I really love Dean Koontz novels. In 1985’s Twilight Eyes, main character Slim MacKenzie uses psychic powers to hunt monsters that mimic humans. The monsters (goblins) feed on human suffering. When Slim sees them gathering in large numbers, he knows that they have engineered something tragic to happen – like a ferris wheel failing, killing or injuring all aboard and around it. Okay, so maybe the book isn’t realistic; but, when I read it, I thought how appropriate that concept of goblins masquerading as humans was. They may look like a duck, walk and quack like a duck, but, honey, they ain’t no duck!
Now, think about that for a minute. I’ve talked about emotional vampires before – those people who just suck the very will to live out of your bones. These are not “glass half-empty” people: they are “someone stole half my water” people. They never have anything positive to say and mock anyone who tries to improve themselves. You know who they are. You are thinking of them right now. Now, think about those people you know who are slyly negative. They spread rumors, create friction and start conflict just to watch others deal with the uproar. They appear to be supportive, but point out every pit-fall, every time, just so you can be “realistic.” Uh-huh. Him. Her. Yep, they’re goblins.
They destroy, not build. We have to guard against their destructiveness, against their efforts to turn our spirits into shadows. More than that, we have to guard against their efforts to turn us into them. It is so easy to respond to their venom with venom of our own – and from time to time may be necessary – but, when we allow it to become a habit, we begin to lose our reflections in the mirror.
As an agent for American Eagle, I took all kinds of abuse. I had things thrown at me, was belittled and literally called everything but a child of God. One nasty passenger could just ruin my attitude – and for the whole day, if I let them. One night, a stranger reminded me that for every horrible, blowhard passenger, there were hundreds of great ones.
Way back when Moses was in short pants, American Eagle pilots overnighting in Columbus, MS, stayed in a hotel that had a charity box selling Blow-Pops at the front desk. I regularly asked the guys to bring me one, but those
cheapskates busy pilots never did. One evening, I was working my normal closing shift when the phone rang. The caller wanted to know if the flight from Nashville was on time. As it happened, the captain, whom I was dating, had just called in-range to say that they would be on the ground in 15 to 20 minutes. I had previously given him a hard time about sweetly requested that he bring me Charms Blow-Pops; so, when he called in, I asked if he had candy for me. “Nope,” said he. “Then you’d better be here in 15,” said I. Now, for whatever reason (youth, vanity, stupidity, whatever) I related the gist of this conversation to this unknown caller, hung up the phone and promptly forgot the whole thing. The flight arrived; passengers deplaned; bags unloaded; aircraft cleaned and put to bed. Just before walking out the door, I stopped by the ticket counter to make certain that I had secured everything. Lying on top of one of the printers, was a Charms Blow-Pop. The only person who would have left that there was the caller whose name I didn’t know and whom, to my knowledge, I never met. That stranger made my evening and gave me a lesson far more valuable than the 25 cent lollipop.
Every day, we encounter great people with the occasional goblin thrown in. The temptation is there; but, ultimately, our responses are up to us. What do we choose to be: builder or destroyer? sprite or goblin? Blow Pop or blow-hard?