Look For The Helpers Quotes

When I was a boy and I would see scary things in the news, my mother would say to me, "Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping.

When I was a boy and I would see scary things in the news, my mother would say to me, "Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping." To this day, especially in times of "disaster," I remember my mother's words and I am always comforted by realizing that there are still so many helpers – so many caring people in this world.

What are you wearing?” Blayne glanced down at the tiny velvet green minidress she wore. “Jess asked us to be Santa’s helpers tonight.” “You look like Santa’s whores.

Play is really the work of childhood. One of the most important gifts a parent can give a child is the gift of accepting that child's uniqueness. When I was a boy and I would see scary things in the news, my mother would say to me, 'Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping.

When I was a boy and I would see scary things in the news, my mother would say to me, “Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping.” To this day, especially in times of “disaster,” I remember my mother’s words and I am always comforted by realizing that there are still so many helpers—so many caring people in this world. —Fred Rogers

Dorothy viewed my mother's propensity toward madness not as something to be afraid of, but rather as something to look forward to, like a movie or a newly released color of nail polish. 'Your mother is just expressing herself,' Dorothy would tell me when my mother stopped sleeping, started smoking the filters of her cigarettes and began writing backward with a glitter pen. No, she's not,' I would say. 'She's going insane again.' Don't be so mundane,' she would yawn, passing my mother a shoebox filled with cat vertebrae. 'She is a brilliant artist. If you want Hamburger Helper, go find some other mother.

As helpers, we often feel the need to see our impact in tangible, measurable ways. We allow negative language into our head about the “broken system;” we look through a lens of “it doesn’t matter, I can’t make a difference”. These ideas are surely contributing to our burnout.

How can we who are so weak in ourselves, so inferior in power to the enemies confronting us, bear up under our trials which are so numerous, so protracted, so crushing? We could not, and therefore Divine grace has provided for us an all-sufficient Helper. Without His aid we had long since succumbed, mastered by our trials. Hope looks forward to the Glory to come; in the weary interval of waiting, the Spirit supports our poor hearts and keeps grace alive within us.

What had been left of the eighty-nine people aboard hadn’t looked much different from a Hamburger Helper casserole.

I hold the hands of people I never touch. I provide comfort to people I never embrace. I watch people walk into brick walls, the same ones over and over again, and I coax them to turn around and try to walk in a different direction. People rarely see me gladly. As a rule, I catch the residue of their despair. I see people who are broken, and people who only think they are broken. I see people who have had their faces rubbed in their failures. I see weak people wanting anesthesia and strong people who wonder what they have done to make such an enemy of fate. I am often the final pit stop people take before they crawl across the finish line that is marked: I give up. Some people beg me to help. Some people dare me to help. Sometimes the beggars and the dare-ers look the same. Absolutely the same. I'm supposed to know how to tell them apart. Some people who visit me need scar tissue to cover their wounds. Some people who visit me need their wounds opened further, explored for signs of infection and contamination. I make those calls, too. Some days I'm invigorated by it all. Some days I'm numbed. Always, I'm humbled by the role of helper. And, occasionally, I'm ambushed. ~ Stephen White "Critical Conditions

The man, tall with dignity and pride, looks toward his wife. She reaches across the table with her gnarled, old, hand longing for the touch of his hand. Their hands contain memories of being lovers and helpers over a lifetime. Their eyes have seen plenty; the children growing and the world changing around them, so many memories.

Wretched men, I was moved to cry, who, because they will not learn to be helpers of one another, are doomed to be beggars of one another from the least to the greatest!

They apply to friends, I suppose: I have no friends. There are many others who have no friends, who must look about for themselves and be their own helpers; and what is their resource?

When I was a boy and I would see scary things in the news,” Rogers had told his young viewers, “my mother would say to me, ‘Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping.’ To this day, especially in times of disaster, I remember my mother’s words, and I am always comforted by realizing that there are still so many helpers—so many caring people in this world.

So you see systems of thought and religion coming out of the kinds of societies that invented them. The means by which people feed themselves determine how they think and what they believe. Agricultural societies believe in rain gods and seed gods and gods for every manner of thing that might affect the harvest (China). People who herd animals believe in a single shepherd god (Islam). In both these kinds of cultures you see a primitive notion of gods as helpers, as big people watching from above, like parents who nevertheless act like bad children, deciding capriciously whom to reward and whom not to, on the basis of craven sacrifices made to them by the humans dependent on their whim. The religions that say you should sacrifice or even pray to a god like that, to ask them to do something material for you, are the religions of desperate and ignorant people. It is only when you get to the more advanced and secure societies that you get a religion ready to face the universe honestly, to announce there is no clear sign of divinity, except for the existence of the cosmos in and of itself, which means that everything is holy, whether or not there be a god looking down on it.

Take a step! Face the challenges! When you seem to be sinking, call on God for He can provide good helpers! There are so many true helpers standing by along the journey of purposefulness! Just do your best and take good steps in full faith, and God will bring helpers! Look and see, for sometimes God opens doors in a way we least expect! Sometimes God makes things go wrong for a good purpose! Know your heart and mind your mind! Take steps with a well balanced patience and impatience or else you shall always miss true helpers and opportunities! They that shall keep waiting shall keep waiting and they that shall keep moving shall keep moving! Take a step!

My mother used to say, a long time ago, whenever there would be any real catastrophe . . . she would say, ‘Always look for the helpers. There will always be helpers—just on the sidelines.’ That’s why I think if news programs could make a conscious effort of showing rescue teams, of showing medical people—anybody who is coming into a place where there’s a tragedy, to be sure that they include that. Because if you look for the helpers, you’ll know that there’s hope.

Looking up, he found Mrs. Blaine watching him with that curious gleam back in her eye. With a firm nod, she said, “I like you. You may call me Grandma,” before gesturing to her helper to roll her away, leaving him sitting there…confused.

Flannery O’Connor, who wrote about one of her characters, Hazel Motes, that “he knew that the best way to avoid Jesus was to avoid sin.”2 If you are avoiding sin and living morally so that God will have to bless and save you, then ironically, you may be looking to Jesus as a teacher, model, and helper but you are avoiding him as Savior. You are trusting in your own goodness rather than in Jesus for your standing with God. You are trying to save yourself by following Jesus.

Anna O. had a third state as well, which today would be called a hidden observer, internal self helper, or center. This was an entity described as follows: "A clear-sighted and calm observer up sat, as she put it, in a corner of her brain and looked on at all the mad business" [p. 101].

Her character inverts the traditional model of hero in which the male lead is the rescuer and the female lead is helper or victim. It is Olivia who protects and defends the world, not with intimidating martial arts moves or seduction, but rather by using her professional training and intellect to rescue those who are in danger.

The guardians," Joshua begins. "We want you to join us." I laugh quietly, not understanding. "I, um, didn't think that was possible as long as I was living." "Not as a Guardian Guardian. As a Helper of Guardians. It's a new position. Just for you. I've been sent to talk to you since Seth refused." Joshua throws Seth a nasty look.

