(These thoughts are changed three times a week and cover a wide variety of ideas and insights)
One “Do you know what this is?”
Two “Just a plain ordinary stick, if you ask me.”
One “I ask you alright, but that’s not what it is. It’s a worry stick.”
Two “A what?’
One “A worry stick. I carry it with me everywhere I go. It reminds me to worry. I would like everybody to carry one. Then the whole world would be happy.”
Two “It makes you happy to worry?’
One “Of course. When I worry, I can just feel things getting better. If I don’t worry, there’s no telling what might happen.”
Two “Such as?’
One “Oh, storms, droughts, sickness, my husband might lose his job, my children might die, the house might burn down.”
Two “You are a worry wart, aren’t you?
One “No, I’m a worry-mountain. I’m the biggest worrier in the whole world. I’ve made a practice of worrying for so long that now I can worry about anything. Why do you know I can worry about things no one else even thought of worrying about?”
Two “You’re sick.”
One “No, wise. True worry is true wisdom.”
Two “Where did you read that?’
One “I didn’t. I made it up. I’ve made up some more. Would you like to hear them?”
Two “Not really.”
One “Good. I’ll quote you some. ‘Do not laugh, do not smile, just sit and worry with me awhile.’ Funny, huh? No? Well, here’s another one. ‘If you are going to worry, worry a lot and get your money’s worth.” In fact, I’m taking contributions to start a Worry Foundation.”
Two “A what?’
One “A Worry Foundation. You know, study what worry is. How to promote better worrying. The proper approach to worry in urban and rural situations.”
Two “You’re serious, aren’t you?”
One “Of course, I’m serious. I’m going over to see some of my best friends in the ulcer ward as soon as I get through talking to you.”
Two “Will you be taking that along?’
One “My worry stick? Oh no. When I go places like that, I don’t need this as a reminder. I’ll leave it with you. Well, I really must be going. The best of anxiety to you.”
“How long must I wrestle with my thoughts and every day have sorrow in my heart?…” Psalm 13:2
(For more pithy prose check my new ONE A DAY, YOUR SPIRITUAL VITAMINS http://oneadayyourspiritualvitamins.blogspot.com/
Sunday, July 12, 2009
Friday, July 10, 2009
A MOST UNUSUAL DAY
(New thoughts are added three or four times each week)
He could not explain the feeling. Two words “relevant antiquity” rose up in his consciousness. What in heavens name does that mean? He was not a man given to deep thought.
He wore his forty six years like a badge of honor, not happy with the slight bulge in his mid-section or the beginning of baldness that kept increasing the size of his forehead. He wore glasses for reading and should have worn them for driving. His vision of traffic was as if he were looking through the bottom of a coke bottle. “God”, and he always felt a sense of reverence at the word, “didn’t do me just right in the vision department.”
“The eye is the lamp of the body. If your eyes are good, your whole body will be full of light. But if your eyes are bad, your whole body will be full of darkness. If then the light within you is darkness, how great is that darkness!" He had not meant to be philosophical or theological in his thought. Four more words appeared on the front of his thinking “eternity is an always.”
His breakfast was a monument to habit that never varied. One egg, one cup of coffee, one piece of toast with minimal butter and marmalade. If he varied from this chosen path with two spicy sausages he was never happy with the results. “Blessed are they who hunger and thirst for righteousness.” What was his mind doing to him? He looked skyward, heavenward was his actual consideration. He saw nothing, found no answer. He felt strangely at peace.
Traffic became each day more and more a battlefield and his one-acre of lawn a challenge. If someone had asked him if he was happy he would have replied, “What do you think?” or “Are you trying to be my shrink?”
During the early years of his marriage the sun had shined brightly. Most recently storm clouds hovered or hurried from the horizon more often than he would like to remember. “I am come that you might have peace and that you might have it more abundantly.” He momentarily thought it was the Lord having a personal conversation with him, a rehashing of an old truth. I must be losing my mind. I didn’t initiate any such conversation.
Another long day lay ahead of him. He was terribly weary. He had not slept well. His wife greeted him with a smile and a voice as sweet as the syrup offered for pancakes that sat steaming and ready before him. “What’s this for?” he asked, wary to say the least.
“This is for the pancakes,” she answered. “You’ve been looking tired lately and I thought I would get up a little earlier and fix you something special.” In a state of shock he downed four pancakes, one brimming glass of orange juice and on leaving kissed her goodbye with extra gusto. As he left he called back “Have a nice day darling,” At that moment, even the angels in heaven knew there was something remarkable about this day. “You are the salt of the earth. But if the salt loses its saltiness, how can it be made salty again?” The sun was hardly more than tree high on the horizon and he was remembering old Sunday school lessons or they were remembering him, or both. He shook his head to clear it or something.
As he turned the key the starter on his car made a telltale “karump” in slow motion and then no “karump” at all. The battery had been in its death throes for several weeks now and it had picked this morning for its final demise. And then it happened, or did not happen, however it should be looked at. He did not rave and rant, as he would most normally have done. Instead, he calmly walked back in, called the nearest Auto Shop and was assured that help would soon be on its way. “Must be getting old, can’t even get a good mad on anymore!” As a kind of overlay another thought captured his attention, “God’s in His heavens and all is right with the world.”
An hour and ten minutes later he found himself in the mornings traffic jam. But something was missing. No one seemed to be blasting on their horns. What is happening? It was not so much a question as an observation. It mingled with words that now had a voice behind them, “…I tell you, love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, that you may be sons of your Father in heaven.”
Just ahead as the light turned green a elderly lady stepped in front of his car and slowly began to cross the street. A cacophony of impatience should have happened. It didn’t. Everyone just waited. Not even a single toot from cars way back in line.
The rest of the journey was as it had been all morning. The slow cars stayed on the right. Those in more of a hurry stayed on the left. No one exceeded the speed limit. The morning was brighter than he could ever remember. No, bright was not the word, but he could think of no other word to properly describe it.
