The Pious Few: Review of Rev Piermont

As you might expect of a sin buster, Sgt. Piermont’s loyalty to the good St. Trois in general and toward His Highest Lord Worthy specifically, is in abundance. As he has quoted to me from the good book he carries with him, “It is the One True God who, with wizened hand, has placed those in authority above us.” Based on my observations unless Lord Worthy would join the Cult of Nihil or declares his devotion to Old Scratch, I doubt there is much the Lord could do to break this soldier’s devotion to him.

The Reverend does carry an old blue passed down through his family line, but before his recruitment, it seems unlikely that he fired it more than a handful of times. He did always go heeled into a fight, but said he never found the irons as effective as his hands. On the tests for marksmanship, he could, with some effort, pass, but this is a clear weakness in his effectiveness as a soldier. It should go into consideration in both the assembly of his team and the command which that team would be given.

On the other hand, if some desperado is on the prod, there is no soldier I would rather have beside me. He’s a bulldozer of a man who I once saw hit a granger, who had made a cut against the Peacekeepers, so hard I thought he had left the man for buzzard food. For an individual called to the pulpit, he is strangely quick to fight and notoriously good at it.

As you might expect of a brawler, Sgt. Piermont is is very good physical condition. He is strong in both his ability move items of great weight, but he also has the endurance of a tested ox. He is not as big of a man as you might expect, but he is solid as bedrock. Rather than having the normal body of a gospel sharp, softened by years of study and home cooked meals, he looks as though he has spent his time rustling cattle and made a hobby of lifting millstones.

In the community of Bark River, Sgt. Piermont has deep relations, for both good and ill. Three years ago he was given charge of the gospel mill located there, but he was noted as not being a very good preacher. This led to him having some conflicts within the church, specifically critical response from the old timers who remained there after his appointment. Additionally, he has had somewhat of a short fuse, known to settle church disputes and abuse of his parishioners with a “Laying on of Hands,” as he puts it. This has given him both fierce friends of those he has defended and bitter enemies of those he has embarrassed and their kin.

There are couple other personal issues, which will need to be considered when suggesting an appointment for Rev. Piermont. First, it is known he is in financial debt to many people in the community. If not for the charity of others, he would be left to the gutter and the trough. It seems that he is poor at managing his own finances, giving away money he doesn’t have and ignoring his own obligations. Second, probably as a result of the first, the relationship he has with his wife is strained and cold. If not for the stigma worn by a grass widow, she certainly would have left him. It is clear he has love for her, but she is not receptive, fed up with his carelessness with money and with his pride, which keeps him from getting assistance. When in public together, which is not frequent, they rarely pass two words. It has been nearly six months ago she has graced a pew in his church, although out of respect the other parishioners have left the seat, she once sat in, open and make generous excuses for her absence. As a personal comment, I believe it to be fortunate that God has not blessed them with offspring.

In conclusion of this review of Sgt. Piermont, given these findings and the Peacekeeping service which he has already provided, if it pleases His Highness Lord Worthy, I make the following recommendation. First, given his loyalty and ability to make quick decisions, I recommend he keep the field promotion of Sergent and a standard team be placed under his command. Second, given his weakness with marksmanship, I would have this team assigned to patrol in the civilized area of Bark River, where incidents with firearms are reduced. Third, I would add to his team a man of letters, preferably someone who can round out his impulsive streak. Forth, I recommend adding to his team some who have a history with the Peacekeepers and skill with firearms. Last, while it is unusual, I would like to request new recruit Skinner be added to Piermont's team. He has some of skills listed above, but more importantly, Piermont seems to regard him as a sort of relative. This was evidenced by the fact that when Skinner has been present the new Sergent seems to temper his thought process in defense of the younger man.