I had never been so close to death before. For a long time, as I lay there trying to clear my mind, I couldn't think coherently at all, conscious only of a terrible, blind bitterness. Why had they singled me out? Didn't they understand? Had everything I'd gone through on their behalf been utterly in vain? Did it really count for nothing? What had happened to logic, meaning and sense? But I feel much calmer now. It helps to discipline oneself like this, writing it down to see it set out on paper, to try and weigh it and find some significance in it. Prof Bruwer: There are only two kinds of madness one should guard against, Ben. One is the belief that we can do everything. The other is the belief that we can do nothing. I wanted to help. Right. I meant it very sincerely. But I wanted to do it on my terms. And I am white, and they are black. I thought it was still possible to reach beyond our whiteness and blackness. I thought that to reach out and touch hands across the gulf would be sufficient in itself. But I grasped so little, really: as if good intentions from my side could solve it all. It was presumptuous of me. In an ordinary world, in a natural one, I might have succeeded. But not in this deranged, divided age. I can do all I can for Gordon or scores of others who have come to me; I can imagine myself in their shoes, I can project myself into their suffering. But I cannot, ever, live their lives for them. So what else could come of it but failure? Whether I like it or not, whether I feel like cursing my own condition or not -- and that would only serve to confirm my impotence -- I am white. This is the small, final, terrifying truth of my broken world. I am white. And because I am white I am born into a state of privilege. Even if I fight the system that has reduced us to this I remain white, and favored by the very circumstances I abhor. Even if I'm hated, and ostracized, and persecuted, and in the end destroyed, nothing can make me black. And so those who are cannot but remain suspicious of me. In their eyes my very efforts to identify myself with Gordon, whit all the Gordons, would be obscene. Every gesture I make, every act I commit in my efforts to help them makes it more difficult for them to define their real needs and discover for themselves their integrity and affirm their own dignity. How else could we hope to arrive beyond predator and prey, helper and helped, white and black, and find redemption? On the other hand: what can I do but what I have done? I cannot choose not to intervene: that would be a denial and a mockery not only of everything I believe in, but of the hope that compassion may survive among men. By not acting as I did I would deny the very possibility of that gulf to be bridged. If I act, I cannot but lose. But if I do not act, it is a different kind of defeat, equally decisive and maybe worse. Because then I will not even have a conscience left. The end seems ineluctable: failure, defeat, loss. The only choice I have left is whether I am prepared to salvage a little honour, a little decency, a little humanity -- or nothing. It seems as if a sacrifice is impossible to avoid, whatever way one looks at it. But at least one has the choice between a wholly futile sacrifice and one that might, in the long run, open up a possibility, however negligible or dubious, of something better, less sordid and more noble, for our children… They live on. We, the fathers, have lost.

So time drew on to the War of the Ring, and the sons of Denethor grew to manhood. Boromir, five years the elder, beloved by his father, was like him in face and pride, but in little else. Rather he was a man after the sort of King Eärnur of old, taking no wife and delighting chiefly in arms; fearless and strong, but caring little for lore, save the tales of old battles. Faramir the younger was like him in looks but otherwise in mind. He read the hearts of men as shrewdly as his father, but what he read moved him sooner to pity than to scorn. He was gentle in bearing, and a lover of lore and of music, and therefore by many in those days his courage was judged less than his brother’s. But it was not so, except that he did not seek glory in danger without a purpose. He welcomed Gandalf at such times as he came to the City, and he learned what he could from his wisdom; and in this as in many other matters he displeased his father. ‘Yet between the brothers there was great love, and had been since childhood, when Boromir was the helper and protector of Faramir. No jealousy or rivalry had arisen between them since, for their father’s favour or for the praise of men. It did not seem possible to Faramir that anyone in Gondor could rival Boromir, heir of Denethor, Captain of the White Tower; and of like mind was Boromir. Yet it proved otherwise at the test. But of all that befell these three in the War of the Ring much is said elsewhere.

A few blocks farther on, we found Terminus, his World War I greatcoat peppered with shrapnel holes, his nose broken clean off his marble face. Crouching behind his pedestal was a little girl—his helper, Julia, I presumed—clutching a steak knife. Terminus turned on us with such fury I feared he would zap us into stacks of customs declaration forms. “Oh, it’s you,” he grumbled. “My borders have failed. I hope you’ve brought help.” I looked at the terrified girl behind him, feral and fierce and ready to spring. I wondered who was protecting whom. “Ah…maybe?” The old god’s face hardened a bit more, which shouldn’t have been possible for stone. “I see. Well. I’ve concentrated the last bits of my power here, around Julia. They may destroy New Rome, but they will not harm this girl!” “Or this statue!” said Julia.

Witchcraft is part of a living web of species and relationships, a world which we have forgotten to observe, understand or inhabit. Many people reading this paragraph will not know even the current phase of the moon, and if asked for it will not instinctively look up to the current quarter of the sky, but down to their computers. Neither will they be able to name the plants, birds or animals within a metre or mile radius of their door. Witchcraft asks that we do these first things, this is presence. Animism is not embedded in the natural world, it is the natural world. Our witchcraft is that spirit of place, which is made from a convergence of elements and inhabitants. Here I include animals, both living and dead, human and inhuman. Our helpers are mammals, reptiles, fish, birds and insects. Some can be counted allies, others are more ambivalent. Predator and prey are interdependent. These all have the same origin and ancestry, they from from plants, from copper green life. Bones become soil. The plants have been nourished on the minerals drawn up from the bowels of the earth. These are the living tools of the witch's craft. The cycle of the elements and seasons is read in this way. Flux, life and death are part of this, as are extinctions, catastrophe, fire and flood. We avail ourselves of these, and ultimately a balance is sought. Our ritual space is written in starlight, watched over by sun and moon. So this leaves us with a simple question. How can there be any Witchcraft if this is all destroyed? It is not a rhetorical question. Our land, our trees, animals and elements hold spirit. Will we let our familiars, literally our family be destroyed? If we hold any real belief and experience of spirit, then it does not ask, it demands us to fight for it.

The power and splendor of everyday life, how he had despised it in the past. If only instead of having to wait out here, he could go inside to be the butcher’s helper, a delivery boy for the spice dealer, a guest in one of these homes. In Westhofen he’d pictured a street here differently. He thought he would see a feeling of shame in every face, on every cobblestone, and that sorrow would mute the steps and voices and even the children’s games. The street here was calm; the people looked happy.

When God created the paradise of Eden, He said that everything was good except for one thing—it was not good for the man to be alone. So He created Eve to be Adam’s helper. And He gave you to me when I was all alone. Do you know what that word helper really means?” She pulled back to look into his eyes and shook her head. “It means so much more than simply baking my bread and sharing my bed. Moses used the same word to describe what God does for us. ‘He is your shield and helper and your glorious sword.

Then he spoke to me mockingly, 'And so you, like the others, would play your brains against mine. You would help these men to hunt me and frustrate me in my design! You know now, and they know in part already, and will know in full before long, what it is to cross my path. They should have kept their energies for use closer to home. Whilst they played wits against me, against me who commanded nations, and intrigued for them, and fought for them, hundreds of years before they were born, I was countermining them. And you, their best beloved one, are now to me, flesh of my flesh, blood of my blood, kin of my kin, my bountiful wine-press for a while, and shall be later on my companion and my helper. You shall be avenged in turn, for not one of them but shall minister to your needs. But as yet you are to be punished for what you have done. You have aided in thwarting me. Now you shall come to my call. When my brain says "Come!" to you, you shall cross land or sea to do my bidding. And to that end this!' "With that he pulled open his shirt, and with his long sharp nails opened a vein in his breast. When the blood began to spurt out, he took my hands in one of his, holding them tight, and with the other seized my neck and pressed my mouth to the wound, so that I must either suffocate or swallow some to the… Oh, my God! My God! What have I done? What have I done to deserve such a fate, I who have tried to walk in meekness and righteousness all my days. God pity me! Look down on a poor soul in worse than mortal peril. And in mercy pity those to whom she is dear!" Then she began to rub her lips as though to cleanse them from pollution.

Dear Friend: Are you a Christian? What have you done to-day for Christ? Are the friends with whom you have been talking traveling toward the New Jerusalem? Did you compare notes with them as to how you were all prospering on the way? Is that stranger by your side a fellow-pilgrim? Did you ask him if he would be? Have you been careful to recommend the religion of Jesus Christ by your words, by your acts, by your looks, this day? If danger comes to you, have you this day asked Christ to be your helper? If death comes to you this night, are you prepared to give up your account? What would your record of this last day be? A blank? What! Have you done nothing for the Master? Then what have you done against Him? Nothing? Nay, verily! Is not the Bible doctrine, 'He that is not for me is against me?'  "Remember that every neglected opportunity, every idle word, every wrong thought of yours has been written down this day. You can not take back the thoughts or words; you can not recall the opportunity. This day, with all its mistakes, and blots, and mars, you can never live over again. It must go up to the judgment just as it is. Have you begged the blood of Jesus to be spread over it all? Have you resolved that no other day shall witness a repeatal of the same mistakes? Have you resolved in your own strength or in His?