Three blocks from the bridge the stop light was out and not a policeman in sight, but by a kind of silent agreement, the cars from the west would proceed for one minute, and then the cars from the south would move ahead for the same period of time. He shook his head several times to see if maybe it wasn’t all a dream.
Since he was so late for work he expected a major confrontation with his manager, a particularly obnoxious individual who majored in vituperation. A long standing joke was that he was the re-incarnation of Scrooge himself.” “Do not judge, or you too will be judged.” The pages of the Bible seemed to be turning back and forth along the avenues of his brain. It made no sense. It made all the sense in the world. “Why do you look at the speck of sawdust in your brother’s eye and pay no attention to the plank in your own eye?”
“Good morning, Mr. Longworthy, sorry to see you late. Have any trouble?” He looked close to see the familiar sarcastic turn of mouth, but it was not there. “Never mind,” the manager continued, “A man who’s not been late in heaven knows how long should certainly be allowed one morning. Am I not right?” He was speechless. He simply shook his head.
“By the way,” the manager continued,” here’s a rush order and I’d appreciate it if you’d get this out ahead of all the other stuff. I know you’ve been overworked lately and I’ll see if I can’t send my secretary over to help you catch up.”
During lunch, he closeted himself in his favorite booth in a local eatery and began to read the morning paper. The first page was a revelation. There was not one murder or assault and battery to be found. There were no accidents on the highway. There were no rapes or robberies.
In the upper left hand corner of the front page was the headline, “Black Cobras go to work on Slums.” The story read, “The Black Cobras, until recently a gang which has been terrorizing it’s neighborhood have organized themselves into Help Battalions. Armed with paint brushes, hammers and nails, instead of guns and switch blades, they are knocking on doors and telling people, ‘We want to make where we all live a place to be proud of. We’d welcome your helping us.” “Be careful not to do your ‘acts of righteousness before men, to be seen by them.” And somehow he knew there was no worry here, his only worry being why he had turned into this constant quoting of scripture or scripture being quoted at him.
On the evening news it was reported that something was happening that could not be explained. “There is a contentment in the air,” said one newscaster. He seemed ready to say something else. Instead he cut to a commercial.
It was further reported that every war that had been in progress had come to a halt, the politicians had stopped posturing and had sat down and were bending over backwards to be fair and unprejudiced in their responses. All soldiers on all sides had been issued orders to lay down their arms. A growing number of CEO’s were asking that their salaries be decreased and the monies used to forestall a number of instances where layoffs would otherwise take place. “Enter through the narrow gate, for wide is the gate and broad is the road that leads to destruction, and many enter through it. But small is the gate and narrow the road that leads to life, and only a few find it.” These were the opening words to every editorial across America. It was like some giant force of good had captured each editors thought and…no one even tried to explain it.
Mr. Longworthy pinched himself to see if he was dreaming. All it produced was a rather loud and punctuated “ouch .“ “…everyone who hears these words of mine and puts them into practice is like a wise man who built his house on a rock.” He was filled with such overwhelming goodwill he almost wept.
As he left the office he called out, “Good night everybody, have a safe trip home.” What’s wrong with me? He thought to himself. I usually leave as grumpy as an old bear.
As he picked up his car in the parking lot the attendant gave him a note with a name and address on it. “Some teen-ager scraped you fender this afternoon as he backed out. He said call him and the two of you could work it out. He said he has no insurance but he’ll pay whatever repairs cost by working at his after school job a little longer.” “…everyone who hears these words of mine and does not put them into practice is like a foolish man who built his house on sand.”
His wife met him at the door with a big smile and hefty hug, “Mr. Nicholson down the street just called. He noticed you ran out of paint just as you were about to finish the fence. He says he has just a little of the same kind left, and you are welcome to it if you want it.”
“Will wonders never cease,” thought Mr. Longworthy. “Mr. Nicholson hasn’t spoken to me for six months. Ever since someone told him I thought he used poor judgement in buying that property out in the boondocks.” Like a giant heavenly email his mind continued to receive the same kind of messages. Without ceasing! Without ceasing!
He wondered if others were receiving messages that were as relevant to the days particular challenges as the ones he had received. Another message was coming through. “I say to you to have no limit to the times you forgive, not seven times, but seventy-seven times.”
He unrolled the evening paper to see if there were any more bits of astounding news. And there it was. BIG BLACK BOLD HEAD LINES: JESUS CHRIST SPEAKS TO THE WORLD. “Almost 2000 years ago, Jesus Christ spoke to the world about a better way of being. “Love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and all thy soul, and all thy mind, and love thy neighbor as thyself.” In an unprecedented world report millions have suddenly began to put these words into practice, experienced their content in a way no one seems able to explain.
By a kind of unbelievable coincidence or imprint of majesty newspaper across the world were writing editorials and reporting news of almost equal content.
And at the top of every page…only four words in 72 point fonts A MOST UNUSUAL DAY.
(For more pithy prose check my new ONE A DAY, YOUR SPIRITUAL VITAMINS http://oneadayyourspiritualvitamins.blogspot.com/)
He could not explain the feeling. Two words “relevant antiquity” rose up in his consciousness. What in heavens name does that mean? He was not a man given to deep thought.
He wore his forty six years like a badge of honor, not happy with the slight bulge in his mid-section or the beginning of baldness that kept increasing the size of his forehead. He wore glasses for reading and should have worn them for driving. His vision of traffic was as if he were looking through the bottom of a coke bottle. “God”, and he always felt a sense of reverence at the word, “didn’t do me just right in the vision department.”
“The eye is the lamp of the body. If your eyes are good, your whole body will be full of light. But if your eyes are bad, your whole body will be full of darkness. If then the light within you is darkness, how great is that darkness!" He had not meant to be philosophical or theological in his thought. Four more words appeared on the front of his thinking “eternity is an always.”
His breakfast was a monument to habit that never varied. One egg, one cup of coffee, one piece of toast with minimal butter and marmalade. If he varied from this chosen path with two spicy sausages he was never happy with the results. “Blessed are they who hunger and thirst for righteousness.” What was his mind doing to him? He looked skyward, heavenward was his actual consideration. He saw nothing, found no answer. He felt strangely at peace.
