Dark

Dark: (adj) having very little or no light

The human emotions need to believe everything will be alright.

Our spirits require alternatives that allow us to make intelligent choices.

The mind of a human being is in search of fresh ways to do things better.

And our bodies need to be exercised so that our respiration grants us the oxygen to be optimistic.

Anything that intrudes on these processes may seem entertaining, but ultimately will defile us.

For after all, “dark” is not the presence of anything.

Unfortunately, it is just the absence of light.

Crop

Crop: (n) the produce from the ground.

As the piercing tones of the political pundits wrangle with one another over decibel level, it never occurs to anyone that the United States of America cannot be compared to any other place, because unlike these other locations, this nation has a heart, a soul, a mind and a body.

Without understanding this, you begin to believe that you can nurture the mind of America while ignoring the heart, soul and body—or foolishly believe that you can honor the soul and ignore the other parts of innovation.

During my nearly thirty-five years of travel across the country, stopping off in villages, towns or bustling cities, I immediately understood the crop that comes from the soil of this great nation.

America has heart.

It has emotion. If you live on the coasts, you may think that the middle states are agrarian and backward. Matter of fact, there are people who would not even know what the word agrarian means because they consider it backward.

On the other hand, if you land somewhere deep in Nebraska, the antics of the West Coast may be discussed over the dinner table with a sneer and a frown, as those huddled around faithfully consume their biscuits and butter.

You cannot love this country, its people, its purpose, nor envision its destination without traveling to its heart, musing over its soul, mulling its mind and allowing the body to bring strength to the economics and the gross national product.

What is the crop of America?

  • Iowa believes it’s corn.
  • Silicon Valley in California would insist it’s technology.
  • The Ivy League schools on the East Coast would certainly extol the importance of higher education.
  • And those who dwell in the South will spend hours testifying of the importance of family, devotion and hospitality.

It is difficult for us to be at war with each other.

We need one another so intensely that we end up really fighting ourselves.

So when I drove my van into beautiful downtown Cedar Rapids, Iowa, with corn fields and soybeans surrounding my journey, I knew I was in for an evening of warmth, reflection and conservative reaction to new ideas. They were never averse to progress—just wanted to make sure that no sacred lanes were destroyed to make super-highways.

When I went down to Lebanon, Tennessee, I was fully aware I was in for an evening of a probable potluck dinner, some hand clapping and folks who were frightened that they might lose the spirit of their faith by accepting too much of what, for them, seemed abnormal.

In a journey out to Palo Alto, California, surrounded by the students and faculty of Stanford University, my heart was engorged with the explosive energy of learning, experimenting and researching to find answers to problems that plague the populace.

And then, finding myself weeks later in New York City, I watched the ships come and go, feeding an economy which generates the crop of prosperity, making the whole landscape well-funded.

What is the crop of America?

It is the freedom to have a heart, a soul, a mind and a body—and to treasure each and every part.

funny wisdom on words that begin with a C


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Corpse

Corpse: (n) a dead body, usually of a human being.

Sorting through a cavalcade of thoughts, I think I have finally arrived at a couple of notions that seem to hold true in spite of my own personal ridicule of them, and history proving that they’re ridiculous.

One such inkling is that I don’t really mind dying—I would just like to do it well and not have a bunch of people staring at my corpse.funny wisdom on words that begin with a C

I don’t want to come to the end and be chicken shit or do something stupid like squeal like a squirrel.

I don’t want to have a gun pointed at me, and in a fit of weakness push a nearby child forward to take my bullet.

I don’t want to suffer, but I also would like to have the honor of “last words.”

But mostly…

It’s the corpse thing.

I learned a long time ago to stop bitching about my body and just focus on my body of work.

I got dealt an interesting accumulation of haphazard DNA possibilities. So I don’t want a bunch of people staring at my fractured and now-breathless frame, making judgments.

I don’t want to look “natural.”

I don’t want some technician in a morgue taking a peek at my penis.

