I thought about what they did in there. I was completely unchurched and didn’t have a clue as to how it worked. But still I wondered what it would be like to go.

Of course, it could also simply be that I am not as young as used to be. The truth is I have probably lived more days than I’m going to live. That thought never ceases to amaze me. I’m not sure why, but it always does.

I’m writing all of this because I am warming up to something that I want to say: to quote Janis’ I want to share a little piece of my heart with you.

I started this blog back in February and I didn’t have any idea what to expect. I knew there where ideas I wanted to write about. Ideas about honesty, and truth, and respect, and boundaries, and morality, and love, and compassion, and a zillion other things, but I didn’t know how they/me would be a accepted. And it was me. My thoughts and ideas and the words I write, well they are me. They are how I live my life. They can’t be separated from me. They are me.

I want you to know how deeply you have touched the very depths of my soul by your open acceptance. Every comment you have written and every time you selected the Like tab has brought a smile to my face and a grateful feeling to my heart. There have been a couple of thousand comments and I have no idea how many likes from all over the world, but each and every one has been like a soft breeze blowing straight across my heart. That breeze brought refreshment, encouragement, and enlightenment to a parched soul.

There are far too many of you to thank individually and I’m afraid if I were to call out a few it would perhaps diminish what the rest would take away from this post. So I’m resisting the urge to do that, because I want everyone of you who have used the valuable (and limited) time in your life to read, like, and/or comment to know you have lifted my Spirit.

So from the very bottom of my overflowing heart…I humbly thank you.

I bow before you.

Be encouraged!

A Personal Story

http://www.allposters.com/-sp/Depressed-Man-Sitting-in-Dark-Room-Posters_i8654375_.htm

A Personal Story 

Let me tell you a personal story.

Several years ago a friend of mine was driving me someplace. I don’t remember where, and it doesn’t matter. We were laughing and talking about who knows what. Probably the kind of things men talk about when it is only men, which means sex. It was a perfect summer day. The sky was crystal blue without a cloud from horizon to horizon and the sun was warm, but not hot.

As he was driving he began to steer the car toward the curb and decrease his speed. Since I was always on the alert, due to the kind of life I was living, I immediately began to evaluate the situation. I know he sensed the rising tension within me, because his next words were, “Relax Steve, I only want to ask you one question.”  I still wasn’t entirely convinced, but this was my best friend. He knew all about what I did to earn my seven-figure a year income, because he was my right-hand man in the organization I had built. While I always kept at least a few things to myself as insurance, he knew enough, and was as deeply involved as I was, which was a kind of insurance in and of itself. Of course there was always the threat he might want to take the quick route to the top of the food chain, but I didn’t believe he had it in him to pull the trigger, at least not at close range in the front seat of his car. Nonetheless, it was always good to be cautious, so my right hand inched slowly to the inside of my jacket.

When the car had come to a stop, he reached over and shut off the engine. The stereo died and all I could hear was the rush of traffic along the freeway and my heart beat, pounding a mile a minute. He shifted his weight in the seat and turned to face me. The look on his face is still crystal clear in my mind over three decades later, as I heard him ask,

“Steve, don’t you think it would have been better for all of us, if you had never been born?”

I felt like all the oxygen had suddenly been sucked out of the car. There was a ringing in my ears, more than likely from the sudden surge of adrenaline. I was engulfed in the most complete silence I have ever experienced. I no longer heard the cars as they whizzed by. Nor did I hear the birds chirping in the nearby trees. It was just the ringing and the vast silence.

I don’t recall what I stammered out, but his question hit the mark. I carried that question with me. During quiet moments I would take it out and think about it. What was my worth? Why am I alive? What is this thing we flippantly refer to as life? What am I doing here? Why am I here?

It would be many more years before I would have my “life revelation” and find the answer to those questions.  Those were dark years. Not that I didn’t learn from them, I did. But I learned the hard way.