I just slipped into my mother’s office to look at the names of my new peer helpers, and I’m so happy! Your name is on the list! I thought maybe I’d scared you by coming right out and asking you to apply. I realize it’s an unusual setup, but try not to think of it as my parents offering to pay people to be my friend. I know there’s something unsettling and prideless in that. I prefer to think of it this way: my parents are paying people to pretend to be my friend. This will be much closer to the truth, I suspect, and I have no problem with this. I’m guessing that a lot of people in high school are only pretending to be friends, right? It’ll be a start, I figure.

Because this tea kaiseki would be served so soon after breakfast, it would be considerably smaller than a traditional one. As a result, Stephen had decided to serve each mini tea kaiseki in a round stacking bento box, which looked like two miso soup bowls whose rims had been glued together. After lifting off the top dome-shaped cover the women would behold a little round tray sporting a tangle of raw squid strips and blanched scallions bound in a tahini-miso sauce pepped up with mustard. Underneath this seafood "salad" they would find a slightly deeper "tray" packed with pearly white rice garnished with a pink salted cherry blossom. Finally, under the rice would be their soup bowl containing the wanmori, the apex of the tea kaiseki. Inside the dashi base we had placed a large ball of fu (wheat gluten) shaped and colored to resemble a peach. Spongy and soft, it had a savory center of ground duck and sweet lily bulb. A cluster of fresh spinach leaves, to symbolize the budding of spring, accented the "peach," along with a shiitake mushroom cap simmered in mirin, sake, and soy. When the women had finished their meals, we served them tiny pink azuki bean paste sweets. David whipped them a bowl of thick green tea. For the dry sweets eaten before his thin tea, we served them flower-shaped refined sugar candies tinted pink. After all the women had left, Stephen, his helper, Mark, and I sat down to enjoy our own "Girl's Day" meal. And even though I was sitting in the corner of Stephen's dish-strewn kitchen in my T-shirt and rumpled khakis, that soft peach dumpling really did taste feminine and delicate.

There is a joke in which Satan is talking with one of his fallen angels while looking at the foibles of humans on the earth. “What should we do?” implores the helper. “See there, a human has gotten hold of a piece of truth!” Unperturbed, the Prince of Darkness replies, “Don’t worry, these humans will try to institutionalize it, and then it will belong to us again.” By midlife your identity is the institutionalization of your past. You have good reason to be attached to it, but it is not all of who you are meant to be. By reflexively living in the past you miss the fullness of the present. The movement of energy into structure (having an ego) is necessary for life to cohere. We need form, yet we are best served when the conscious personality is capable of ongoing course correction through dialogue with the dynamic unconscious.

Sure.” I looked over to my pet pen, but Lucky and Porky were both gone. The only one there in the pen was Ace, but he was much too big to drag around with me. “Ah, nevermind. Let’s roll,” I said to Larry. As we made our way over to the workshop, I looked up at the sky and saw that it was mid-afternoon. Then I remembered about the grand opening of the arena that Abeer told me about. I gasped as I said, “Oh, no, I hope I don’t miss the grand opening of the arena.” “Are you planning to go to that repulsive event?” Larry asked. “Repulsive?” “Oh, sorry, you must enjoy the fighting since you are a great combatant.” “You disapprove of the arena?” “It’s senseless fighting for entertainment purposes. If you didn’t know, we scientist-types abhor meaningless violence.” I nodded. “I see…” “Anyway, if you were planning to attend the grand opening, you should immediately head over there after the demonstration.” “Gotcha.” We arrived at the front of the workshop. All of Cole’s helpers and the other scientists were standing outside, and they were all surrounding Bob.   “Ah, perfect timing,” Cole said as he saw me. “Steve’s here, everyone.” I rolled up to Bob. “Whoa… your arm! It looks even cooler now!” Bob grinned. “I know, right? I can’t wait to test it out.” Bob’s upgraded arm included a redstone gem inserted

He drew quick breaths at every few words and shot quick glances at my face, as though in his anguish he were watchful of the effect. He was not speaking to me, he was only speaking before me, in a dispute with an invisible personality, an antagonistic and inseparable partner of his existence — another possessor of his soul. These were issues beyond the competency of a court of inquiry: it was a subtle and momentous quarrel as to the true essence of life, and did not want a judge. He wanted an ally, a helper, an accomplice. I felt the risk I ran of being circumvented, blinded, decoyed, bullied, perhaps, into taking a definite part in a dispute impossible of decision if one had to be fair to all the phantoms in possession — to the reputable that had its claims and to the disreputable that had its exigencies. I can’t explain to you who haven’t seen him and who hear his words only at second hand the mixed nature of my feelings. It seemed to me I was being made to comprehend the Inconceivable — and I know of nothing to compare with the discomfort of such a sensation. I was made to look at the convention that lurks in all truth and on the essential sincerity of falsehood. He appealed to all sides at once — to the side turned perpetually to the light of day, and to that side of us which, like the other hemisphere of the moon, exists stealthily in perpetual darkness, with only a fearful ashy light falling at times on the edge. He swayed me. I own to it, I own up. The occasion was obscure, insignificant — what you will: a lost youngster, one in a million — but then he was one of us; an incident as completely devoid of importance as the flooding of an ant-heap, and yet the mystery of his attitude got hold of me as though he had been an individual in the forefront of his kind, as if the obscure truth involved were momentous enough to affect mankind’s conception of itself.

Somewhere in between are the rest of us natives, in whom such change revives long-buried anger at those faraway people who seem to govern the world: city people, educated city people who win and control while the rest of us work and lose. Snort at the proposition if you want, but that was the view I grew up with, and it still is quite prevalent, though not so open as in those days. These are the sentiments the fearful rich and the Republicans capitalize on in order to kick liberal asses in elections. The Democrats' 2006 midterm gains should not fool anyone into thinking that these feelings are not still out here in this heartland that has so rapidly become suburbanized. It is still politically profitable to cast matters as a battle between the slick people, liberals all, and the regular Joes, people who like white bread and Hamburger Helper and "normal" beer. When you are looking around you in the big cities at all those people, it's hard to understand that there are just as many out here who never will taste sushi or, in all likelihood, fly on an airplane other than when we are flown to boot camp, compliments of Uncle Sam. Only 20 percent of Americans have ever owned a passport. To the working people I grew up with, sophistication of any and all types, and especially urbanity, is suspect. Hell, those city people have never even fired a gun. Then again, who would ever trust Jerry Seinfeld or Dennis Kucinich or Hillary Clinton with a gun? At least Dick Cheney hunts, even if he ain't safe to hunt with. George W. Bush probably knows a good goose gun when he sees one. Guns are everyday tools, like Skil saws and barbecue grills. So when the left began to demonize gun owners in the 1960s, they not only were arrogant and insulting because they associated all gun owners with criminals but also were politically stupid. It made perfect sense to middle America that the gun control movement was centered in large urban areas, the home to everything against which middle America tries to protect itself—gangbangers, queer bars, dope-fiend burglars, swarthy people jabbering in strange languages. From the perspective of small and medium-size towns all over the country, antigun activists are an overwrought bunch.