Plan A

I remember Mr. Siedleman's office as a collection of barely contained clutter. The desk had piles of paper, student files and glossy college brochures. The walls were surrounded by dark, wooden, shallow bookshelves, the contents f which seemed to all be placed in a rush with no item to return to straighten them. A handful of books would be upright, although not all upside right and beside them would be books stacked face down, but so you could see the bindings, then you would have a trinket or knickknack. You could see index cards and sticky notes peaking out from the chaotic array. The over all impression was a wall of mystery in which you thought you could find anything, but you dared not touch it, lest the whole thing collapse on top of you.

I wasn't in the student chair in his office for no reason, I was here to talk about college. The white shirted, tie wearing and be-speckled man, who you might have suspected inherited this office of a hippy, sat on the other side of the piled desk looking at a few of the brochures which he thought would suit me. "What do you want to do?" He had asked. He didn't mean now, or for lunch, he was asking what I would like to do with my life.

I thought of the work Eric and I had been working on, a piece of fiction we had passed back and forth called Haunch-Dozer. It was the story of a man wrongly imprisoned in a world where convicts serve their time in giant mechanical suits, so they can be used for heavy labor, or in some cases forced to fight in a kind of gladiatorial arena. It was a challenge, but fun to figure out how to make the character compelling, how to write a break that didn't feel contrived, to make the villain hated, but not easily killed.

This really was just an extension of the kind of thing we already enjoyed. Fr the last few years, the two of us had taken turns being players in each other's games. He would play the character in my campaign who would allow his companions to fight the green dragon who has been harassing the community, only to kill his weaken comrades so he alone could take the dragon's treasure. I would play the fireball throwing character from the TORG version of England as the Darklord worked to have us killed. I loved telling the stories and even as a player writing the storyline as much as I could. The collective imagination was my favorite playground.

The ideas, often derived from other storytellers, were everywhere. In the mornings I would watch tapes of Star Trek I had borrowed from James, a collection of his favorites. Great stories. I would read fantasy from Piers Anthony or Margret Weiss or Tracy Hickman, then I would move to horror from Stephen King. These would get periodically mixed with Sci-Fi or mystery. They were stories I could see myself telling, ideas that could be twisted just enough, to surprise my audience.

I was going to write, because I couldn't imagine not writing. Really, it wasn't the writing, it was the storytelling, When a story had impressed itself on me, I had to figure out how to present it.

"I want to write." I told the out of place high school councilor. He looked like he wasn't sure what I meant. "Stories. I want to write stories, maybe a novel."

Giving Up

Before I continue, let me state I am not writing this from a moment of despair or even unhappiness. Life has been very good to me. I just got back from an awesome men's retreat where I learned that Pastor Andrew's pirate voice is somewhat like that of a muppet and I had a chance to see the hearts of men who have a desire to grow closer to God and a desire to see our church grow. I have a job which has been busy, but successful; my team is solving problems and getting recognized. My church feels like it is on the cusp of something big and exciting. My kids have me hopping with soccer, Fife and Drum Corps, choir and soon archery, but they are active and happy and healthy. So, when I write about "Giving Up" don't put me on suicide watch or anything, it is really an introspection on the process.

I have written before about the value of quitting, but to be honest, I'm not very good at it. I'm good at telling other people to quit, to move on, to stop doing what isn't fruitful, but I will hold on until the bitter end. Holding on somehow feels noble, like loyalty to my investment. This is true even past the point of reason.

How many of you remember Heroes? Such a solid first season, then it quickly went from bad to worse. Recycled plots, powerful characters losing their memories and powers (so as to not fix everything), evil characters turn good, then evil. It was like they switched to writers who failed on the soap opera circuit to come up with their material. One by one, my friends dropped off. It had gotten so bad, the fact that is had superheroes was not enough to keep them, I couldn't, though, I held on hope. They could go back to season one, they could make this magical again. It was like sitting over someone critically ill and telling yourself, they'll get better, even when you now they won't. It got to the point where we had a back up of shows on the DVR, hoping to here they were good, they had made all the garbage make since. Instead, I was left to read with dismay the cancellation. So, reluctantly, I deleted the last few shows. I should have given up, but I couldn't.