Now I am far removed from the events of those years. I have created an entirely different person from the one who lived in those times. One of my readers once wrote and said I was “plagued” by my past. I’ve given considerable thought to that sentiment. I believe the reader is/was wrong. I am not “plagued” by the choices I once made. I am well aware of them and the impact they had on me and others at the time.  But the operative word in the last sentence is “had.” No longer am I governed by those actions. I have a deep passion to help others find their True Path in life. I have discovered we only get a set number of years and wasting them by floundering around seeking our direction is counter productive to what we want to accomplish.

But plagued? No way! I have triumphed over that life! I have come out on the other side victorious! I did so with the patience and love of the one I am now married to. She saw the possibilities. She had/has the faith.

This post is difficult to end. I don’t have a nice and tidy wrap-up. I am not inclined to rally the troops and lead you in any type of charge. I just want you to know if your love is filled with drama, more or less it doesn’t matter, there is hope. You can change. I can show you how.

Or if you have that person in your life who no matter what you do, they never change. You have poured time, money, effort, prayers, and everything else you could think of into their lives and they never change. I can tell you not to give up hope. There is and always will be the possibility, even up to and including the moment they draw their last breath, that they can change.

I know…I use to be one of them.

I am always available to talk…stephenedwards922@gmail.com or 812-314-1358.

Be encouraged!

 

What Me Worry?

Image from http://www.worshiphousemedia.com/mini-movies/14588/Worry

WORRY

I’ve got a confession and from the title of this post you are probably well on your way to guessing what it is. Yes, I worry. It all started back when I was about three years old. I was born and raised in small farming community in central Illinois. I believe my hometown’s total population at the time was 630 people, it is even less now. My hometown’s claim to fame was from being at the crossroads of Rt 136 and US 66. Before the invention of the interstate this was a very big deal. Truckers traveled both roads extensively and we were the home of Dixie Trucker’s Home.

It started out as this..

http://www.cart66pf.org/66caravan/roadlog47.htm

But by the time I came it looked more like this… 

Image from http://www.route66university.com/photos/postcard_46/slides/dixie2_mcl.html

 It is hard to imagine, but behind the photographer is US 66, on the other side of the restaurant is Rt. 136 and the road you see connects the two. Beyond Rt 136 and two houses up on the right would be the home my Dad brought Mom and I to, after my birth. The house was nothing fancy (not much in hometown is), but it was a great place to grow up. Not shown in this photograph is the huge semi-truck parking lot directly to the right.  Hundreds of semis parked there and depending on their destinations they would pull out on the road you see in the photograph and either head to the left for US 66 or to the right for Rt 136.

For me those turning right to proceed to Rt 136 were the problem. Somehow in my young mind the concept of brakes and their function hadn’t taken root yet. So for my little three old mind when I would be playing in the front yard and the these huge semi trucks pulling 48 foot long trailers would come roaring down to the intersection, I was never completely convinced they wouldn’t keep on coming up my street veer to their right and run me over. Why I thought this I don’t have a clue. I never worried when I was in the car with my Dad that he couldn’t stop at each stop sign, nor did any truck driver ever give any indication at all that he might barrel on through the intersection and head my way. Nonetheless, each time a semi came toward Rt 136, I would run over and hide behind the front porch, watching carefully, completely convinced of the inevitability of my imminent demise.

That was the first worry I can remember and I was greatly relieved when we moved from that home at the age of five to a home that contained no death threats. Since then I have had more worries than I can count. Some have been warranted, such as when our youngest was deployed during two tours of duty, one to Iraq and the other to Afghanistan. Others, I am ashamed to admit, have been just as irrational as the first.

As I’ve gotten older and more in tune with how I function in life, I have tried to weed out those irrational worries. Sometimes I’ve been successful and other times, well let’s just say, occasionally my worries seem to have long talons. I’ve listed some ideas below that experts recommend:

  1. Address the worry. Put a name to it and know why you are worried about it.
  2. Indulge the worry. The idea being if you analyze it enough the worry loses its powerful grip.
  3. Get uncomfortable. Do the uncomfortable thing that is making you worry.
  4. Make a decision. Is it a good worry, like you need to get something done or is it a bad worry you can’t do anything about.
  5. Don’t rush it. Many times you feel you need to do something, don’t make a rash decision, take your time.
  6. It is never as bad as you think it is. This is a big one, our minds can reach for some far out ideas when we are worried.
  7. Talk about it. Sharing your worries tends to lessen their impact.