The panel delivery truck drew up before the front of the “Amsterdam Apartments” on 126th Street between Madison and Fifth Avenues. Words on its sides, barely discernible in the dim street light, read: LUNATIC LYNDON … I DELIVER AND INSTALL TELEVISION SETS ANY TIME OF DAY OR NIGHT ANY PLACE. Two uniformed delivery men alighted and stood on the sidewalk to examine an address book in the light of a torch. Dark faces were highlighted for a moment like masks on display and went out with the light. They looked up and down the street. No one was in sight. Houses were vague geometrical patterns of black against the lighter blackness of the sky. Crosstown streets were always dark. Above them, in the black squares of windows, crescent-shaped whites of eyes and quarter moons of yellow teeth bloomed like Halloween pumpkins. Suddenly voices bubbled in the night. “Lookin’ for somebody?” The driver looked up. “Amsterdam Apartments.” “These is they.” Without replying, the driver and his helper began unloading a wooden box. Stenciled on its side were the words: Acme Television “Satellite” A.406. “What that number?” someone asked. “Fo-o-six,” Sharp-eyes replied. “I’m gonna play it in the night house if I ain’t too late.” “What ya’ll got there, baby?” “Television set,” the driver replied shortly. “Who dat getting a television this time of night?” The delivery man didn’t reply. A man’s voice ventured, “Maybe it’s that bird liver on the third storey got all them mens.” A woman said scornfully, “Bird liver! If she bird liver I’se fish and eggs and I got a daughter old enough to has mens.” “… or not!” a male voice boomed. “What she got ’ill get television sets when you jealous old hags is fighting over mops and pails.” “Listen to the loverboy! When yo’ love come down last?” “Bet loverboy ain’t got none, bird liver or what.” “Ain’t gonna get none either. She don’t burn no coal.” “Not in dis life, next life maybe.” “You people make me sick,” a woman said from a group on the sidewalk that had just arrived. “We looking for the dead man and you talking ’bout tricks.” The two delivery men were silently struggling with the big television box but the new arrivals got in their way. “Will you ladies kindly move your asses and look for dead men sommers else,” the driver said. His voice sounded mean. “ ’Scuse me,” the lady said. “You ain’t got him, is you?” “Does I look like I’m carrying a dead man ’round in my pocket?” “Dead man! What dead man? What you folks playing?” a man called down interestedly. “Skin?” “Georgia skin? Where?” “Ain’t nobody playing no skin,” the lady said with disgust. “He’s one of us.” “Who?” “The dead man, that’s who.” “One of usses? Where he at?” “Where he at? He dead, that’s where he at.” “Let me get some green down on dead man’s row.” “Ain’t you the mother’s gonna play fo-o-six?” “Thass all you niggers thinks about,” the disgusted lady said. “Womens and hits!” “What else is they?” “Where yo’ pride? The white cops done killed one of usses and thass all you can think about.” “Killed ’im where?” “We don’t know where. Why you think we’s looking?” “You sho’ is a one-tracked woman. I help you look, just don’t call me nigger is all.

I'm indebted to all of you who read these stories and also to the booksellers who sell them with such devotion. As Mr. Rogers once said, "Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping.

Come on, let's get you an apron." There probably wasn't any real point in making him wear something over his fur and ragged clothes. Still, she tied a tablecloth up and around his neck, trying not to make him look ridiculous. Actually, if the thick white cloth had leather straps, he could easily be Hephaestus or one of his titan helpers working the forge on Olympus. But they were going to make ratatouille, not swords for heroes. "...And buckwheat crepes, and an onion tart, and coq au... um... Riesling, in a skillet," she added thoughtfully, looking at the time. The clock in the kitchen didn't talk, thankfully. "We don't have time for a true coq au vin or cassoulet. Oooh, and a tarte tatin for dessert!

If the winds of temptation blow, if you stumble when confronted by temptation; look to the star of the sea by calling out to Mary. If the waves of pride, ambition or envy tug at your heart, call on Mary as well. If anger, avarice or impurity imperil the course of your soul’s journey, look to Mary. If you are disturbed by the memory of your sins, confused with the ugliness of your conscience, fearful in the face of judgment, or you begin to sink into the bottomless pit of sadness or into the abyss of despair, think of Mary. In every danger, moment of anguish or doubt, invoke Mary. May her name be ever on your lips and engraved on your heart too. Never stray from the example of her virtue, so that you may always gain her help as an intercessor. You will not soon swerve from the path if you follow her, nor will you soon despair if you beseech her. You will never be lost if you think about her. With her taking you by the hand, you will not stay down in the case of a fall. With her protection, you will have nothing at all to fear. You will not lose strength, for she is your guide. You will reach a safe haven happily, if you count on her as your most intimate helper.[236] In every moment of the day, she will guide us on a sure path... Cor Mariae Dulcissimum, iter para

I’m not the one to encourage marriage as a blanket solution for all adults. Many people need to sort out themselves before joining with another being. However, the Lord God said in Genesis 2, ‘It is not good for the man to be alone. I will make a helper suitable for him.’” He stopped center stage and looked out over the church. “For so many generations, we’ve misconstrued and undervalued the purpose—and benefit—of marriage. If we are seeking and/or working toward our purpose as men, God will custom design ‘help’ for us.

At the checkout, the blond cashier asked, “Did anybody help you?” “Yes,” Ginika said. “Chelcy or Jennifer?” “I’m sorry, I don’t remember her name.” Ginika looked around, to point at her helper, but both young women had disappeared into the fitting rooms at the back. “Was it the one with long hair?” the cashier asked. “Well, both of them had long hair.” “The one with dark hair?” Both of them had dark hair. Ginika smiled and looked at the cashier and the cashier smiled and looked at her computer screen, and two damp seconds crawled past before she cheerfully said, “It’s okay, I’ll figure it out later and make sure she gets her commission.” As they walked out of the store, Ifemelu said, “I was waiting for her to ask ‘Was it the one with two eyes or the one with two legs?’ Why didn’t she just ask ‘Was it the black girl or the white girl?’ ” Ginika laughed. “Because this is America. You’re supposed to pretend that you don’t notice certain things.

Monitoring and Supporting Hashimoto’s ​• ​After Hashimoto’s is assessed with a positive TPO and/or TGB serum antibody test, establish TH-1 or TH-2 dominance with an immunological serum test. Look at the percentage values, not the total. ​• ​A TH-1 serum profile includes interferon, IL-2, IL-12, interferon-gamma, and TNF alpha. ​• ​A TH-2 serum profile includes IL-4, IL-13 and IL-10. ​• ​If the TH-1 cytokines are high, then modulate the autoimmune condition by supporting the TH-2 pathway with TH-2 stimulators. ​• ​If the TH-2 cytokines are high, then support the TH-1 pathway with TH-1 stimulators. ​• ​A CD4/CD8 (T-suppressor cell/T-helper cell) ratio of 2 or higher is an indication that an active antigen is driving the autoimmune response. This test is also a baseline from which to monitor overall progress. ​• ​If an active antigen or hapten is at work, then stimulate the dominant TH pathway to eradicate the antigen or drive it into remission. ​• ​If both TH-1 and TH-2 stimulators make you feel worse, a hapten may be driving the autoimmune condition. In that case, restore the immune barriers. ​• ​In all instances, modulate immune T-helper cell response with therapeutic doses of emulsified vitamin D plus cofactors, fish oil, and liposomal glutathione and superoxide dismutase cream. Have a licensed healthcare practitioner qualified to work with vitamin D therapy prescribe the appropriate dose. ​• ​Add in nutritional compounds individually every three days to monitor response. ​• ​Remove gluten and possibly dairy from the diet and support other systems, organs, and functions in the body.  (Managing blood sugar, digestive function, and adrenal health using functional medicine principles is explained in later chapters.) ​• ​Monitor whether support is effective with follow-up TSH, CD4/CD8, and TH-1 and TH-2 cytokine tests.

She reached under the counter and grabbed a clear bowl. “Behind you, in the pantry with the green and purple door—yeah, that one. Can you grab the powdered sugar?” He opened the door and looked over his shoulder. “So does this make me a pastry chef too?” “It makes you a helper monkey.” He laughed. “Nice.” She dumped in milk and the powdered sugar and hit the glass bowl with her beater. “So that’s how you make Cool Whip?” She clenched the side of the bowl. “You’re so close to getting kicked out of my kitchen.