Most times, it is something more important than a TV show. As many of you know I have accountability relationships with many people. These range from simple check in to what would be more accurate to call coaching. At one point I have someone approach me, because he knew of some of the successes another partner had, to do accountability with him. He seemed to think it was some kind of magic solution, which it is not, but I agreed. I spent a fairly long first session, walking him through the steps, letting him tell me what he wanted to work on, letting him set, with some guidance his own goals, and we were off. Week one goes by and he gives lip service to what he has done, but it feels off. I encourage him, tell him good job on that, now it is just doing the second part. Week two goes by and it is the same thing. to me, it begins to look like an excuse just to spend longer and longer times with me, which is a little weird, and less about actually doing any improvement, I push that thought aside though, this is a big investment, I don't want to loose it now. I could make a difference here. It take me two months of nearly no progress and empty talk before I finally give up. Two months on something which was apparent after two weeks.

It might sound odd, but after each of these episodes, I was actually a little sad. I had that feeling of loss, that questioning what I could have done differently, how I could have held it together. Of course, these things unfolded the way they had to unfold, but the feeling of regret remains. This is not the way one should feel about these things, but it is what it is.

Our lives have limited resources in them. Limited time, limited money, limited energy you can put toward something. That regret, that determination to hold on are ignorant of that fact. They know what has been, what you have given and even what you hope for, but those feeling are ignorant of what you are giving up. That hour a week AI remained devoted to a quickly worsening TV show, was an hour I could have spent in a hundred better ways. The emotional energy and time I spent trying to give accountability to someone who really wasn't interested would have been much better spent with someone who was, or with my family. Giving up is not about the object you are giving up on, rather it is about the opportunities that object stands in the way of.

Jesus in his sermon on the mount put it this, somewhat harsh, way, "Do not give dogs what is holy, and do not throw your pearls before pigs, lest they trample them underfoot and turn to attack you. (Matthew 7:6)".

Let's Play a Game, May 2013

Can you name the movies? Each clue are hints to something in the movie.

1. Block ID 15


2. Seasoned coating mix
3. Teach's pleasure
4.











5. #T56371

Bonus - What do all these movies have in common?

Peace and Anxiety

Monday, we began the second half of an accountability reboot. Steve had already poked and prodded my core values, helped me come up with some really good goals, thinks which I think would make me a better person, but now it was his turn. As you might imagine, I don't like to do anything unprepared, so before the call I began writing down the questions off of each of his core value. What does peace give you? What do you need to make peace a part of your life? What are you willing to change for peace?

I looked them over. The brass ring, what makes that core value, valuable. What are the obstacles that keep you from grabbing the ring? What are the changes to let you overcome the obstacle. It would do, I thought, it connected the dots between a value and a goal.

I step into the Maple conference room, for a little privacy and make the call. It doesn't take long for us to dive in, we have limited time. So, I ask the questions, plus a few questions to get more detail and suddenly I'm learning something, not just about Steve, but about the workings of peace and anxiety.

Think for a moment about peace. Not a cease fire between nations, but a true inner peace with the way things are. I am not a highly anxious person, but when I think about the time I have been anxious, it has been because peace is gone. In the time when I have had unjustified anger, it has been because peace is gone. This was the truth Steve had found and it meant change for him. A big change if needed. Without peace, everything could trigger anxiety, not bad news, even the silence that could indicate their might be bad news. This resonated with me, if the lens is wrong, everything looks wrong. It is suddenly realizing you enemy is your friend. When the lens of peace is missing, it takes nearly nothing to trigger racing, draining concern.

So, I was very pragmatic in this conversation. I asked about his job, his home, the things which might be causing him stress. We even talked about the measure of change he would endure to find peace, but as we wrapped up the call, something was missing. It was clear this was an internal change which needed to take place, but we were hinting at a goal to change external circumstance. I kept thinking, these things won't matter, it is the peace that makes those circumstances better.

