Curing General Nice Ice

Old General Nice Ice had an awful case of freezer burn.

The happy look he once bore on his face had grown quite stern.

His spiked gray hair was frosted over like a polar bear.

His cheeks, once rosy, now had no more cheerfulness to share.

 

His arms and legs had stiffened and his once soft heart was hard.

His lips were purple when they found him standing in his yard.

His friends took him to Hero Hospital to be defrosted.

But could it be too late for him? Had he already “lost it”?

 

Good doctor Cool Breeze wouldn’t touch him with a ten-foot pole.

It had to be eleven feet. The tip was very cold.

He took the stiff man’s temperature and wouldn’t give it back,

For it was minus zero, colder than a frozen snack.

 

When asked to stick his tongue out, the poor guy could not say “Blah,”

All he could spit through gritted teeth was “I am NOT in awe.”

“At least it’s better than lukewarm.” The doctor’s voice was grim.

“Your illness didn’t come from exercising at the gym.”

 

“I see vice in your ice, which cannot cover up your flaws.

It seems you have Pride flu. Could you illuminate the cause?

What is the last heroic deed you did before this hit?

Did someone spray hot sauce on you or throw a nasty fit?”

 

Snowflakes popped up in different places on the golden floor.

The patient’s eyes shot icicles too glaring to ignore.

“How do you dare imply such petty things could get my goat?”

The anger on his face was like the berg that sunk the boat.

 

The doctor tried again. “Please sir, I beg. Don’t be offended.

Those are the questions that my fellow doctors recommended.

It’s nothing personal, but you are in stage three denial.

Your friends don’t want to see you die.  They miss your happy smile.”

 

The general relaxed a bit. “Volcano Man. It’s he.

He spewed a stream of lava, but I froze it expertly.

It wasn’t easy. No one helped me. No one even cared.

The villain was so evil and the victims were so scared.”

 

“The helicopter I was flying, no one else could man.

No co-pilot is qualified to lend this guy a hand.

I shall not relegate such work to some unworthy slob.

I am the multi-tasker, and I did a bang-up job.

 

Through blasts of hot disgust and wild opinion smoke I steered,

While blowing freeze breath out the window, from his rants I veered.

I used my supersonic voice to tell the crowd to freeze

While I made ice of lava, but their fear it did not ease.

 

“The people were too stubborn and they would not heed my voice.

And that is why, you see, I have no reason to rejoice.

I stuck my neck out for them, but received no gratitude.

All I got from them was one big stinking attitude.”

 

“They said they didn’t like the way that I looked down on them.

‘We are not little kids,’ they said. ‘We want to be your friend.’

But who would not act better than those folks if they were me?

The fire I put out was growing exponentially.”

 

“I saved those lazy victims, but my role is now reversed.

Now I’m the one in need of rescuing and I feel cursed.

I’m sick because I just asked them to listen and obey.

But they refused. It makes me mad. This cold won’t go away.”

 

“If you’ll take my prescription, then it will,” the doctor said.

“First off, to cure this flu requires a chill pill for your head.

Let go your disappointment. Everybody makes mistakes.

To know you’re not their Savior is the way to cure your aches. ”

 

“Rest in His finished work. That’s the best way to heal your heart.

You do not need a podium to demonstrate your art.

The warmth that you require does not depend on recognition.

What you need is a merry heart to make a smooth transition.”

 

“To think on good things, not on bad, will bring more joy to you.

To welcome co-pilots can melt the ice in which you stew.

A slice of humble pie will help dissolve your isolation

And turn your freezer burn into a wondrous ‘ice elation.'”

 

 

 

 

Super Hero House of Healing, Part I

A stretch of clear, blue sky overlooked a bright green lawn. Light breezes combed the grass. Drops of sparkling sunlight danced upon a nearby brook. Its bubbling waters gave the place a peaceful, comforting feel. Rows of pink and red tulips petals stretched up, toward heaven. Down below, two women walked across the clearing, carrying the limp form of a girl, no more than twenty. A man in a white robe met them.

“You can set her down here,” he said, with a downward glance and a wave of his right hand.

The women exchanged puzzled glances, wondering what he meant. Then they saw a purple blanket lying on the ground, with a soft pink pillow on it. The man took the girl from them and laid her on the little bed he’d made.

Before he could introduce himself, the first woman blurted out, “Hi, I’m Cynthia.”

“And I’m Janice,” said the second.

“I know. I’ve heard about you,” said the man. “I’m the head physician here.”

Cynthia’s eyes filled with tears as she gazed at the girl’s thin arms and pale white face, which seemed to show more bones than skin. “Do you think there’s any hope for our good friend Eagle Girl?”

“There’s always hope,” said the man, his voice filled with compassion. He nodded to the golden building behind them at the top of the hill. “At the Super Hero House of Healing, we have cures for every disease that ever did exist.”

“I sure hope so,” said Janice. “She’s been wasting away for months. It is a mystery.”

“I hate to say this, but I think she might be anorexic,” said Cynthia. “She has all the symptoms. She won’t eat. She barely drinks. She never used to be like this. What do you suppose has gotten into her?”

“Something villainous,” said the doctor. He lifted the girl’s head and rolled her on her stomach.

“Just as I suspected. Do you see those tiny red marks just below her neck? This is no doubt the work of Backbiter.”

Janice gasped. “Who’s Backbiter?”

“A villainous vampire that bites your back with a deadly poison called False Accusation, based on lies which may contain a tiny grain of truth,” said the doctor. “False accusation is a type of hallucinatory drug. It distorts how you see yourself when you look in the mirror, exaggerating every flaw and minimizing every virtue. If you’re five pounds overweight, it will make you look obese. That’s the sort of horrible self-image False Accusation conveys.”

“Oh, so maybe that’s why she won’t eat,” said Cynthia. “No matter how thin she gets, she  sees herself as fat.And you believe false accusation is at the root of her disease?”

“I believe that’s a big part of it,” said the doctor. “But False Accusation alone is not enough to cause a person to become anorexic. I suspect junk food, as well, in the form of multiple gossip bites.”

“But she’s not a gossiper,” said Janice. “At least, not that I know of. She doesn’t really talk bad about people behind their backs.”

“I’m not judging the degree of gossip or the reason for it,” said the doctor. “I’m just looking at the facts, based on what I know. False accusation and gossip go hand-in-hand. You don’t have to be a gossiper to be involved in gossip. To listen is to participate, and what goes in the ear can affect the inner parts of your digestive system. If it’s poisonous, it will make you sick, but people drink it in anyway. They seem to think that feeding on other people’s flaws will make them feel better about themselves. But in the end, it makes them feel worse because it’s all based on hatred – hatred of others and hatred of yourself.”

“So, what’s the cure for hatred and false accusation?” asked Janice with a frown.

“Forgiveness,” said the doctor. “That’s the key to healing. Forgive and you’ll be forgiven, but if you don’t forgive others, then you won’t be forgiven.”

“That’s what Eagle Girl needs, all right,” said Cynthia. “She needs to forgive and be forgiven.”

“But first we have to wake her up,” said Janice.