Think about what has you worried in life. Talk about it to someone you trust. I know everyone reading this knows that life is too short to lose precious time to worrying, yet we do. All of us do, but join with me, and let’s try to do it less and stop frittering away anymore of the time we have left.

Be encouraged!

Sometimes There Is A Gorilla

http://www.earthtimes.org/scitech/gorilla-genomes-hopes-hominids/1859/

SOMETIMES THERE IS A GORILLA

I am currently reading a book (when am I not?) about how we think. The book is Thinking Fast & Slow by Daniel Kahneman,  (ISBN 0374275637 / 9780374275631, Publ. Farrar, Straus, Giroux, 2011). Dr. Kahneman, who won The Nobel Prize in 2002 for Economic Sciences, writes a very interesting book about what influences our thoughts and beliefs. To give you a thumbnail sketch, he breaks our thinking down into what he identifies as System 1, which is our fast thinking (e.g., how we immediately know someone is angry by looking at their face) and System 2, which is our slow thinking (e.g., how much is 34 x 19). While most of us like to think we are governed by System 2, our slow, reasonable thinking side, he extrapolates by way of sound reasoning, that our thinking may be guided by System 1 far more than we realize. If you get a chance, read the book. Dr. Kahneman, thankfully, uses almost no technical jargon so the read is easy, enjoyable, and fascinating for those of us who are interested in how and why we think the way we do.

In the early pages of his book, Dr. Kahneman relates a psychological study from a book by Christopher F. Chavis and Daniel J. Simons, entitled, The Invisible Gorilla: And Other Ways We Deceive Ourselves (ISBN 9780307459664 / eISBN 9780307459671 Publ. Random House, 2010). The study is a video of two groups, one wearing white shirts and one wearing black shirts, passing a basketball on a court. Those viewing the video are instructed to count the number of times the members of the group wearing white shirts pass the basketball. They are to ignore the black shirted group. During the video a woman wearing a gorilla costume walks through the video, thumps her chest and moves on.

This video has been shown to thousands of individuals…about half never see the woman in the gorilla costume.

About HALF you say?!

Amazing isn’t it? Not only do they not see the gorilla, but when they are told about the gorilla they are initially positive it wasn’t there. Hence there are really two issues here:

  1. They are blind to the obvious.
  2. They are blind to the fact they are blind.

Makes you wonder what we are blind to our in our own lives, doesn’t it? What gorillas do we have wondering around, that others see, yet we don’t have a clue.

I know I’m pretty good at spotting them in other people’s lives.

Think I’ll spend some time today trying to locate some gorillas walking about in my life.

Be encouraged!

First Lie

I still remember the first lie I ever told.

I grew up in a tiny farming community population 650. I was in the second grade and the class  consisted of about 28 students, so we were divided into two classrooms each with their own teacher. Although I am now foggy as to the exact nature of the issue, as best as I can remember it involved something of one the teachers turned up missing. At the end of the day each teacher addressed their students on the subject of honesty and asked for whatever was taken to be returned and there would be no questions asked.

When I got home from school I told Mom about the missing whatever, but I added something. I told her, as I was leaving school, the other teacher said, “Why don’t you return it? We know you took it.” What possessed me say that, I don’t have a clue. I don’t know if I was trying to show off, which is something I was known to do from time to time. I didn’t dislike the other teacher. Maybe I was just trying to inject a little drama into my small town, second grade life. Well let me tell you, drama I got.

My Mom was mad. Nobody messed with her one and only child, nobody. Who did this teacher think she was? She had no right to accuse me. She didn’t have any proof and besides it wasn’t true. For Mom, I was simply incapable of doing such a thing. In this case Mom was right. Later in life, however, I sorely abused my parents trust, but that is another story (and much, much longer). My Mom decided to call in the ultimate fire power, my Dad.