It would be a couple days, going through the other core values, before we would be able to come back to this, before we could talk about a goal. When we did, it was obvious he had been thinking about this to. He immediately set a goal of starting his day by praying for peace and reading appropriate scriptures. What should have been obvious to me, wasn't, but it was to him.

See, while the world is thrusting a variety of problems at us, draining us, sometime even making us sick with worry, it is God who has the answer. Paul understood this when he was addressing some of the stress which was going on in the church of Corinth, "For God is not a God of confusion but of peace. As in all the churches of the saints," (1 Corinthians 14:33). There should be peace, not strife. This isn't because of what we do natively, this is because we have personal access to the God of Peace.

If someone's bad driving, your kids messy room, you employees excuses or the foolishness which go on in Washington are causing you stress and anxiety, it is because you are not holding onto the peace of God. You might consider starting your day the way Steve is, with prayer for peace, because if you can't get it from God, you certainly won't get it anywhere else.

My iron has been sharpened, thanks, Steve.

Double Dipping

The class was small, but I am not really friends with any of the people in there. In most cases, this would be fine, but I had recently had a rough homeroom where a bully got the class to call me Booger, as a result of a cold and shortage of Kleenex and this was a public speaking class. I had visions of them whispering about me while I stood before them, getting laughed at for some unknown reason. Exposed.

The only thing that made it better was I could pick any topic. I could talk about literally anything. It needed to be something the class would be interested. Something they would forget to laugh at me during. Something I could get excited about. Perhaps something with a little mystery. I choose Stonehenge.

My art class was completely different than my public speaking class. I knew nearly all of these people. Many of them had been in the same classes with me over the last couple years. It was almost relaxing to come in and play with big sheets of paper and giant sets of Berol colored pencils. We knew who was good at drawing cars, or faces. Who could make colors jump off the page or make a charcoal drawing so deep you could fall into it. It was a little like home.

Because it was that time of the year, we needed to pick a subject which was going to take us a week or so to complete. I knew right away what I was going to pick. Stonehenge. Not only was it cool looking and mysterious and I was curious what it would look lie when the sun peaked between the main arch, but it also could become my prop for my public speaking class.

The more I thought about it, the more I liked it. I could do research in my art class, which would be used for my speech and I could use the drawing in my public speaking class. It was like I had gotten away with something. Two grades for one work. It couldn't be legal. I loved it.

For all the things high school tried to teach me, one of the most valuable lesson I had just stumbled into. Reuse your own work. Anything you can use more than once, do, Save research, so you can use it again. This was a tool I used in college and even today, professionally, I often can pull old work or research and recycle it. When I think about how many times I have used this compared to say, the quadratic equation, it is clear which is the more valuable lesson.

The speech went great. There was no laughter, some good conversational questions, and it began a little bit of a turning point in my feeling about public speaking. The art also got a good grade, part of which was based on my ability to explain why the rebuilt monolith and sun's position was relevant.

First time in the range

The night before had been a rough one at D bar A Boy Scout Camp. First, it appeared that my body chemistry prevented one of the critical elements of bug spray from working. Rather then repulsing them, as advertised, it seemed to draw them to me. In spite of the fact that the air was choking with the smell of Off, the mosquitoes swarmed around me. The bit my face and arms, they got I side of the sleeping back to get to my chest and legs. Every hour of the night I was more itchy and irritated than the night before.