12 AUGUST BE A HELPER Fred Rogers from Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood advised children in scary times to “look for the helpers. You will always find people helping.” Reflect on how often you are a helper, and how you can show up for others more often. Gratitude grows in ourselves when we practice giving to others.

Freedom isn’t stagnant or guaranteed. It lives and breathes and must be defended constantly. Don’t take it for granted. Fight for it, both in the public and private spheres of your life. And always look for ways to help,” she continued, almost feverish in her instructions. “That is one of our greatest purposes upon this earth. To be the helpers.

You are rewarding your dog for looking at your helper, so it’s essential that you mark the moment she looks, then give your treat as her reward. We want her to look!

Today is a great day to think about your death. Lie down somewhere cozy. Do a mental run-through, as if it were happening right now. Ideally, who is here with you? As you look back on your life, is anything missing? Don’t wait another minute to take action on anything that bubbles up. This is really living.” SARAH When I think about my death, I mostly think about gratitude and wanting to love people better. You might think about your will, a letter you need to write, a soul dream you haven’t acted on yet, caring less about what other people think about you, or giving your Gmail password to your designated power of attorney. All of it is valid. When you’re ready to die every day, you’re fully primed for life. If you had died yesterday, what would you wish you had done more of? Less of?

Now, first of all this boy lived in a mansion – at least compared to our one-room shack in the swamp. Peter’s house wasn’t like one of those historic houses that all look alike. Naw, the Grants’ house was a mansion fixer-upper. White Lions on black-marble columns greeted you at the front. Then there was a veranda with black-and-white tiles. It had three bedrooms, a guest room and helpers’ quarters. Kitchen counters went on for ever, and there was a huge gas range and a fridge with ice comin’ out the side, clink-clink into your glass. Man. Two carved bannisters led upstairs, but one staircase was blocked off. That was to accommodate a Hammond B3 church organ. Yes, a real, live church organ that when Peter held down the keys and stepped on the pedals his whole family jumped up and praised the Lord or cursed the Devil.

In my anguish I cried to the Lord, and he answered by setting me free. The Lord is with me; I will not be afraid. What can man do to me? The Lord is with me; he is my helper. I will look in triumph on my enemies. It is better to take refuge in the Lord than to trust in man” (Ps. 118:5-8).

friend and business partner, Eva, appeared from the storage room wearing antlers and holding two hats: a Santa in one hand, an elf in the other. She glanced at the mute stereo and shot Andi a look. “Which do you think?” she asked and held up the hats. “Go with the reindeer,” she said. “Santa is overdone and if you dress as an elf, people might get the wrong idea about Santa’s little helper.” With Eva’s tall, curvy body, pretty much anything she wore

We could talk about it.” “Talk about what?” “Why you look like someone shot your dog. Shelby, I assume.” “Nah,” Luke said, taking a drink. “That’s not serious.” “I guess that has nothing to do with your sleeplessness or your mood then. Trouble with the cabins? The town? Your tenant/helper?” “Aiden, there’s nothing bothering me, except maybe that I’ve been working my ass off for three months getting a house and six cabins rebuilt and furnished.” Aiden took a sip of his drink. “Twenty-five, so Sean and Mom say. And gorgeous.” “Sean’s an idiot who can’t mind his own business. She’s just a girl.” “She’s just a girl who has you looking a little uptight.” “Thanks,” he said, standing. “You don’t look that great yourself—I’m going to bed.” He threw back the rest of his drink. “Nah, don’t,” Aiden said. “Fix another one. Give me ten minutes, huh? I can just ask a couple of questions, right? I’m not like Sean, I’m not going to get up your ass about this. But you haven’t talked about it much and I’m a little curious.” Luke thought about that for a second and against his better judgment, he went into the kitchen and poured himself a short shot. He went back and sat down, leaning his elbows on his knees. “What?” he asked abruptly. Aiden chuckled. “Okay. Relax. Just a girl? Not serious?” “That’s right. A town girl, sort of. She’s visiting her family and she’ll be leaving pretty soon.” “Ah—I didn’t know that. I guess I thought she lived there.” “Long visit,” Luke said. “Her mother died last spring. She’s spending a few months with her uncle until she gets on with things—like where she wants to live. College and travel and stuff. This is temporary, that’s all.” “But—if you felt serious, there isn’t any reason you wouldn’t let it…you know…evolve…?” “I don’t feel serious,” he said, his mouth in a firm line. “Okay, I get that. Does she? Feel serious?” “She has plans. I didn’t trap her, Aiden. I made sure she knew—I’m not interested in being a family man. I told her she could do better, I’m just not built that way. But when I’m with a woman, I know how to treat her right. If she needed something permanent, she was in the wrong place. That’s how it is.” “Never?” “What do you mean, never? No one in this family is interested in that.” “Bullshit. I am. Sean says he’s having too much fun, but the truth is he has the attention span of a cabbage. But me? I’d like a wife, a family.” “Didn’t you already try that once?” Luke asked, sitting back in his chair, relaxing a little bit since the attention had shifted to Aiden’s life. “Oh, yeah—I tried hard. Next time I try, I’m going to see if I can find a woman who’s not certifiable and off her meds.” He grinned. “Really, that’s what happens when you ignore all the symptoms because she’s such a friggin’ miracle in bed, it causes brain damage.” He shrugged. “I’m on the lookout for that.” Luke grinned. “She was hot.” “Oh, yeah.” “She was worse than nuts.” “Nightmare nuts,” Aiden agreed.

On the evening of the 24th, Lady Emily recorded that K had a presentiment that it was going to be ‘an exciting night’, and sure enough the Lord Maitreya came and remained with K for a long time and left a message for the whole party. This message was read aloud to them by Nitya the next morning: Learn to serve Me, for along that path alone will you find me Forget yourself, for then only am I to be found Do not look for the Great Ones when they may be very near you You are like the blind man who seeks sunshine You are like the hungry man who is offered food and will not eat The happiness you seek is not far off; it lies in every common stone I am there if you will only see. I am the Helper if you will let Me help. These could well have been K’s own words; they were very much in the vein of the poems he would soon be writing. Or it could, of course, be argued that it was the Lord Maitreya who was to inspire K’s poems. At any rate this message was very different in style from the other messages that had been brought through.

Before anything else, Andre, let’s look at the issue differently. In order to become true helpers for suffering spirits, whether discarnate or not, we must understand wickedness as insanity, rebelliousness as ignorance, and despair as infirmity.

rushing in from the north. That usually meant a sea storm. The Pilgrim Inn bustled with stain-splotched travelers and weary helpers. She looked for any indication that something was wrong. Siler was talking to some guests, but waved to her. The children were playing at the main table with the guests, one of which was an older woman who fawned over them. Lia approached Siler. “Is anything wrong?” she asked him.

Although small groups have been utilized as a church renewal scheme, they have rarely been legitimized as a full expression of the church. They have been conceived as an adjunct for the personal growth of the participants. They have been considered an “extra” in church programming, and they have served this role well. Meanwhile the “real” church gathers in the sanctuary at eleven each Sunday. It’s there, with “everybody” (except the sick, etc.) present, that the sacraments of baptism and the Lord’s Supper are celebrated. We have been so oriented toward the gathered congregation that the small group is relegated to serving as a means to a larger end—that is, to stimulate active participation in the corporate congregation.[3] When we look at small groups as secondary helper units for bolstering our larger gatherings we have gone off the rails. The better view is to see our corporate gatherings—church services—as a celebratory exclamation point of lives lived as salt and light the previous week.