This was before the age of emails and cell phones. My Dad worked trimming trees underneath electrical lines for a rural power company and the only way to reach him was call his company’s office, leave a message, hope they would give it to him, and wait for him to call back. My Mom called and asked for the operator to notify my Dad to call her when he arrived back at the end of the day. This time the procedure worked like a charm, Dad called a few minutes before four o’clock. I heard Mom heatedly telling him the lie I told her and then lots of “hmms”, “that’s right”, and finally “sounds good to me.” When she got off the phone she said Dad was on his way to the school and would talk to the teacher and set this straight.

I broke out in a cold sweat.

I had never lied to my parents before. I had never even embellished the truth. I hadn’t told a white lie. I had never told a lie of any sort, for any reason, ever. Until now. Now I was sweating. I didn’t know what to do. I went outside. I walked around the yard. I don’t remember exactly what I was thinking, but probably something along the lines of wishing for a car to veer off the street in front of our house and run over me, or a plane to crash-land on me. Anything to get me out of this jam. I couldn’t think of a single way to get my butt out of what I had heard my Dad refer to as a “rock and a hard place.” Suddenly, I had a whole new appreciation for that phrase.

About an hour (seemed like an eternity) later my Dad drove up. Everyone at the school had been gone except the school secretary. Dad was one of those type of guys who only talked to those he had a problem with. If the next door neighbor’s son was a problem, Dad only discussed it with the son. The parents would never know. So when the teacher wasn’t in, Dad simply made an appointment to see her after school the next day.

I don’t know if this is when I first began to believe in a Higher Power answering the pleas of us sinners or not, but it had to be close. I would live and breathe for another day.

I ate dinner in a stupor. Rather than going outside to play, I went to my room. My bedtime was 8:00 pm, I was in bed, pretending to be asleep by 7:00. I didn’t know what to do and I couldn’t think of a single way to get out of this mess.

The next day I was a zombie at school. I had slept less than a couple of hours. I was exhausted, my insides had liquefied, I wasn’t talking to my friends, and I had no appetite. I was still hoping for the car or plane to hit me.

As I was dragging my self home wracking my brain for the 1,670,942,428 time, I had an epiphany. It was like in the midst of all the darkness a sudden spark of light erupted. I was in shock.

I would tell the truth.

I would tell Mom I lied, she could call Dad, Dad wouldn’t go and confront the teacher, and when he got home they would take turns beating my butt into bloody oblivion, but it was better than what I was currently feeling. I wanted physical pain. Especially if it would alleviate this internal hell I was going through.

I got home and before I kissed Mom, or threw my books on the bed, or asked for milk and cookies, I looked her in the eye, opened my mouth…and began to cry my eyes out. Tears shot out of my eyes like a horizontal water fountain, snot started running out my nose, and I began to shake all over.  God, why didn’t that car run over me? Mom was stunned (to say the least). She came across the room, bent down on one knee and pulled me into her. Let me tell you, there are few things in life that feel as good as your Mom hugging you, especially if you are a lying little snit and you wonder if your parents are going to kill you when you confess.

After cooing over me and getting a tissue out of her pocket (Momma was old school, she always carried tissues) to attempt to clean me up, she held me out at arm’s length, looked me in the eye, and asked in that soft southern draw, “Honey, its okay, what’s the matter?”

In between my sniffles and shaking I blurted out, “Momma, I lied! The teacher never said I took nothing!”

End of cooing, end of wiping tears from my face, end of soft voice, end of being on one knee. Mom jumped up and shot me “The Eye.” The one where you know you’ve done wrong and all that remains is your execution. I remember a flash going through my mind wondering if that would be the last time Mom ever hugged me (thank God it wasn’t).