Traffic became each day more and more a battlefield and his one-acre of lawn a challenge. If someone had asked him if he was happy he would have replied, “What do you think?” or “Are you trying to be my shrink?”
During the early years of his marriage the sun had shined brightly. Most recently storm clouds hovered or hurried from the horizon more often than he would like to remember. “I am come that you might have peace and that you might have it more abundantly.” He momentarily thought it was the Lord having a personal conversation with him, a rehashing of an old truth. I must be losing my mind. I didn’t initiate any such conversation.
Another long day lay ahead of him. He was terribly weary. He had not slept well. His wife greeted him with a smile and a voice as sweet as the syrup offered for pancakes that sat steaming and ready before him. “What’s this for?” he asked, wary to say the least.
“This is for the pancakes,” she answered. “You’ve been looking tired lately and I thought I would get up a little earlier and fix you something special.” In a state of shock he downed four pancakes, one brimming glass of orange juice and on leaving kissed her goodbye with extra gusto. As he left he called back “Have a nice day darling,” At that moment, even the angels in heaven knew there was something remarkable about this day. “You are the salt of the earth. But if the salt loses its saltiness, how can it be made salty again?” The sun was hardly more than tree high on the horizon and he was remembering old Sunday school lessons or they were remembering him, or both. He shook his head to clear it or something.
As he turned the key the starter on his car made a telltale “karump” in slow motion and then no “karump” at all. The battery had been in its death throes for several weeks now and it had picked this morning for its final demise. And then it happened, or did not happen, however it should be looked at. He did not rave and rant, as he would most normally have done. Instead, he calmly walked back in, called the nearest Auto Shop and was assured that help would soon be on its way. “Must be getting old, can’t even get a good mad on anymore!” As a kind of overlay another thought captured his attention, “God’s in His heavens and all is right with the world.”
An hour and ten minutes later he found himself in the mornings traffic jam. But something was missing. No one seemed to be blasting on their horns. What is happening? It was not so much a question as an observation. It mingled with words that now had a voice behind them, “…I tell you, love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, that you may be sons of your Father in heaven.”
Just ahead as the light turned green a elderly lady stepped in front of his car and slowly began to cross the street. A cacophony of impatience should have happened. It didn’t. Everyone just waited. Not even a single toot from cars way back in line.
The rest of the journey was as it had been all morning. The slow cars stayed on the right. Those in more of a hurry stayed on the left. No one exceeded the speed limit. The morning was brighter than he could ever remember. No, bright was not the word, but he could think of no other word to properly describe it.
Three blocks from the bridge the stop light was out and not a policeman in sight, but by a kind of silent agreement, the cars from the west would proceed for one minute, and then the cars from the south would move ahead for the same period of time. He shook his head several times to see if maybe it wasn’t all a dream.
Since he was so late for work he expected a major confrontation with his manager, a particularly obnoxious individual who majored in vituperation. A long standing joke was that he was the re-incarnation of Scrooge himself.” “Do not judge, or you too will be judged.” The pages of the Bible seemed to be turning back and forth along the avenues of his brain. It made no sense. It made all the sense in the world. “Why do you look at the speck of sawdust in your brother’s eye and pay no attention to the plank in your own eye?”
“Good morning, Mr. Longworthy, sorry to see you late. Have any trouble?” He looked close to see the familiar sarcastic turn of mouth, but it was not there. “Never mind,” the manager continued, “A man who’s not been late in heaven knows how long should certainly be allowed one morning. Am I not right?” He was speechless. He simply shook his head.
“By the way,” the manager continued,” here’s a rush order and I’d appreciate it if you’d get this out ahead of all the other stuff. I know you’ve been overworked lately and I’ll see if I can’t send my secretary over to help you catch up.”
During lunch, he closeted himself in his favorite booth in a local eatery and began to read the morning paper. The first page was a revelation. There was not one murder or assault and battery to be found. There were no accidents on the highway. There were no rapes or robberies.
In the upper left hand corner of the front page was the headline, “Black Cobras go to work on Slums.” The story read, “The Black Cobras, until recently a gang which has been terrorizing it’s neighborhood have organized themselves into Help Battalions. Armed with paint brushes, hammers and nails, instead of guns and switch blades, they are knocking on doors and telling people, ‘We want to make where we all live a place to be proud of. We’d welcome your helping us.” “Be careful not to do your ‘acts of righteousness before men, to be seen by them.” And somehow he knew there was no worry here, his only worry being why he had turned into this constant quoting of scripture or scripture being quoted at him.
On the evening news it was reported that something was happening that could not be explained. “There is a contentment in the air,” said one newscaster. He seemed ready to say something else. Instead he cut to a commercial.
It was further reported that every war that had been in progress had come to a halt, the politicians had stopped posturing and had sat down and were bending over backwards to be fair and unprejudiced in their responses. All soldiers on all sides had been issued orders to lay down their arms. A growing number of CEO’s were asking that their salaries be decreased and the monies used to forestall a number of instances where layoffs would otherwise take place. “Enter through the narrow gate, for wide is the gate and broad is the road that leads to destruction, and many enter through it. But small is the gate and narrow the road that leads to life, and only a few find it.” These were the opening words to every editorial across America. It was like some giant force of good had captured each editors thought and…no one even tried to explain it.
Mr. Longworthy pinched himself to see if he was dreaming. All it produced was a rather loud and punctuated “ouch .“ “…everyone who hears these words of mine and puts them into practice is like a wise man who built his house on a rock.” He was filled with such overwhelming goodwill he almost wept.
As he left the office he called out, “Good night everybody, have a safe trip home.” What’s wrong with me? He thought to himself. I usually leave as grumpy as an old bear.
As he picked up his car in the parking lot the attendant gave him a note with a name and address on it. “Some teen-ager scraped you fender this afternoon as he backed out. He said call him and the two of you could work it out. He said he has no insurance but he’ll pay whatever repairs cost by working at his after school job a little longer.” “…everyone who hears these words of mine and does not put them into practice is like a foolish man who built his house on sand.”