The Lord is on my side; I will not fear. What can man do to me? The Lord is on my side as my helper; I shall look in triumph on those who hate me. It is better to take refuge in the Lord than to trust in man. It is better to take refuge in the Lord than to trust in princes. (Ps. 118:6–9)

Um, people.” It wasn’t hard to get their attention. They gathered around. Even the littlest ones toned down their giggling, at least a bit. “First of all, thanks to Albert and his helpers for this meal. Let’s give it up for the true Mac Daddy.” A round of hearty applause and some laughter, and Albert waved sheepishly. He frowned a little too, obviously conflicted about the use of the “Mac” prefix in a way that was not approved in the McDonald’s manual. “And we have to mention Lana and Dahra, because without them, there would be a lot fewer of us here.” Now the applause was almost reverential. “Our first Thanksgiving in the FAYZ,” Sam said when the applause died down. “Hope it’s our last,” someone shouted. “Yeah. You got that right,” Sam agreed. “But we’re here. We’re here in this place we never wanted to be. And we’re scared. And I’m not going to lie and tell you that from here on, it will all be easy. It won’t be. It will be hard. And we’ll be scared some more, I guess. And sad. And lonely. Some terrible things have happened. Some terrible things…” For a moment, he lost his way. But then he stood up straighter again. “But, still, we are grateful, and we give thanks to God, if you believe in Him, or to fate, or to just ourselves, all of us here.” “To you, Sam,” someone shouted. “No, no, no.” He waved that off. “No. We give thanks to the nineteen kids who are buried right there.” He pointed at the six rows of three, plus the one who started a seventh row. Neat hand-painted wooden tombstones bore the names of Bette and too many others. “And we give thanks to the heroes who are standing around here right now eating turkey. Too many names to mention, and they’d all just be embarrassed, anyway, but we all know them.” There was a wave of loud, sustained applause, and many faces turned toward Edilio and Dekka, Taylor and Brianna, and some toward Quinn. “We all hope this will end. We all hope we’ll soon be back in the world with people we love. But right now, we’re here. We’re in the FAYZ. And what we’re going to do is work together, and look out for each other, and help each other.” People nodded, some high-fived. “Most of us are from Perdido Beach. Some are from Coates. Some of us are…well, a little strange.” A few titters. “And some of us are not. But we’re all here now, we’re all in it together. We’re going to survive. If this is our world now…I mean, it is our world now. It is our world. So, let’s make it a good one.” He stepped down in silence. Then someone started clapping rhythmically and saying, “Sam, Sam, Sam.” Others joined in, and soon every person in the plaza, even some of the prees, was chanting his name.

Celebrate to Celebrate Give thanks to the LORD, for he is good; his love endures forever. —PSALM 107:1     I’ve often been accused of celebrating just to celebrate. I guess that’s correct, because I’ve built a ministry on telling women how to develop a close-knit family. My experience has shown that healthy families love to celebrate—you name it; they celebrate. Make celebrations a tradition in your family! Why not? Life is for living, and in the living there’s always something to celebrate. Celebrate everything—good days, bad days that are finally over, birthdays, and even half birthdays. Get your children involved preparing for a dinner celebration. Make it special. Let them make place cards, set the table, help you cook, create a centerpiece. Our children were always assigned to greet our guests at the door—a wonderful opportunity for teaching hospitality and manners. Let your sharing extend beyond your family. Several times a year, create a “love basket” filled with food for a family in need. Try spending part of your holidays helping out at a shelter or a mission. This has been one of our most rewarding celebrations. Present your own version of a You Are Special plate to a special guest, and have her use it for her meal. Let the recipient know that she is special and is loved by all. Go around the table and tell that special person why she is so special. Have a box of Kleenex ready—the tears will flow. In some cases it will be the first time she has been told that she is special and loved at the same time. Don’t be limited. Look for ways to celebrate life and those you love! Prayer: Father God, there are a lot of reasons to celebrate today. Let me be a helper for those who want to celebrate but don’t know how. Amen.   Action: Plan a celebration for someone you love.  

B. How is Jesus able to understand our weaknesses? C. How is our great high priest different from us? 2. Read 1 John 4:9–11. A. How did God show his love for us? What was the purpose of this action (v. 9)? B. Why did Jesus come into this world, according to verse 10? C. What conclusion does John reach, based on what he has said in verses 9–10? 3. Read Hebrews 2:11–18. A. According to verse 11, what does Jesus call those he saves? Why does he call them this? B. What was the purpose for Jesus becoming human, according to verses 14–15? C. Why can Jesus fully understand any problem or challenge you face, according to verses 17–18? How does this make him the perfect helper for you? Battle Lines Spend some time thanking God for claiming you, saving you, and using you. Ask him to use you to bring others to him, and then look for ways to bless others as God has blessed you. Review the five stones with which you’ve been equipped to face your giants.

Music is an important factor in mature life, and looking back across the years I realize that some wise, kind "Invisible Helper," urged me on always in every attempt I made to express myself in music, so that, in my later years, I might have this consolation and means of mental and spiritual development.

Dark Coercion couldn’t be undone, so it looked like the killer’s helpers were no good for information. The only magic I’d ever heard of breaking a bind like that was Phoenix fire. And the Phoenix Order had been extinct for a thousand years, so there was no chance of using that.

Father Ted picked up where Father Stephen had left off, becoming my confessor. Parishioners paid for my children to attend summer camps that were nothing like the ones I’d grown up with, and when gas prices spiked, I found random twenty-dollar bills in my church mailbox. These were kind people extending generosity to us at a time when I most needed it and I understood now what it meant for God to work through people. Mr. Fred Rogers had said, after disasters, “Look for the helpers,” and he was right. Helpers were the source of hope. Hope was not born from following a list of rules. The truth was life was full of hurt. But the truth was also we were surrounded by help and hope.

When I was a boy and I would see scary things in the news, my mother would say to me, "Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping.

You know, my mother used to say, a long time ago, whenever there would be any really---catastrophe that was in the movies or on the air, she would say, 'Always look for the helpers. There will always be helpers, just on the sidelines.

The massive wardrobe, decorated with stickers and posters of Jack’s favourite bands, stood in the corner. I went to it and opened both the doors – then stepped back in amazement.   It was like something out of a fashion spread. Footwear was aligned in two perfectly straight lines along the bottom of the wardrobe, with boots at the back and shoes at the front. Each pair was polished and had a pair of socks folded up in the left shoe or boot. Above the shoes, Jack’s clothes were hung up on fancy padded hangers, organized by colour going from black through grey, white, pale pink, dark pink, purple and then blue. One quarter of the wardrobe was taken up with closet shelves, where every item, from T-shirts to jeans to scarves, was folded into a perfect geometric square that I wouldn’t have been able to achieve with two helpers, a ruler, and sticky tape.   I turned my head and looked at the chaos of the room. Then I looked back at the wardrobe.   No wonder she never let me see inside before.   “Jack, you big fat fake.” I let out a laugh that was half sob. “Look at this. Look! She’s the worst neat freak of them all, and I never even knew. I never even knew…”   Trying not to mess anything up too much, I searched through the neat piles of T-shirts until I found what seemed to be a plain, scoop-necked white top with short sleeves. I pulled it out, but when I unfolded it, there turned out to be a tattoo-style design on the front: a skull sitting on a bed of gleaming emeralds, with a green snake poking out of one eyehole. In Gothic lettering underneath, it read WELCOME TO MALFOY MANOR.   Typical Jack, I thought, hugging the shirt to my chest for a second. Pretending to be cool Slytherin when she’s actually swotty Ravenclaw through and through.