Her voice was like ice-cold hardened steel cutting through warm tender flesh (to be read: my heart). Her eyes narrowed and through lips you couldn’t have pried apart with a crowbar she hissed, “I hope I can reach your Father.” and off she stomped to the phone. I went into the living room sat down and whimpered some more. God, I’m not doing this again I thought, no matter what. This is crazy, stupid and dumb. I hate feeling this way and it looks like I’ve got a long way to go before things start getting any better.

I don’t know how long it was before Mom came into the living room and said in the same hissing voice, “They got hold of your Dad, he is on his way home.”

I figured that would be when I would die.

Dad came home, we set down for dinner, and Dad talked about everything under the sun, except my lie. I picked at my food like a condemned man awaiting his final walk. Mom and Dad talked, I kept my eyes glued to my plate. After dinner Dad helped Mom in the kitchen and I went to watch TV with my eyes, while my ears stayed tuned to the low soft murmuring coming from them as they stood in front of the sink. I knew they were talking about me, but I couldn’t make out a word they were saying. Later they both came in and joined me in front of the TV. Nothing was  said to me, their son, the liar.

Next day, and the next, and the next, same thing. Dad came home, we did the family routine, and I did not get massacred.

On the following Saturday afternoon Dad and I were wrestling around on the living room floor. There was brief lull in our tumbling and goofing and he said, “You know Bud (he always called me Bud, don’t know why and he never said) you really ought not to lie.” I mumbled something back like, “OK” and we went back to rolling around, but my little seven-year old mind was reeling.

YOU GOT TO BE KIDDING ME!

I’ve been spanked for traipsing into the kitchen with mud on my shoes. I’ve been set in the corner for bouncing a rubber ball off the side of the house. I’ve not been allowed to play outside with all my friends because I rode my bike off the sidewalk into a neighbor’s yard. But for telling my first biggest whopper ever in my young life, I’m told not to do it again?, while Dad holds me in his arms?

YOU GOT TO BE KIDDING ME!

For four days of sheer terror, in which I thought the life I loved was going to end for all eternity I get told not to do it again.

Hmm, this is different. I’m going to have to think about this. To my pea brain this could only mean one thing.

Telling a lie wasn’t all that big of a deal.

I figured it was kind of important. But nothing like having mud caked on your shoes, while standing at the sink getting a glass of water, and the water somehow dripping down on your shoes causing the mud to turn into this kind of oozing dirty slime, or riding your bike a few feet into the stupid neighbor’s precious yard through her yucky flower beds. It wasn’t even as bad as bouncing a rubber ball off the asbestos siding on the house and chipping out a couple, or more, silly divots. Heck, if you were a few hundred feet away you could hardly see them.

Telling a lie wasn’t all that big of a deal.

That is what stuck in my seven-year old mind.

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

First a few clarifications. I am not laying the blame for all the lies I’ve told in my life at the feet of my parents. Seeing as how my mind developed during my teen years, I am quite positive if they had sawed my tongue out with a rusty corroded razor blade, I would still have went on lying either by writing or conveying them via ASL. I would have found a way. I take full and complete responsibility for every deception, lie, and half truth (if there is such a thing) I have ever told. Nobody held a gun to my head.

Second, my parents would have been horrified at the way I have interpreted these events. This was never their intention, nor could they have ever imagined such an outcome. They were loving parents with a rowdy child. They had been married for thirteen years when I was born and I am an only child. So they were set in their ways, so to speak. They did everything possible to insure I had what I needed for a well-rounded life. It just took until I was in my late thirties for it to all take effect. I’m afraid I am a card-carrying member of  “The Late-Bloomer Association.”

I want to foster a conversation about why we start lying. Why did you start? Do you remember your first lie? What was it? How did it make you feel? Think about it and let me know. And if this is one of those things you don’t want the whole world (not that this blog has quite that large of a readership, but you never know) to know then send it to my email http://www.stephenedwards922@gmail.com and I will keep it private.

Again, thank you for reading these long posts. God, I wish I could write 300 words and they would hit like a sledgehammer, but I don’t think it will ever happen.

Be encouraged!