His wife met him at the door with a big smile and hefty hug, “Mr. Nicholson down the street just called. He noticed you ran out of paint just as you were about to finish the fence. He says he has just a little of the same kind left, and you are welcome to it if you want it.”
“Will wonders never cease,” thought Mr. Longworthy. “Mr. Nicholson hasn’t spoken to me for six months. Ever since someone told him I thought he used poor judgement in buying that property out in the boondocks.” Like a giant heavenly email his mind continued to receive the same kind of messages. Without ceasing! Without ceasing!
He wondered if others were receiving messages that were as relevant to the days particular challenges as the ones he had received. Another message was coming through. “I say to you to have no limit to the times you forgive, not seven times, but seventy-seven times.”
He unrolled the evening paper to see if there were any more bits of astounding news. And there it was. BIG BLACK BOLD HEAD LINES: JESUS CHRIST SPEAKS TO THE WORLD. “Almost 2000 years ago, Jesus Christ spoke to the world about a better way of being. “Love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and all thy soul, and all thy mind, and love thy neighbor as thyself.” In an unprecedented world report millions have suddenly began to put these words into practice, experienced their content in a way no one seems able to explain.
By a kind of unbelievable coincidence or imprint of majesty newspaper across the world were writing editorials and reporting news of almost equal content.
And at the top of every page…only four words in 72 point fonts A MOST UNUSUAL DAY.
(For more pithy prose check my new ONE A DAY, YOUR SPIRITUAL VITAMINS http://oneadayyourspiritualvitamins.blogspot.com/)
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
JUST SOME THOUGHTS ON HOW TO ACHIEVE MORE DAYS OF BETTER LIVING
JUST SOME THOUGHTS ON HOW TO ACHIEVE MORE DAYS OF BETTER LIVING!
(These thoughts are added to three times each week and run the gamut of subjects and insights)
1. Putting your foot in your mouth isn’t all bad…that way you may think before you speak.
2. Love is a prescription you need to fill often and take regularly.
3. Everyone deserves your best and not your worst. And even if they don’t…you need to give it.
4. No one is perfect, so learn to live with each other’s imperfections.
5. When you make bitterness a business partner you court emotional bankruptcy.
6. You should keep your words soft and tender, because tomorrow you may have to eat them.
7. A frown is an expensive way to loose friends and not influence people.
8. You can’t choose how you feel, but you can chose how you act. A reminder…You can’t help it when the bad birds fly but you don’t have to let them make a nest in your hair.
9. It isn’t how many enemies you have but whether you are willing to ask yourself why they are your enemies.
10. Where you live isn’t as important as how you live.
(For more pithy prose check my new ONE A DAY, YOUR SPIRITUAL VITAMINS http://oneadayyourspiritualvitamins.blogspot.com/)
(These thoughts are added to three times each week and run the gamut of subjects and insights)
1. Putting your foot in your mouth isn’t all bad…that way you may think before you speak.
2. Love is a prescription you need to fill often and take regularly.
3. Everyone deserves your best and not your worst. And even if they don’t…you need to give it.
4. No one is perfect, so learn to live with each other’s imperfections.
5. When you make bitterness a business partner you court emotional bankruptcy.
6. You should keep your words soft and tender, because tomorrow you may have to eat them.
7. A frown is an expensive way to loose friends and not influence people.
8. You can’t choose how you feel, but you can chose how you act. A reminder…You can’t help it when the bad birds fly but you don’t have to let them make a nest in your hair.
9. It isn’t how many enemies you have but whether you are willing to ask yourself why they are your enemies.
10. Where you live isn’t as important as how you live.
(For more pithy prose check my new ONE A DAY, YOUR SPIRITUAL VITAMINS http://oneadayyourspiritualvitamins.blogspot.com/)
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
A GOOD DESTINY IS OPPORTUNITY WITH A SMILE ON ITS FACE
(These thoughts are changed three times a week and cover a gamut of subjects, approaches and insights) (STARTING TODAY JULY 7TH (a new blog) ONE A DAY YOUR SPIRITUAL VITAMINS)http://oneadayyourspiritualvitamins.blogspot.com/
or type into google the title ONE A DAY, YOUR SPIRITUAL VITAMINS
In the year 1880, a homeless little Chinese boy wandered the docks of Shanghai. When no one was looking he smuggled himself aboard an American vessel loading cargo. For days he hid in a drain where garbage and rubbish were daily dumped. For days he fought the rats for the stinking scraps that were thrown through the opening above him.
Finally, however, it became too much even for his determination so he climbed out of his hiding place and was discovered. It was the custom in those days to throw stowaways overboard with neither sympathy nor ceremony. But the captain of the ship, a man by the name of Charles Jones, was strangely drawn to this indomitable spirit.
So he kept the boy with him for the remainder of the voyage and fed him back to some semblance of health. When the boat docked at Wilmington, North Carolina, he turned the boy over to the minister of the church he attended when in port.
The minister befriended this tiny package of humanity and named him Charlie, after the captain who had saved him. Raised in the minister's home, when Charlie grew older he went away to Trinity College (now Duke University). Then he entered a theological seminary from which he graduated and was ordained.
Returning to China, he married a Chinese girl and set up a home out of which came six children. One daughter became the wife of the Minister of Finance; another daughter became the wife of Sun Yat-sen, founder of the Chinese Republic; and the third daughter became the wife of Chiang Kai-shek. One son became the founder of the Bank of China; another son became the Collector of customs of Chinese ports; and the third son became the manager of the export-import business of China. So the Soong dynasty was founded.
If there is a lesson here it can be learned from a sea captain who when he first went to sea never knew how a simple act of love and kindness would change the world.
And, yes what opportunity awaits each of us around the next bend in the road. And will we take it or pass it by, never to know what might have been.
or type into google the title ONE A DAY, YOUR SPIRITUAL VITAMINS
In the year 1880, a homeless little Chinese boy wandered the docks of Shanghai. When no one was looking he smuggled himself aboard an American vessel loading cargo. For days he hid in a drain where garbage and rubbish were daily dumped. For days he fought the rats for the stinking scraps that were thrown through the opening above him.
