Countless

Countless: (adj) too numerous to count; innumerable

I often get very confused over the hunters, gatherers and nesters—who is who and what is what, and certainly, why is why. Perhaps there isn’t a category for everything.funny wisdom on words that begin with a C

When I was a child, I remember that we sang a hymn in church called “Count Your Blessings.” According to the tune, we were supposed to name them, one by one.

I found it fascinating.

God, who is a Spirit—who doesn’t possess physical objects as a symbol of His worth, wants us to sit around and tally what we’ve accumulated to prove that He gives a damn. Really?

Somewhere along the line, we’ve traded in the meaning of life for a comfortable explanation which can offered at a party.

This is the power of the word “countless.” Even though it tips its hat—or in this case, front—to the word “count,” it quickly warns us that trying to assess our value, the esteem of others, the purpose of the Universe or the favor of God by numbering our blessings, is not only fruitless, but smacks of pernicious arrogance.

I remember sitting on the side of the road with a flat tire, and turning to my friends and saying, “What a beautiful day it is to be stopped.”

The reaction, though not verbal, was a combination of unnecessary admiration for my optimism and aggravation over the same.

I wasn’t trying to be coy. Nor was I attempting to be clever and positive.

What I was trying to communicate was that no matter what happens to us, the true blessing of life, which is the ability to breathe, choose and function, cannot be counted.

It is countless.


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Coulter

Coulter: (n) a surname

I have made it a practice to never insert someone’s real name into one of my essays or articles. Whatever that person and I chose to do in our adult moments of living shouldn’t be regaled for all the world to read. At least I owe them that.funny wisdom on words that begin with a C

But I could not help myself when I rolled across the name Coulter, and realized that a very dear friend by that name once strolled into my life and took me from a status of nearly homeless to a position in which my music and art was given the chance to be considered as viable.

Coulter was my friend. He was part of a music group I joined, and in no time at all they had me singing his vocal parts. Rather than being angry or jealous, Coulter was appreciative and supportive.

He tried many things. Coulter’s problem was that he was good at everything he attempted.

For instance, he started working at a doughnut shop and within two months, they made him manager. (I benefited from that experience, because my wife and I were without an actual place to sleep at night, nor regular food.) Coulter always provided a big box of day-old doughnuts, which he set outside the back door of the establishment with his blessing)

He always believed that underneath my neediness—and sometimes grubbiness—there was someone worthy to be heard. Eventually, because of his love of the entertainment business, he started his own agency to book acts. Completely in line with his employment history, in no time at all he had a stable of artists and was scheduling them into everything from conventions to churches to county fairs.

He helped our fledgling group along, throwing us work every now and then, and when I wrote my first musical theater piece, he became so excited that he found ten investors, who gave a thousand dollars each to fund the effort.

He not only helped me put together the cast for the production, but also got on the phone and scheduled dates in twenty-five cities around the country, so we could go and perform it.

He was so enthralled with the music from the play that he wanted to promote to large publishing concerns. All he needed from me were lead sheets and chord charts. Unfortunately, my technical knowledge of music was limited, and I ended up handing him materials which were pitiful and comical at the same time.

But he never held it against me. He never became enraged or upset about anything.

Even when we were in the midst of promoting our musical play, and a minister who believed he possessed both the knowledge of God’s will and the right to judge others who didn’t understand, attacked Coulter because he heard rumors that my friend was a homosexual (that’s back when they were homosexuals instead of gay) Coulter refused to retaliate.

Even though I was a stupid kid with a gnat’s worth of sense, I defended him and stood up against the Pharisee. It’s one of the better things I ever did in my life.

I don’t know where Coulter is today—or even if he is today.

But wherever he may be, I want him to know that his good buddy turned out okay—due in large part to a friend who arrived in the early days with a box of doughnut—just at the right time.


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Cosponsor

Cosponsor: (n) a joint sponsor, as of a legislative bill.

I’ve decided to make my life much easier.

Although there are individuals who extol the magnitude and glory of a difficult journey, I have found that the simpler and less stressful I make my time on Earth, the more sense it makes and certainly the greater my enjoyment.

I have tried for years to sponsor ideas. I will never stop.

For there are certain things that are occasionally thrown overboard because we feel we no longer need them, which end up being necessary for the human race to stay afloat.funny wisdom on words that begin with a C

I will continue to speak about these things in a gentle tone with my tongue situated in my cheek and a twinkle in my eye.

But my great new pursuit, which is already fulfilling, is to cosponsor the notions that are coming from other people which are sympathetic to the survival of all the brothers and sisters in the house we call Earth.

There is a power in believing that those who are not against us are actually for us.

Although you may gain spiritual dominance and political hay by isolating off enemies which are targeted by your constituency, discovering the common points of hurt and the touchstones of blessing is truly a significant breath of fresh air and an ice-cold drink in the heat of turmoil.

When you have a good idea, I will not only “yea” it, I will “amen” it. I don’t care if you’re Republican, Democrat, Chinese, Native American, male, female, LGBTQ or plus anything else.

I am looking for ideals which have not been corrupted and continue to sparkle with the gleam of hope.

I will cosponsor them.

They don’t have to be of my doing.

I don’t have to be the author nor the finisher.

I just have to see the faith.


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Convent

Convent: (n) a community of persons devoted to religious life under a superior.  