Readers,

 

Found this post  by Stephanie at http://www.cafeforyourthoughts.wordpress.com and thought it was very much worth reblogging. I hope you will not only enjoy reading, but also apply as needed.

 

Thanks as always for taking the time out of hectic lives to stop in. I hope you always find bits of wisdom to add value to your lives.

 

Be encouraged!

Cake for Your Thoughts

I couldn’t really think of anything to say today. When that happens, there is usually something that someone else has said that needs to be said again, and I should stop rambling–kind of like the whole “80-20 Rule“.
(Get used to me saying redundant things like that, because I love it.)

Most of you have probably seen this somewhere.
We have a plaque thing hanging in our hallway that I read often. (See the proof?)
Different things stand out on different days, but all of it is so good and so true.

People are often unreasonable, irrational, and self-centered. Forgive them anyway.

If you are kind, people may accuse you of selfish, ulterior motives. Be kind anyway.

If you are successful, you will win some unfaithful friends and some genuine enemies. Succeed anyway.

If you are honest and sincere people may deceive you. Be honest and sincere anyway.

View original post 114 more words

Let’s Go the Other Way

This lying thing seems to have set off a firestorm.

I am glad.

I have had comments from literally hundreds of people who are simply sick and tired of being lied to on every level of their life. From the nurse at the doctor’s office who tells them, “Please have a seat, the doctor will see you momentarily.” to “Yes, Darling, I do love you.” to “Please hold, all of our operators are busy. Our next available operator will be with you shortly.” They have been lied to by family members, lovers, church members, grocery store clerks, ministers, funeral home directors, teachers, coaches, authors, politicians, governments, in short, by nearly everyone they come in contact with during their daily life.

People have  emailed, phoned and stopped me in restaurants to share their thoughts on why people lie. Their ideas range from fear of name your subject, pride, the environment, genetics, DNA, chromosomes, gender, income, geographical location, age, race, life style, income, mindset, weather, religion, sexual preference, hair color (!), and nearly every other type of demarcation you can think of.

But I wonder if we are not looking at the wrong end of the stick.

By that I mean should we be concentrating our efforts on not lying or should we be focusing on telling the Truth?

Several years ago I took up mountain biking. I had been an ultra-distance runner for several years and after running across the United States I had retired. I stopped doing anything resembling exercise. I didn’t watch my diet. I did nothing to break a sweat and ate whatever I wanted, which meant a lot of fast food. Predictably, after a few years, my mid section began to expand, the muscle tautness said good-bye and I started to look like someone who eats a lot and is allergic to exercise. So one of my friends called and said, “Hey you are getting fat. We have an extra bike, why don’t you go ride with us?” So not having any excuse, other than, I don’t want to, I went.

I loved it. It was fun to grunt up a hill and bomb down the back side like I did when I was a kid. The rush I got from the exhilaration of flying downhill like a maniac was balanced by the intensity and effort it required to get up the hill. the only drawback was my riding skills were a little rough, but considering I hadn’t been on a bicycle since I was 16 years old and received my driver’s license, I felt his was understandable.

On the last downhill I scanned the trail ahead and noticed a deep rut in the middle. Immediately I understood I needed to avoid the rut and here is where I learned my first mountain biking lesson. You do not look at what you are trying to miss, you look at where you want to go. So as I stared at the rut, I inexplicably rode right into it. The front wheel twisted, the bike came to an abrupt halt, the rear end came up, and I went head first over the handlebars. This is when I suffered a repeat of mountain bike lesson #1. You don’t watch where you don’t want to go. On the other side of the rut was a an egg-shaped rock, about the size of my head, with the small pointy end sticking up facing me, embedded in the ground. As I watched, my chin made a bee line for it. BAM!!!

You don’t concentrate on where you don’t want to go.

So if lying is what we want to avoid, shouldn’t we focus on telling the Truth? Instead of having a NO LYING DAY, we should have a TELL THE TRUTH DAY.

TELL THE TRUTH DAY!

Seems like a good idea to me. Please comment and let me know what you think.

Be encouraged!

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