Finally, however, it became too much even for his determination so he climbed out of his hiding place and was discovered. It was the custom in those days to throw stowaways overboard with neither sympathy nor ceremony. But the captain of the ship, a man by the name of Charles Jones, was strangely drawn to this indomitable spirit.
So he kept the boy with him for the remainder of the voyage and fed him back to some semblance of health. When the boat docked at Wilmington, North Carolina, he turned the boy over to the minister of the church he attended when in port.
The minister befriended this tiny package of humanity and named him Charlie, after the captain who had saved him. Raised in the minister's home, when Charlie grew older he went away to Trinity College (now Duke University). Then he entered a theological seminary from which he graduated and was ordained.
Returning to China, he married a Chinese girl and set up a home out of which came six children. One daughter became the wife of the Minister of Finance; another daughter became the wife of Sun Yat-sen, founder of the Chinese Republic; and the third daughter became the wife of Chiang Kai-shek. One son became the founder of the Bank of China; another son became the Collector of customs of Chinese ports; and the third son became the manager of the export-import business of China. So the Soong dynasty was founded.
If there is a lesson here it can be learned from a sea captain who when he first went to sea never knew how a simple act of love and kindness would change the world.
And, yes what opportunity awaits each of us around the next bend in the road. And will we take it or pass it by, never to know what might have been.
Monday, July 6, 2009
PICKED AND PRECIOUS
(These thoughts are changed three times a week and cover a gamut of subjects, approaches and insights) (For those of you who continue to share with friends; thanks)
To be adopted is not a secret to be kept with shame. It is a glory to be shouted to the sky. It means you were not an accident to be taken care of with regrets, but picked and precious in the picking, you were on a loving wanted list.
If you are adopted, it means you were not chosen for a party, a game, or an afternoon, but for a lifetime. That pulse-beat of joy in your mother’s eyes says you were a rose plucked from a glorious garden of little angels; homeless but not unwanted, tightly bound, not by flesh and blood, but by a great cohesion called love. Can you, an adopted child, be loved as much as if you were not adopted? Why not? Your adoptive parents are not flesh of flesh, or blood of blood, yet they are one.
To be adopted is not a secret to be kept with shame. It is a glory to be shouted to the sky. It means you were not an accident to be taken care of with regrets, but picked and precious in the picking, you were on a loving wanted list.
If you are adopted, it means you were not chosen for a party, a game, or an afternoon, but for a lifetime. That pulse-beat of joy in your mother’s eyes says you were a rose plucked from a glorious garden of little angels; homeless but not unwanted, tightly bound, not by flesh and blood, but by a great cohesion called love. Can you, an adopted child, be loved as much as if you were not adopted? Why not? Your adoptive parents are not flesh of flesh, or blood of blood, yet they are one.
Saturday, July 4, 2009
GRIEF AND SURVIVAL
(These thoughts are added to three or four times each week and cover a wide variety of subjects and insights)
This is much longer than anything I usually write on this blog but as I began to write I realized that to do justice to the subject I could not do otherwise.
It is largely a rewrite of what I wrote several months ago. Are there some new thoughts below newly expressed? Yes, that too.
I am presenting it again because it has now been buried in time and new readers may not have read it.
In my counseling I have seen first hand, so many times, how sorrow, for whatever reason rips and tears at the human psyche. And I have seen how some of the insights below have touched particular needs in a practical and positive way. There are FIFTY FIVE YEARS of listening and learning and studying behind these comments. I can but hope they have some of the healing balm in them.
GRIEF HURTS. It is a knife that cuts and rips and slashes and makes us cry out in terrible pain. It is an agony of the soul. When it comes, we feel out of control.
All of us have experienced it for one reason or the other: death, terrible sickness in our own bodies or the bodies of those we love, divorce, the loss of a career, the loss of a child. It comes in different guises, but in some form it ALWAYS COMES TO EVERYONE. It always does.
HOW BEST THEN CAN WE DEAL this emotional winter storm? This ripping and tearing at our stability. Some weep until there are no more tears left to cry with. Some try to drown their sorrow in a bottle or the impact of a pill. Some try to repress their heartache and, like a kettle with no escape valve, eventually explode.
But some…some take their wounded selves to God. And there, before the compassionate throne of grace, cry out, “Dear Lord, let them debate the psychology of loss in the classroom, trying philosophically to dissect it - I am beyond that. I ask now only for YOUR SPECIAL SOLACE.”
And what is God’s special solace? “It is the GIFT of being that allows us to laugh in the face of time and bow in awe at the opening of Eternity.” (anonymous)
One thing is for sure, WE ALL HANDLE THE EMOTION of anguish differently.
A husband and wife spent many weekends fishing together. When she asked for a divorce and left him – he never fished again.
A father and son played golf together each Saturday morning. When the boy was killed in an automobile accident – the father put their clubs out for the trash man.
Two friends enjoyed hiking together.
Then they had a terrible fight and went their separate ways. Afterwards, one of them never again walked the forest.
Would you ease your own GRIEVING TIME? Then go out, and though still hurting or remembering how badly once you hurt, use your personal knowledge of pain to help others. Sharing your remembrances will hurt, but it will remind the one to whom you speak that thay are not alone and that someone is now caring enough to give their very best.
Yes, search for some other HURTING SURVIVOR. Hold the palsied hand of someone old and alone, or give patient love to a little lad or lass who obviously gets very little of it at home. Be a loving friend who takes a day off from work to stand in those final moments by a grave with someone who knows you went out of your way to show you care. You are too busy? Oh, yes...if this is a speed bump on your way toward active compassion...you are indeed too busy.
In other words, move from the theological to the practical. Study the Sermon on the Mount and start building your OWN LITTLE HILL OF CONCERN.