This wasn't the only interruption to my sleep. At about two in the morning I heard a plastic rustle and I knew exactly what it was. Just before leaving for camp, mom took me to Mr. Bulky to by a snack for the ride and to eat while I was there. I am sure she imagine a trail mix, or dried fruit, but I settled on chocolate covered peanuts. I think they were double dipped. Anyway, as I had plunged my hand into that bag many times over the last 24 hours, I knew exactly what it sounded like. It was the sound that woke me from a fitful sleep. I prepared myself, finding the flashlight which was in the bag with me and trying not to make much of a sound. Then quick as I could I turned it on and pointed to where the chocolates had been and where I neared the sound. They were being dragged, by an unseen creature, underneath the side of the tent (canvas tents with no floor). With out thinking I hopped out of bed, the candy was on the run, and I followed. I ran down the trail of the woods, barefoot and in my pajamas, after a raccoon, until it was gone.

I tried to push these things from my head, though, because I needed to focus. I really wanted to be good at this. Today I had gotten I to the coveted rifle class. They would teach you some gun safety, and let you shoot targets with a .22. This was the big time for this camping trip. I could let an insect and raccoon plagued night ruin this.

Each space had a little blanket we would lay down on and each space has a small wood divider. The instructed could see each of us from a standing position behind us, but we were kind of isolated from each other. Not just by the barrier either. We were instructed to wear the safety glasses that each station had and before we started shooting, we put on orange plastic ear muffs. It is amazing how much you hear when all the outside sounds are blocked. Your heart. Your breathing.

We were going to fire five shots. I slide the ear protection into place, cut off the rest of the world for a moment and breathed in deeply. No scope, or crosshairs, or any of the things I imagined. Instead there was a small knob on the end of the barrel, which you tried to visually get to rest on the V near the back of the barrel. It sounds easy, but I found it hard to keep in one place. The knob would be in the right place a moment, then my had would twitch, or it just seemed to move on its own. I a margined being one with the gun, making the target bigger. I saw myself getting that magic bullseye. I pulled the trigger. Bam. I looked down range and I couldn't tell where I had hit the target. Perhaps I have so cleanly hit the bullseye, you couldn't make out the black of the paper from the place where there was no paper at all.

I had missed. I wasn't even sure how to adjust. Was I too high? Too low? The instructor, who had told me I had missed, told me to bring it down and it would help me to control my shots if I would hold my breath just before I fired.

Breath in. Hold. Aim. Fire.

It was exhilarating. I would see the next shot hit the paper. Outside of the rings for points, but close enough I could tell how to adjust.

By the time all my shots were fired, I had gotten a couple of them into the 1 point circle, but that was enough for me. I could do this. I liked doing this. I had to relinquish my spot so another boy could have his shot at it, but I got right back in line. This wasn't about a merit badge. This was about awesome.

True Self

About a year ago I wrote an article on Core Values and it seems it is that time again. I don't have the grid of words I used as a tool before, but I am still trying to find that same truth, my core values. I'm not looking back to see what has changed, I am just trying to see where I truly am and where I want to be. Understanding my core values, an exercise I am doing with my accountability, is just a method to focus.

So, what are core values? These are those things that you are, that when you do them well you feel valuable and when you don't do them well you feel diminished. They are not narrow or frequently changing. Sometime these are the words you would want people to describe you. The words you would want to describe yourself with and not feel like a hypocrite. They are more you than nearly anything else.

The goal for me was to write five of these value, the idea being I could easier make goals that are good goals, goals that would have real meaning to me, not just goals to be made because someone else thinks I would be growing in that way. So, what are mine?

Family oriented - That I am working in the best interest of my family, toward the successful maturing of my children, so that they are valuable members of society and the continued deepening of the relationship I have with my wife.

Godly - That I am continuing to grow in my relationship with God, that I am sensitive to the ministries he assigns my to and obedient to his spirit. This includes being in the Bible and praying daily. I want to recognize, at a heart level, the blessings which God has given me, then share those blessing out to those around me.

True Friend - I want to have an ever deeper relationship with the friends I have. I want to not just be enjoyable to be around, but gracious and trustworthy, honest and faithful. I want to be the kind of friend that is thought of and sought in times of need and I want to learn to reach out to other in my times of need. I want my friendships to all have a component of iron sharpening iron.