Looking back at the fact that Eve was created as Adam’s helper, it can be seen that it signifies that the wife was never meant to be subservient to her husband. She was made to be an astute (not gullible/compliant) being who has rights to use her opinions and experience to not only be guided by her husband, but to also guide her husband.

thank you that you are right here with us. Lord, because you are our light and our salvation, then how could we be afraid of anyone? You are the strength of our lives; whom should we fear? Lord God, you are on our side, we will not fear what man can do to us. You are our Deliverer, our Helper, our Strengthener, our Comforter, our Healer, our Wisdom, our Peace and our Joy! We look to you and rejoice that we are counted worthy to suffer for your name’s sake. We glory in tribulations that the power of God might be revealed in us. Who or what can separate us from your love, God? Nothing

Saxford St Peter’s vicar was distantly related to Diana Pickford-Jones and had put out a rallying call for helpers. Eve hadn’t needed asking twice. She’d been meaning to visit the manor – it looked so atmospheric whenever she drove past – and she was meeting a new collection of people into the bargain. So far, as well as Diana and the volunteers, Eve had been introduced to Diana’s half-brother, Sebastian Pickford. He’d been brought up at the manor and was still a frequent visitor, when he took time out from his modelling career. Eve was also

October 20 WHEN THE TASK BEFORE YOU looks daunting, refuse to be intimidated. Discipline your thinking to view the challenge as a privilege rather than a burdensome duty. Make the effort to replace your “I have to” mentality with an “I get to” approach. This will make all the difference in your perspective—transforming drudgery into delight. This is not a magic trick; the work still has to be done. But the change in your viewpoint can help you face the challenging chore joyfully and confidently. As you go about your work, perseverance is essential. If you start to grow weary or discouraged, remind yourself: “I get to do this!” Then thank Me for giving you the ability and strength to do what needs to be done. Thankfulness clears your mind and draws you close to Me. Remember that My Spirit who lives in you is the Helper; ask Him to help you when you’re perplexed. As you ponder problems and seek solutions, He will guide your mind. Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart—as working for Me. COLOSSIANS 4:2; JOHN 14:16 NKJV; COLOSSIANS 3:23

Looking down on him, I could see a pink shine on top of his head with the dark hair pulled across it. Not a full Homer Simpson like Creaky’s, just a little beginner’s hamburger helper up there. But do you trust a guy that cheats on his own head? Aunt June was bottom-feeding.

If you slip and find yourself looking backward, stop by saying aloud, “That’s the old story of me. It’s not who I am or who I want to be today.” See how your vibration lights up with this decision and how much easier it is to hear your guides, spirit helpers, and angels once it’s made.

This reminds me of the famous piece of advice Mr. Rogers gave when soothing children during national crises where they might see upsetting pictures in the newspapers. “Look for the helpers,” he urged.

In Xenophon's summary of the allegory [Prodicus' "Choice of Heracles'' ] the young Heracles has sat down at a crossroads, not knowing which path to follow through life. As he sits deliberating, two women appear to him. Their physical appearance is a study in contrasts, and they are clearly villainness and heroine. Evil (Kakia) is overfed, plump, rouged, and all powdered up. She wears revealing clothes and is vain, viewing herself in a mirror and turning around to see if she is being admired. Virtue (Arete), on the other hand, wears simple white; her only adornments are purity, modesty, and temperance. These apparitions proceed to give speeches in praise of the life that they can give Heracles. Evil speaks first-an ominous choice, since in such debates, the first speaker typically loses. She offers Heracles a life of free, effortless pleasure. There will be no delights that he will not taste, no difficulties that he will not avoid. He need never worry about wars and affairs. All he need trouble himself about will be what food or drink to take; what to look at, hear, smell or touch for his pleasure; what partner he might enjoy, how he might sleep softest, and how he can obtain all these with the least toil (aponOtata). If ever there are shortages, he will not suffer ponos or hardship either in body or soul. Rather "you will enjoy those things that others work to produce, and you will not hold back from profiting everywhere." Evil tells Heracles her name, but adds confidentially that to her friends she is known as Happiness (Eudaimonia). Very different is the tone and substance of Virtue's argument. For while Evil would have Heracles live for himself alone and treat others as means to his self-gratification, Virtue begins by saying that she knows Heracles' parents and nature: Heracles must live up to his Olympian heritage. Therefore she will not deceive him with "hymns to pleasure." Evil's enticements are in fact contrary to the divine ordering, "for the gods have given men nothing good without ponos and diligence." There follows a series of emphatic verbal nouns to hammer home this truth: if you want divine favor, you must worship the gods; if you want to be admired, you must do good works for your friends; if you want to be honored, you must benefit your city and Greece; if you want the earth to bear crops, you must cultivate the land. Flocks require tending, war demands practice. And if you want strength (Heracles' trademark), you must accustom your body to serve your will, and you must train "with ponoi and sweat:' At this point, Evil bursts in to deplore such a harsh lifestyle. She is immediately silenced, however, as Virtue argues that duality is essential to a sense of fulfillment and even to pleasure itself. For paradoxically, ponos (pain, struggle) makes pleasure pleasurable. Evil's vision of happiness is one of continual and languid orgy-food without hunger, drink without thirst, sex without desire, sleep without weariness. But as experience shows, continual partying soon loses its zest, even if one goes so far as to cool expensive drinks "with snow" in summertime. By contrast, Virtue's own followers have no real trouble in satisfying their desires. They do so not by committing violence against others or living off others' labor, but by simply "holding off until they actually do desire" food or drink. Hunger is the best sauce, and it is free. Furthermore, Virtue appeals to Heracles' native idealism. What hedonists have ever accomplished any "fine work" (ergon kalon)? None, for no beautiful or divine deed is ever done "without me [Virtue] ." Therefore, wherever there are energetic, effective people, Virtue is present: she is a helper to craftsmen, a guard of the household, a partner in peacetime ponoi, an ally for the works (erga) of war, the best support of friendship. To choose Evil would be shameful and not even extremely pleasurable, while with Virtue one will lead the most varied and honorable life.

think distractions in prayer are often because we have let ourselves wander too far from the things that matter most. And so we slip into an easily interrupted, easily distracted frame of mind. We need to live more at home. "In him we live and move and have our being" (Acts 17:28). This means, simply, God is our home. Home of my heart, lest I forget My redemption's cost to Thee, Let my earliest thought be set Upon Thy Calvary. Do you see what I mean? These words, which center my attention on what matters most, speak of something that I cannot drop out of my day without great loss to me. I know without question that an earnest "look" at Calvary does more to help our life of prayer than we imagine: So shall the sayings of my mouth, and the meditation of my heart, be pleasing continually before Thee, 0 Lord my helper and my Redeemer. (Psalm 19:14 SEPTUAGINT)

The receptionist called. Nervous. I asked what the problem was. ‘There is a General and soldiers here for you Ma’am’, she said. ‘Okay, let them come upstairs to the meeting room’, I instructed her. A few minutes later, the elevator arrived and indeed a General and his helpers, in full uniform and armed, entered. ‘What can I help you with General?’ I asked. He started to threaten me, ‘We need access to your network. You need to buy digital interception equipment and install it before launch.’ This was really something we hadn’t taken into account. A bit disturbed Lone wolves 63 by all the overwhelming force, I promised to look into that. It turned out that only an Israeli company produced this probing equipment. Very expensive too.

I enlisted a couple of sherpas to guide me through the world of word combinations. One was OneLook, a combination reverse dictionary and thesaurus site. When I typed a string of letters, OneLook found words that began with, contained, or ended with that string. I could also give OneLook gap-toothed strings, that is, combinations of letters and blanks, and OneLook would find possible combinations: all seven-letter words, say, that have A as their second letter and end with C. But my primary helper was XWord Info, which mines data from the entire New York Times crossword archives. XWord Info provides helpful options like bite-sized fragments of common speech that wouldn’t necessarily appear in a dictionary list (ARE TOO, AM SO, OR NOT). XWord Info also knows every clue that has been used for every answer to every past Times puzzle ever published, save a handful that were lost to posterity after newspaper strikes in the 1940s.

When I was a boy and I would see scary things in the news,” Rogers had told his young viewers, “my mother would say to me, ‘Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping.’ To this day, especially in times of disaster, I remember my mother’s words, and I am always comforted by realizing that there are still so many helpers—so many caring people in this world. Fred Rogers

I smiled, recalling a quote from Mr. Rogers, a favorite TV personality, who’d said, “Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping.