Helen Keller was deaf, dumb and blind, but she didn’t spend her life sitting alone in dark, dumb, dingy silence feeling sorry for herself. Did not burden herself by grieving for a life that might have been. Rather she got up every morning and WENT OUT. Went out to where the birds were singing, and people were talking and the world was living, all of which she could neither hear nor see. Went out to pour the sweet perfume of noble thoughts on others and feel some of it splashing back upon herself.
Don’t misunderstand me, she wasn’t born with this wonderful attitude. In her youth she would literally flail at family and teachers, making loud almost animal-like sounds of frustration. She was daily angry and allowed herself to be filled with hopelessness. Then one day, her teacher got through to her that there is more than one kind of blindness. That, yes, there is physical blindness that cannot see light, but there is also spiritual emotional blindness that will not search for light. And so she decided to make the most of life and not the least, to look for the best and not the worst. She decided not to daily grieve over her misfortune, but instead deal with it with a multitude of positive actions minute by minute, hour by hour, day by day until she had lived out a lifetime of service.
More than once I have placed my hand on the shoulder of another human being bent low with hurting and said, “Weep…cry…. Slowly siphon it out of your system. Then turn and begin to walk away from your wounding. Otherwise, you but nurture A GHOST that will haunt you the rest of your days.” In short, when pain and problem come, pray deeply and then deeper still, do all you can and then get on with living.
Over and over again we must seek to turn our stumbling block called grief into A STEPPING STONE.
Would you find healing or advise someone else how to find healing? Sup then on those things that feed and soothe your soul. Walk outside and breathe in the spirit of CREATION speaking to you from the existence of millions of blinking stars. Look up at the universe and feel the eternal extension of it. Walk quietly where there is the roar of an ocean shouting its power against the shore, or the rippling of a stream playing its musical notes against the stones, or the hint of a new day blushing the horizon. Plant a seed. Hold a leaf in your hand. Henry David Thoreau in his little house by Walden Pond once wrote, “Earth’s crammed with heaven, and every common bush (is) aflame with God.”
Do not succumb to thoughts that are TATTLE GRAY. When tears are falling, the first thing you need to do is paint the dull, dead landscape of your thinking with colorful thoughts and a colorful faith. Things are not going well so you are not thinking bright yellow or bold red? It is understandable.
Should you attend a funeral service in PULSING PINK? Probably not, but permanent black for an incessant forever isn’t a good idea either. You want to be alone when your world has come apart at the seams? Quite likely. But this is why you shouldn’t give in to giving up. Rather unclench your fist and reach for heaven's radiance. Let loose the vigor of God on the lethargy of your sorrow.
“Grief,” said Disraeli, “is the agony of an instant. The indulgence of grief is the BLUNDER of a lifetime.”
There is a thin line between those who have CONQUERED LIFE or been conquered by it. Each additional year of living does not necessarily bring maturity, sainthood and sweetness, or spiritual wisdom. Strength is not an automatic.
What then to do?
Believe God chose your day of birth and knows your day of death as he did and does for those you love and are or were loved by. These are two very important decisions that are His and His alone. And accepting this knowledge is A GOOD PLACE TO START in the battle for stability.
It’s the last thing you want to do when you are overcome with grief but force yourself to watch a funny movie. Read a funny book. Laugh at a funny cartoon. It is a prescription from the book of Proverbs, “THE CHEERFUL HEART is good medicine.” (Proverbs 17:22)
Go for the gusto in mind, body and spirit and it pays off. But when you have done all you can, in ever way you can to solve a problem or a pain, don’t beat your head bloody and your soul ragged continuing after the impossible.
Learn to finally say and mean, “I am thine Lord. I present myself as a spiritual sponge. Ready to absorb at whatever pace solace comes. Give me patience for I DO NOT HAVE IT and it looks like I am not going to find any immediate. You are mine and I am thine. Stamp this truth upon every fiber of my being.
If grieving is caused by what we no longer have, cannot thanksgiving for what we do still have be of help? There is much truth in the words, It is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.
James Barrie put it this way, “God gave us memories that we (might) have roses in December,”
This is much longer than anything I usually write on this blog but as I began to write I realized that to do justice to the subject I could not do otherwise.
It is largely a rewrite of what I wrote several months ago. Are there some new thoughts below newly expressed? Yes, that too.
I am presenting it again because it has now been buried in time and new readers may not have read it.
In my counseling I have seen first hand, so many times, how sorrow, for whatever reason rips and tears at the human psyche. And I have seen how some of the insights below have touched particular needs in a practical and positive way. There are FIFTY FIVE YEARS of listening and learning and studying behind these comments. I can but hope they have some of the healing balm in them.
GRIEF HURTS. It is a knife that cuts and rips and slashes and makes us cry out in terrible pain. It is an agony of the soul. When it comes, we feel out of control.
All of us have experienced it for one reason or the other: death, terrible sickness in our own bodies or the bodies of those we love, divorce, the loss of a career, the loss of a child. It comes in different guises, but in some form it ALWAYS COMES TO EVERYONE. It always does.
HOW BEST THEN CAN WE DEAL this emotional winter storm? This ripping and tearing at our stability. Some weep until there are no more tears left to cry with. Some try to drown their sorrow in a bottle or the impact of a pill. Some try to repress their heartache and, like a kettle with no escape valve, eventually explode.
But some…some take their wounded selves to God. And there, before the compassionate throne of grace, cry out, “Dear Lord, let them debate the psychology of loss in the classroom, trying philosophically to dissect it - I am beyond that. I ask now only for YOUR SPECIAL SOLACE.”
And what is God’s special solace? “It is the GIFT of being that allows us to laugh in the face of time and bow in awe at the opening of Eternity.” (anonymous)
One thing is for sure, WE ALL HANDLE THE EMOTION of anguish differently.
A husband and wife spent many weekends fishing together. When she asked for a divorce and left him – he never fished again.
A father and son played golf together each Saturday morning. When the boy was killed in an automobile accident – the father put their clubs out for the trash man.
Two friends enjoyed hiking together.
Then they had a terrible fight and went their separate ways. Afterwards, one of them never again walked the forest.