Problem Solver - I want to be a person who solves problem. I don't want to be someone who is creating additional work or issues, rather I want to be viewed as a solution maker. This should be in the workplace, from both those who report to me and to my boss. It should be in the home, no matter if the problem is financial, temporal, rational or emotional. It should be with my friends, if it is in their homes, with our schedule, with some tension. I was to be trusted and capable to resolve problems.

Creator- I want to be someone who continually creates things. This can be meals, or stories, woodworking or experiences. I want to create things for my friends, for family, for God. I want to be able to look back on my days and weeks and see the things I have created. I want to look at the things in front of me as opportunities to create something. I want to fully embrace the get out of the chair, off the couch attitude of being first a creator. Consumption without creation seems a waste to me.

So, these are mine. What are yours?

Birthing Babies

Last night's dinner was a spaghetti meal prepared by the pastor's of my church for the youth and their parents. When we came in we could see they had pushed half a dozen table together to make one giant table for us all to eat at. We were early enough Shelly and I got our choice of seat. The kids picked seats on the right end of the table, where Pastor Jim's kids were already at, so we opted for seats on the left side of the table. In about fifteen minutes or so other families started to appear and so we were surrounded by our friends. Couples across from us and beside us. Larry and I talked. Around us, like an estrogen triangle, Shelly and Kim and Angie talked.

It seems at this stage of my life every conversation among the women I know, if allowed to go on long enough, will eventually lead to childbirth. This may be the way it is, or this may be a phase. We, this moment in our lives, have friends who are pregnant, those that have just had babies, those that are trying to have babies. We know people who have had easy, seemingly always happy babies, and those who seem constantly plagued with health issues.

I don't know exactly why it works this way. I don't feel the call to turn every conversation to the process of birth or the problems of having a young child, but I think I at least, sort of, get it. When you have children what ever legacy you had before basically goes away, your enduring legacy is in you children. For most of us they will last longer than the other things we do. They are the greatest responsibility God will give you, literally he lets you shape the next generation. Additionally, they are the great counter to death. Having a baby is life's bookend, opposite death. It is hard to compete for something else which compares to it in life. For men, our participation in at least the gory details of this, is rough equivalent of a cow's participation in making a great cheese. Yes the milk is required, but the real work and artistry is what is done afterwards.

It was with these contemplations on my mind that I drove into work listening to a Radiolab podcast, in which they talked about a very difficult birth of a little girl and the legal laws regarding abortion and the few number of weeks which exist between our governments mark as OK to abort and the general medical guideline of viable. 21 and 24 weeks, just in case you are curious. It seems so callous, so arbitrary.

I have known more than one couple who have struggled to have children. I know the terms and the acronyms, the procedures and steps. Not in a personal way, not by my own experience, but because this path is worn and known to anyone willing to listen. These women, and to the lesser extent their husbands, mourn for their children. Not like a lost opportunity, like a job position which has already been filled, it really seems to be the quiet kind of mourning you get when one tries to reconcile the loss of a loved one. This morning as I listened to Radiolab, I quietly mourned with them. I hope in this writing I haven't added to their suffering.

The discussion on birthing babies happens because it is important, but it is easy to trample on this value if you don't respect those who are longing. For those with children, don't complain about them. I know they are frustrating, keep you up, give you messes and drive you crazy, but you may be talking to someone who would give anything just to experience those troubles. If you have a child, but can't have more, it is ok to lament the loss, but don't do it at the expense of the children you do have. God gave you precisely the number of children he intended and remember there are those who wish they could have the number you have. You are blessed. Finally, to those who feel locked out, to those who are mourning the children they haven't had (yet.), as much as it seems that way sometimes, this doesn't define you. What does define you is the people around you wishing for you, praying for you and even mourning with you when they here a heart grabbing podcast. There is a love poured onto you which is deep and special.