Maybe we didn’t have an impact… like our work was wasted…” I shove my plastic lunch tray away in discouragement. Sunshine looks directly at me. “Anything with God makes a difference! Don’t give up. This is going to take time.” “We don’t have time! We have until 3:00!” “We can only do the best we can,” Sunshine assures me. “The rest is up to Him.

The whips fell onto June Dey’s chest now, but as on his back, his skin did not break. Instead, each time he was struck his strength grew. Each time they whipped him, he became more infuriated and they sensed it in him. While beating him, the helper with the other whip looked down at his trousers as his bladder weakened and poured onto his clothes and shoes. Embarrassed and pale with trepidation, he lifted his gun from his belt. The maids screamed at the sight of the gun and the helper immediately fired it. The bullet soared toward June Dey and Darlene. It flew toward his chest. They expected that it would kill him on impact, expected that this would be his end and the boy would go from them as mysteriously as he had come. But the bullet, as if repelled by his skin, fell to the ground. The slight puncture where the bullet would have made its permanent hole quickly healed in their sight, and the helper dropped the gun and ran away from them like a bullied child.

Looking at the positives when calamity strikes is not for the faint-hearted. You need to have a solid link with your Maker. You understand that difficult times help move you forward. Struggle and strife are standard life lessons. Embrace them and see things in perspective!

Looking out on the field that morning, I didn’t believe we could finish the cut. It was too big a job and I was too small a helper. But because I loved Pat and loved the farm and the Droim, because I loved that crop of barley and couldn’t stand to see it spoiled, I was prepared to try. I took a deep breath and a first step and both eventually led me to the knowledge that I was capable of things bigger than I’d imagined.

Mister Rogers once said that: after any disaster, look for the helpers, look for the people who step in to try to make things better.

I looked at her face. Besides being covered in tears, it was above all marked by dissatisfaction. Deep-lying dissatisfaction, the kind a person is born with. Nothing helps to drive out that dissatisfaction. Expensive espresso machines, attention, a new wing on the house— for a fleeting moment the dissatisfaction disappears into the background, but it's like a leak coming through the wallpaper: You can cover it with new wallpaper, but after a while the brown spots soak through, anyway. There's not much you can do about it. You can muffle it for a bit with medication, with what they call “mother’s little helpers,” but in the end it only comes back with renewed strength.

The Lord is with me; I will not be afraid. What can mere mortals do to me? The Lord is with me; He is my helper. I look in triumph on my enemies.

It is one thing to know that God is willing and able to carry you through your trials—great and small—but something completely different to let Him. Jesus once looked at an entire city and said, “So many times I have longed to gather a wayward people, as a hen gathers her chicks under her wings—but you were too stubborn to let me.” (Matthew 23:37) That same Redeemer described the Holy Spirit as “the Helper.” Shockingly the only barrier to living in a constant state of supernatural help is your own pride. His gracious invitation is that you “cast all your cares upon Him” in calm confidence that He cares for you. (1 Peter 5:7 NIV) Humility and a heart of gratitude are the twin keys to a lifestyle of power-filled rest.

Dad built me up, calling me his helper, wingman, and then full partner, so I wouldn’t ask too many questions. And why should I? We were the good guys, the Robin Hoods, who took only from people who would barely miss the money. Except that isn’t true. It was never true. This moment has been building ever since the first day of Mr. Novak’s ethics unit. And now that I realize all this, I can never look at my father in quite the same way again.

Dad built me up, calling me his helper, wingman, and then full partner, so I wouldn’t ask too many questions. And why should I? We were the good guys, the Robin Hoods, who took only from people who would barely miss the money. Except that isn’t true. It was never true. This moment has been building ever since the first day of Mr. Novak’s ethics unit. And now that I realize all this, I can never look at my father in quite the same way again. I feel like crying. My whole life, I’ve worshipped my father. To me, he’s been the coolest, savviest, cleverest, most resourceful human on the planet. I still consider him those things. The El Capitan scheme borders on genius. And what purpose drives all that talent and brilliance? Ripping people off.

Antagonists, countering: Exchanging a fierce antagonist for a meek friend is a poor bargain. Antagonists, instruction from: ""He that wrestles with us strengthens our nerves and sharpens our skill. Our antagonist is our helper. — Edmund Burke, 1790 Appearance: "An ambassador should, as far as possible, be good-looking; a man who is lame ... is received with laughter." — Etienne Dolcet, 1541, cited by J. J. Jusserand

Monkey Mart – A Fun and Addictive Grocery Store Game Experience Introduction If you're a fan of casual simulation games, Monkey Mart is likely already on your radar. This lighthearted and addictive game lets players manage their own virtual grocery store with a fun twist—you're a monkey! Developed by TinyDobbins, Monkey Mart has gained popularity for its simple mechanics, charming graphics, and engaging gameplay loop. In this blog post, we’ll dive into what makes Monkey Mart so enjoyable, how to play, and why it continues to captivate gamers of all ages. What is Monkey Mart? Monkey Mart is an idle management game where players take on the role of a monkey running a bustling supermarket. Starting with basic items like bananas, players expand their store by adding new products such as corn, eggs, milk, and more. The goal is to keep customers happy, stock shelves, and grow your business over time. How to Play Monkey Mart The gameplay is straightforward but highly engaging. Here's a quick overview: Start Small: You begin with a basic stand selling bananas. Harvest and Stock: Collect bananas from the trees, place them on shelves, and let customers buy them. Expand Your Store: Use the money earned to unlock new sections and products. Hire Helpers: As the business grows, you can hire assistants to automate tasks. Upgrade Efficiency: Improve harvesting, stocking speed, and product variety to boost your store’s performance. Key Features of Monkey Mart Cute and Colorful Graphics: The game’s art style is bright and inviting, perfect for players of all ages. Idle Mechanics: Even when you're not actively playing, helpers can keep the business running, making it a great choice for idle game fans. Progression System: The steady unlocks and upgrades keep players motivated to expand and optimize their stores. Relaxing Yet Strategic: While easy to pick up, the game requires thoughtful upgrades and time management to maximize efficiency. Why Monkey Mart is So Popular The charm of Monkey Mart lies in its balance between simplicity and strategy. Whether you're a seasoned gamer or just looking for a relaxing way to pass the time, this game offers satisfying gameplay without overwhelming complexity. Its idle features also make it ideal for short play sessions or background gaming. Tips for Success in Monkey Mart Focus on Upgrades: Prioritize speed and automation early on to boost productivity. Monitor Stock Levels: Make sure shelves are always full to keep customers satisfied. Expand Wisely: Unlock new items gradually to manage your workload and maximize profits. Hire Smartly: Investing in assistants can free up time to focus on expansion and strategy. Final Thoughts Monkey Mart is more than just a cute game—it’s a cleverly designed simulation that delivers hours of entertainment. Its appealing visuals, intuitive mechanics, and idle-friendly features make it a standout in the genre. Whether you're aiming to build the biggest supermarket in the jungle or just want to enjoy a laid-back gaming experience, Monkey Mart is definitely worth checking out.

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At least I can cook," said Isabella, the words bursting out of her like a spray of bullets. "What?" "You heard me," said Isabella. "Do you honestly think people aren't laughing at you when you make food on your Instagram? Do you know how ridiculous you look, chopping kale, hacking it like a blind executioner, and making a salad that wouldn't be good enough for a hamster cage?" "She's just jealous," said Molly, turning to Xavier, who was watching all of this while vaping against the wall. "She can't handle the fact that I'm pretty and thin and famous and that I can do what she does just as well as she can, only I look better doing it." "Ha!" said Isabella. "That's such a fucking laugh. Do you think you could ever make this meal?" She indicated the food in the kitchen. "Do you think, in a million years, with a million lessons and a million cookbooks and a million helpers, you could ever make a coq au vin or butternut-squash soup? I bet you don't even know how to turn on the heat.

A very wise man once said that when he was a boy and saw scary things on the news, his mother would tell him to look for the helpers.

I couldn’t remember what it had looked like, that day with my helper.