Would you ease your own GRIEVING TIME? Then go out, and though still hurting or remembering how badly once you hurt, use your personal knowledge of pain to help others. Sharing your remembrances will hurt, but it will remind the one to whom you speak that thay are not alone and that someone is now caring enough to give their very best.
Yes, search for some other HURTING SURVIVOR. Hold the palsied hand of someone old and alone, or give patient love to a little lad or lass who obviously gets very little of it at home. Be a loving friend who takes a day off from work to stand in those final moments by a grave with someone who knows you went out of your way to show you care. You are too busy? Oh, yes...if this is a speed bump on your way toward active compassion...you are indeed too busy.
In other words, move from the theological to the practical. Study the Sermon on the Mount and start building your OWN LITTLE HILL OF CONCERN.
Helen Keller was deaf, dumb and blind, but she didn’t spend her life sitting alone in dark, dumb, dingy silence feeling sorry for herself. Did not burden herself by grieving for a life that might have been. Rather she got up every morning and WENT OUT. Went out to where the birds were singing, and people were talking and the world was living, all of which she could neither hear nor see. Went out to pour the sweet perfume of noble thoughts on others and feel some of it splashing back upon herself.
Don’t misunderstand me, she wasn’t born with this wonderful attitude. In her youth she would literally flail at family and teachers, making loud almost animal-like sounds of frustration. She was daily angry and allowed herself to be filled with hopelessness. Then one day, her teacher got through to her that there is more than one kind of blindness. That, yes, there is physical blindness that cannot see light, but there is also spiritual emotional blindness that will not search for light. And so she decided to make the most of life and not the least, to look for the best and not the worst. She decided not to daily grieve over her misfortune, but instead deal with it with a multitude of positive actions minute by minute, hour by hour, day by day until she had lived out a lifetime of service.
More than once I have placed my hand on the shoulder of another human being bent low with hurting and said, “Weep…cry…. Slowly siphon it out of your system. Then turn and begin to walk away from your wounding. Otherwise, you but nurture A GHOST that will haunt you the rest of your days.” In short, when pain and problem come, pray deeply and then deeper still, do all you can and then get on with living.
Over and over again we must seek to turn our stumbling block called grief into A STEPPING STONE.
Would you find healing or advise someone else how to find healing? Sup then on those things that feed and soothe your soul. Walk outside and breathe in the spirit of CREATION speaking to you from the existence of millions of blinking stars. Look up at the universe and feel the eternal extension of it. Walk quietly where there is the roar of an ocean shouting its power against the shore, or the rippling of a stream playing its musical notes against the stones, or the hint of a new day blushing the horizon. Plant a seed. Hold a leaf in your hand. Henry David Thoreau in his little house by Walden Pond once wrote, “Earth’s crammed with heaven, and every common bush (is) aflame with God.”
Do not succumb to thoughts that are TATTLE GRAY. When tears are falling, the first thing you need to do is paint the dull, dead landscape of your thinking with colorful thoughts and a colorful faith. Things are not going well so you are not thinking bright yellow or bold red? It is understandable.
Should you attend a funeral service in PULSING PINK? Probably not, but permanent black for an incessant forever isn’t a good idea either. You want to be alone when your world has come apart at the seams? Quite likely. But this is why you shouldn’t give in to giving up. Rather unclench your fist and reach for heaven's radiance. Let loose the vigor of God on the lethargy of your sorrow.
“Grief,” said Disraeli, “is the agony of an instant. The indulgence of grief is the BLUNDER of a lifetime.”
There is a thin line between those who have CONQUERED LIFE or been conquered by it. Each additional year of living does not necessarily bring maturity, sainthood and sweetness, or spiritual wisdom. Strength is not an automatic.
What then to do?
Believe God chose your day of birth and knows your day of death as he did and does for those you love and are or were loved by. These are two very important decisions that are His and His alone. And accepting this knowledge is A GOOD PLACE TO START in the battle for stability.
It’s the last thing you want to do when you are overcome with grief but force yourself to watch a funny movie. Read a funny book. Laugh at a funny cartoon. It is a prescription from the book of Proverbs, “THE CHEERFUL HEART is good medicine.” (Proverbs 17:22)
Go for the gusto in mind, body and spirit and it pays off. But when you have done all you can, in ever way you can to solve a problem or a pain, don’t beat your head bloody and your soul ragged continuing after the impossible.
Learn to finally say and mean, “I am thine Lord. I present myself as a spiritual sponge. Ready to absorb at whatever pace solace comes. Give me patience for I DO NOT HAVE IT and it looks like I am not going to find any immediate. You are mine and I am thine. Stamp this truth upon every fiber of my being.
If grieving is caused by what we no longer have, cannot thanksgiving for what we do still have be of help? There is much truth in the words, It is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.
James Barrie put it this way, “God gave us memories that we (might) have roses in December,”
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
HE SAID, I'LL GIVE IT 200 YEARS
HE SAID, “I’LL GIVE IT 200 YEARS”
(The readers of this commentary blog continue to grow at a rapid rate because so many of you share the writings with friends. Thank you. Neil Wyrick)
Try to imagine Ben Franklin and fifty-five other Founding Fathers sweltering in Independence Hall in Philadelphia in 125 DEGREES HEAT. It was July but the real reason it was so hot inside the hall was that all the doors and windows were shut as tight as a drum. They rightly realized that in order to accomplish the job set before them, there must be no leaks for either press or gossipers to spread far and wide. Thank goodness they were equal to the task of putting together a Declaration of Independence that has become a model for all the world to follow.
It certainly was not a lack of courage that led these men to chose to become a part of this group so revered down through the years. FIVE, BRANDED AS TRAITORS, were captured by the British forces. Five others watched their homes stripped bare and then burned to the ground. The sons of two of them paid the ultimate sacrifice. Nine died of wounds sustained in battle or from the hardships of war itself.
Many of them inherited poverty and loss of property for their trouble. They were always on the run, LOOKING OVER THEIR SHOULDERS. Sure that what they had done was right; unsure of the final victory that did gloriously come to pass. But then, it could not have come as any surprise. Voluntarily they had put their heads and hearts on the line. Voluntarily they were resolute to the end.