 I’ve never been motivated by fear, even when some of it may have been legitimate.

I cannot stand to be intimidated and frightened just so somebody will believe that I’m adequately aware of a pending horror.

I have been a fortunate man because my journey has taken me every place I wanted to go, and many places I did not envision going but ended up benefitting me.funny wisdom on words that begin with a C

I once found myself, along with my family, staying for two days at a convent. It was an experience. Let me tell you the difference between “experience” and “blessing:”

A blessing is something you wish would go on forever.

An experience, though initially pleasant, is something you are overjoyed has an expiration date.

The women living in the convent, serving God, praying, and taking vows of both chastity and poverty, were some of the sweetest, gentlest and kindest souls I had ever met. But after about thirty-six hours, I discovered that their profile and practices were initiated through a fear of being displeasing to their Master—their husband. God.

Over breakfast one morning, I shared with these lovely souls my intention to write a novel on the life of Jesus, with him telling his own story. I felt confident that they would be moved by such an adventure. The intimacy we had shared over the stay made me relaxed, and I was forthcoming about details.

They were shocked.

They were offended.

Matter of fact, they pleaded with me to not write such a book, because it would “be offensive to God.”

Honestly, the last thing in the world I wanted to do was argue with nuns—especially on their home turf, the convent. I listened patiently to their objections, and for the rest of my visit I remained quiet, eager to get back to a world where poverty is not preferable and there is a God who welcomes scrutiny instead of feigning offense.


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Contest

Contest: (n) a race, conflict, or other competition between rivals, as for a prize.

I have been accumulating definitions, perusing the Internet and overhearing conversations, speeches and diatribes.

I have discovered that there are many explanations offered for life. Maybe perspectives would be a better term.funny wisdom on words that begin with a C

For instance, some folks say, “Life is a journey.” My difficulty with that particular comparison is that life requires us to stop and start so often that it rarely settles on a destination, but rather, requires that we develop an enjoyment of enjoyment of the jerky jaunt.

How about this? “Life is a race.” That would require everyone to be in shape to run it. Looked around lately?

The more optimistic individuals insist that “life is a blessing.” I am suspicious of those who are seeking favor from a Universe in which they appear to barely be specks.

On the other hand, life is not a curse. “It rains on the just, the unjust” and occasionally even in the desert.

So—is life a contest? And if it is, who would be the opponent? Problems? Other people? Or are we a contestant, battling our own uncertain character?

I have discovered, after all of my accumulation, that “life is a set of breathing lungs.”

So enjoy the journey.

Race if you want to.

Be surprised over the blessings.

Laugh at the curses.

And stop contesting the things that come your way.

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Concentration

Concentration: (n) the action or power of focusing

Pain is insane.

Especially when it is self-induced.

It is an automatic thought that springs into our head: if things aren’t difficult, they’re not real accomplishments.

This is certainly one of the greatest pieces of human foolishness.

I’ve never heard anyone say, “I need to concentrate” without frowning. They are communicating that they are so damn mature that they must go into contortions funny wisdom on words that begin with a C
to acquire achievement.

What the hell?

If life was intended to be difficult, yet we are all universally intended to live it out, how cruel is our Creator? For we are not all suited to the same regimen.

Of course, a certain amount of concentration is necessary to alert the brain to turn off all phones, ignore other messages, and place focus on the project at hand. Undoubtedly.

Yet if that experience is not rewarding–and dare I say, joyous–we will run away from concentration in favor of erratic behavior.

So I taught all of my children, and those who ever came within my earshot, a very simple principle, which both initiates concentration and provides fulfillment through it:

Wherever you are, be there.

Don’t split your attention. Don’t be considering lilies and weeds at the same time.

Allow yourself the glorious blessing and luxury of inhaling the atmosphere which has drifted your way.

 

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Codger

Codger: (adj) an elderly man, especially one who is old-fashioned or eccentric.

It is not because I keep piling up birthdays–nor that there seems to be a new wrinkle in my countenance.

No, it is the fact that I believe that “codger” is not based on age. Instead, it’s a disposition.

Going through the store the other day, I noticed a fellow–no more than twenty-five years old–who was with his wife and little daughter.

He trudged.

I’m sure he didn’t need to. I’m quite positive that his legs were still filled with lots of power. But somewhere along the line, he convinced himself to adopt the profile of the masses when it comes to everyday living.

I describe that condition as a perpetual visual and emotional proclamation of, “It’s too much.”

  • It’s too much debt.
  • It’s too much crime.
  • It’s too much trouble with the kids.
  • It’s too much argument with my spouse.
  • It’s too much pressure on the job.

Once convinced of this, any individual–at any age–becomes a grouchy codger.

He or she spews the venom of a sour soul, giving up on the possibility of the possible–checking out, absolutely certain that there’s no need to check in.

Now, I will grant you that many old people have also donned this persona in honor of their ancestors, simply to prove they were no better nor worse than their predecessors.

But it seems to me that it keeps starting younger and younger, and considering the fact that we seem to be living longer and longer, it certainly might make for an awfully dreary lifespan.

If you want to keep from being a codger, you have to use both eyes and ears:

One eye on what’s going on, and one eye on the blessing that might be coming your way.

One ear on the complaints that surround you, and the other listening intently for the song of hope.

 

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