Mitchell Way
Thirty years ago, there was a different mentality about weddings. It seemed that “most” couples preferred to be married in a church. Nowadays, I really can’t remember the last time we had a wedding in our church.
** The following story is told from my Christian perspective. If you are offended by this, please return next week for another satire story.
I am Soul. Technically, I am Marty’s Soul. I am the center of his being surrounded by bones, organs, and flesh. It is I who confers with his mind to help him make his choices. I was a part of him before he was born, and I will exist long after he is dead because I am Soul. I do not die.
Every person who has ever lived on this planet has a soul too. We were all assigned by God to a specific human. Were it not for us souls, humans would have no ability to communicate with the spirit world. Every human is part flesh and part spirit.
The dictionary defines us as the spirit or immaterial part of man, the seat of human personality, intellect, will, and emotions, regarded as an entity that survives the body after death, capable of redemption from the power of sin through divine grace.
What is ironic about God giving each human a soul, is that the human decides what will happen to us for eternity. In Marty’s case, he gave me to God which will give me eternal life in the Kingdom of God. Many stubborn humans refuse to give their souls to God. This condemns their souls to eternal separation from God. How sad is it that God freely gives a soul to a human being and that human has a lifetime to give the soul back to God but refuses thereby condemning that soul.
So, what is it I do?
Since I was given as a gift back to God, he gives me guidance and instruction which I try to convey to Marty’s brain. Of course, Marty’s brain may choose to ignore my suggestions, which has continually got him in trouble and put him in danger.
You see, also in the spirit world, are those sent from Satan . . . demons. We see them even though you cannot.
It says in the Bible that all believing humans should put on the armor of God for your battle is not with flesh and blood but against the spirit world. (Eph. 6:11-13)
From where I live in Marty, I can see them as they wander about looking for those that they may devour and destroy. They are here 24 hours a day. They never rest.
Even when Marty is resting, they attempt to break into his mind and into his dreams. Were it not for God sending his mightiest angels to drive them away because of my calling, he would be lost. The more God uses Marty, the more the demons attack to cripple him. It is not uncommon to see Marty completely surrounded by angels to protect him.
God’s spirit has given me the responsibility of urging Marty to learn and use the fruits of God’s spirit. These fruits include love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, and self-control. As I work with Marty’s brain, which controls the rest of his body, and we learn to use the fruits, other people see what God can do in a person’s life. Other souls try to convince their humans that they could live like that too.
Sometimes, we get into situations that God wants to handle himself. It has happened many times that God has said to me, “I’ve got this, please step aside for a moment.” He takes my place and takes control of Marty and speaks or acts through him. Only God himself can express his love through someone and to someone.
And so, I have lived inside Marty since the day he was born. I have seen the bad, and the ugly sides of his life for the choices he has made, ignoring me. But I have also seen the good and how God has used him. And Marty’s gift to me was giving me back to God.
One day, when his days on earth are through and his body and brain die, I will be released to return once again to the Kingdom of God from where I came. This time I will be a child of God and I, and the rest of God’s children will live in his presence for eternity.
That is my story. I am Soul.
Faith Family Life Getting Older Growing Up Misadventures Music Patriotism Pets or Pests? Snips Tributes
Cow tipping is nothing about slipping a cow a $5.00 bill after a nice fresh glass of milk.
The term Cow Tipping is an urban legend thought to have been started sometime in the 1970s. It involved going out at night and searching the farmlands to find a cow that was sleeping standing up. (This was usually done by inebriated high school, or college age boys.) The legend has it that two or more boys snuck up to a slumbering cow and pushed it from the side causing the cow to topple over onto the ground.
“Good evening, sir. My name is Officer Luke. My partner, Officer Lease, is in the next room talking with your wife.”
“Talking about what?”
“The hospital,” Officer Luke continued, “is required to call us when they suspect domestic violence.”
Forty-five years. That is a long time to wait for a project to become reality.
Great Men, the ones that are few and far between. The ones that inspire you to greatness. The ones you want to emulate. How can I best honor them when they are gone?
In the early 1920s a phrase was coined which stated, “A picture is worth a thousand words.” That being the case I started thinking, “Maybe my audience includes story writers who don’t know they can write stories.” So here is my idea, I’ll post some photos and you make up your own stories of what you think happened in each photo. Then I will tell you the real story behind the photo. We’ll compare your creativity with the truth. This will save me a great deal of time that I would otherwise have had to put out for this week’s blog post. It seems like a simple exercise; let’s try it.
I have been asked by many of my readers, “When are you going to put all of your stories into a book? I’d buy one.”
In 2009 my mother, Patty, decided she would like to take her family to the Big Island of Hawaii. She had time shares in a condo, so she acquired two waterfront rooms for seven days in Kona. There were four families in the group. Mom’s husband had recently experienced a heart attack and was in a rehabilitation center, so mom had a spare airline ticket. She asked her niece, Gae, to join her.
For the longest time he had no name. Perhaps if he had not made a simple mistake, we never would have known his true identity.
The piano melodies of Bach, Chopin, Beethoven, and Brahms echoed around the walls of my small room. Occasionally, my mother would sing an opera or classical favorite from the 1940s while accompanying herself on the piano.
As far as I can tell, there are two groups of boys in high school: those who are comfortable with girls and those who are terrified of them. I personally, though not being afraid of girls, was still of the elementary school mindset that they were icky. As far as I was concerned, life in high school would have been far less stressful without two of the annual school sanctioned activities: Prom and Tolo.
This blog post is a Christian parable. If you are offended by something like this, please feel free to come back when I post the next satire story.
The Prodigal Lamb combines two of Jesus’ parables: The Prodigal Son, (Luke 15:11-32), and the Lost Sheep, (Matthew 18:10-14.)
“Seat belts on; Doors locked; Brakes set; Circuit breakers in; Fuel selector valve on both.”
Four of us were sitting in a Cessna 172 at the parking area of the Roche Harbor Resort airstrip preparing to depart.
Thou shalt not sit down on T- Bars
For you first time users, T-Bars like rope tows are a means of pulling you to the top of the hill. You must first stand in an interminable line of skiers watching the skiers at the head of the line move into position where the attendant slaps them on the rear end with a T-bar as it comes around. To the first-timer watching the process, it all seems very straight forward. The cable with the T-bar comes around the bullwheel, the attendant slaps you in the hips with the bar and up the hill you go. What you may not know is that the T-bar cable is on a retractable reel and must feed all the way out before it catches and starts pulling you up the slope. It came as a bit of a surprise to me, a first-timer, when I skied into position. I felt the attendant slap my hips with the bar, which I assumed I could sit on. The result was a rather unglamorous flop onto my back in the snow as the cable continued to feed out of the retractable reel. Then, when the full length of cable had retracted, the T-bar shot up the hill, raking down the back of my legs, slapping the skis off my boots and causing raucous laughter from the interminable line of skiers behind me.