THEY WERE A DIVERSE GROUP. Eleven brought to the signing table skills as merchants which hardly prepared them for what was to come. Twenty-four came equipped with legal skills. Nine were farmers who were more accustomed to growing crops than a harvest of freedom. Just ordinary men at first glance, but were they? For all brought a sense of dedication that raised them head and shoulders above the common crowd.
Therefore, with the spirits of George Washington, Benjamin Franklin, John Adams and Thomas Jefferson looking over our shoulders, let us sing “Happy Birthday” to this great land. Lady of Liberty with outstretched arms, we salute you. On this Fourth of July we will fly the flag that once held a lesser number of stars but certainly no less degree of love for our beloved country.
How do those songs go that raise our spirits in the singing of them? “My country tis of thee, sweet land of liberty.” “O beautiful for spacious skies, for amber waves of grain.” “Oh, say, can you see, by the dawns early light.”
Home of the brave, land of the free. What a heritage. What a responsibility.
It has been awhile since I have been back to Washington, D.C., but I will soon be going again. It is a needed journey to remind myself of all THOSE MAGNIFICENT YESTERDAYS. To stand and look up at the face of Lincoln. To linger by the Vietnam Memorial and the new monument to the fighting forces in World War II. To visit the Smithsonian and have so much of yesterday no more than a fingertip away.
Have you in the last few reading minutes perhaps started to think of that bearded patriot with the steely eyes TO WHOM WE ARE ALL RELATED. Uncle Sam dressed in striped pants, long-tailed coat and a tall hat covered with stars and stripes.
Or, have you thought of the bald eagle made the symbol of America in 1782? Better than the turkey that Ben Franklin first suggested. Perhaps your mind has focused on the Liberty Bell that was rung as the Declaration of Independence was being signed.
One thing is for sure, the world is filled with millions who want to live here; live here in this place with all its warts, a country over two hundred years old and not yet done.
Benjamin Franklin, after he had signed the Constitution threw it down upon the table and said, “I’LL GIVE IT TWO HUNDRED YEARS” He never thought it would last any longer than that because he knew that the greatest danger to freedom is freedom itself. And that there are not enough policemen or soldiers to keep freedom alive and well, only self-discipline can do that. That’s you and I wanting freedom enough we will vote each time we have the chance. Obey the laws when no one is looking. And define freedom not only by how we enjoy it but how we are also willing to give it to each and every one of our fellow citizens.
(The readers of this commentary blog continue to grow at a rapid rate because so many of you share the writings with friends. Thank you. Neil Wyrick)
Try to imagine Ben Franklin and fifty-five other Founding Fathers sweltering in Independence Hall in Philadelphia in 125 DEGREES HEAT. It was July but the real reason it was so hot inside the hall was that all the doors and windows were shut as tight as a drum. They rightly realized that in order to accomplish the job set before them, there must be no leaks for either press or gossipers to spread far and wide. Thank goodness they were equal to the task of putting together a Declaration of Independence that has become a model for all the world to follow.
It certainly was not a lack of courage that led these men to chose to become a part of this group so revered down through the years. FIVE, BRANDED AS TRAITORS, were captured by the British forces. Five others watched their homes stripped bare and then burned to the ground. The sons of two of them paid the ultimate sacrifice. Nine died of wounds sustained in battle or from the hardships of war itself.
Many of them inherited poverty and loss of property for their trouble. They were always on the run, LOOKING OVER THEIR SHOULDERS. Sure that what they had done was right; unsure of the final victory that did gloriously come to pass. But then, it could not have come as any surprise. Voluntarily they had put their heads and hearts on the line. Voluntarily they were resolute to the end.
THEY WERE A DIVERSE GROUP. Eleven brought to the signing table skills as merchants which hardly prepared them for what was to come. Twenty-four came equipped with legal skills. Nine were farmers who were more accustomed to growing crops than a harvest of freedom. Just ordinary men at first glance, but were they? For all brought a sense of dedication that raised them head and shoulders above the common crowd.
Therefore, with the spirits of George Washington, Benjamin Franklin, John Adams and Thomas Jefferson looking over our shoulders, let us sing “Happy Birthday” to this great land. Lady of Liberty with outstretched arms, we salute you. On this Fourth of July we will fly the flag that once held a lesser number of stars but certainly no less degree of love for our beloved country.
How do those songs go that raise our spirits in the singing of them? “My country tis of thee, sweet land of liberty.” “O beautiful for spacious skies, for amber waves of grain.” “Oh, say, can you see, by the dawns early light.”
Home of the brave, land of the free. What a heritage. What a responsibility.
It has been awhile since I have been back to Washington, D.C., but I will soon be going again. It is a needed journey to remind myself of all THOSE MAGNIFICENT YESTERDAYS. To stand and look up at the face of Lincoln. To linger by the Vietnam Memorial and the new monument to the fighting forces in World War II. To visit the Smithsonian and have so much of yesterday no more than a fingertip away.
Have you in the last few reading minutes perhaps started to think of that bearded patriot with the steely eyes TO WHOM WE ARE ALL RELATED. Uncle Sam dressed in striped pants, long-tailed coat and a tall hat covered with stars and stripes.
Or, have you thought of the bald eagle made the symbol of America in 1782? Better than the turkey that Ben Franklin first suggested. Perhaps your mind has focused on the Liberty Bell that was rung as the Declaration of Independence was being signed.
One thing is for sure, the world is filled with millions who want to live here; live here in this place with all its warts, a country over two hundred years old and not yet done.
Benjamin Franklin, after he had signed the Constitution threw it down upon the table and said, “I’LL GIVE IT TWO HUNDRED YEARS” He never thought it would last any longer than that because he knew that the greatest danger to freedom is freedom itself. And that there are not enough policemen or soldiers to keep freedom alive and well, only self-discipline can do that. That’s you and I wanting freedom enough we will vote each time we have the chance. Obey the laws when no one is looking. And define freedom not only by how we enjoy it but how we are also willing to give it to each and every one of our fellow citizens.
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