(I know it’s silly.)

I don’t want two doctors shaking their heads as they stare down at my blob, speaking to one another in hushed tones about how I could have extended my life if…

None of us were meant to be “a corpse.”

We were just meant to die, and once dead, as quickly as possible, to shed our skin, and somewhere, somehow, possibly become a new creature.


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Confer

Confer: (v) to have a discussion

I see absolutely nothing wrong with seeking the counsel of others. But candidly, it has equally gotten me in as much trouble as provided benefit.

Nevertheless, it is good to know that one has checked things out thoroughly to find the best answer.

But we must realize, it is important that we confer with our own “committee” first–and that would be our heart (emotions), our soul (the spirit of God within us), our mind (the most unique and powerful mechanism on Earth) and our body (the only one we’ve been given).

It is ridiculous to try to adhere to the words of a mentor until you take the time to find out what your emotions feel, your soul senses, your mind thinks and yourfunny wisdom on words that begin with a C
body generates.

Confer with yourself.

You may end up with confusion, but at least you know the correct diagnosis instead of stumbling along with uncertainty.

My emotions may say I’m distraught.

My soul tells me everything will be all right.

My mind steps in and offers two or three alternatives.

And my body, truthfully, admits to being able to handle only one.

When you confer with yourself and all of your beautiful intricate parts before you either proceed or stump for advice, you have a much better idea on how to hear the voices around you–because you’ve tapped the voices from within.

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Closure

Closure: (n) the process of closing something

A papa’s brain is very reluctant to accept the death of his thirteen-year-old son–especially when that boy had been in a vegetative state for nearly six years, following a hit-and-run car accident.

When the young man died, it seemed righteous. After all, his only daily companion had been pain with discomfort, along with a few gentle
touches.

The father didn’t feel great grief over the loss, just immense guilt. Matter of fact, for the next six months, the young boy kept calling to him in his dreams, asking his father to come to a creek in the middle of the woods in Central Louisiana. The significan ce of the location was baffling–but the purpose for the union was obvious.

It was a retreat into nature to find a natural way to heal bones and brains, and restore the little fellow back to wholeness.

Night after night the beckoning came, and the father joined his son by the water, feeling the coolness of the breeze as they feverishly worked on exercises and pursued healing.

Then, just as quickly as the invitation had come, it was gone.

He was gone.

But what the young boy from the dream had succeeded in doing was taking away the guilt from Papa’s mind. Spending those nights dreaming of a cure gave Daddy some closure.

It was an act of mercy.

It was a mission of kindness.

It was apparently something that God allowed the young soul to do … before going to receive his reward.

 

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Big

Big: (adj) of considerable size, extent or intensity.

Dictionary B

“Big Jon.”

That’s what everybody used to call me.

It was their way of acknowledging that I was a large person without using terms like chubby, tubby, overweight, portly, plump or God forbid–fat.

But as I grew older and wiser, I realized that behind every use of the word “big” was a parenthetical inclusion of “fat.”

Even though politeness is very polite, it is often misleading, if not flat-out lying.

I was able to pull off “Big Jon” for a long time because I could lift couches, play sports, and pant and sweat my way to physical equality.

But age caught up with me, and the passing years have robbed me of the courtesy of being big, and just made me obese.

For the record, there is absolutely no charm in “Obese Jon.”

When is it good to be big?

I was told when I was younger that having big dreams, big plans and big goals was a sign of vision. Then I realized that this particular view of life could blind you with ambition, leaving you stumbling in the darkness of despair.

Somewhere in between small and big lies real.

It’s what we’re all looking for.

It’s that part of the mission of our life journey which is achievable instead of under-promoted or overwrought.

I have reached a time when I need to stop being so big.

My body, my emotions and my ego … all need to go on a diet.Donate Button

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Battery

Battery: (n) a container consisting cells, in which chemical energy is converted into electricity and used as a source of power.Dictionary B

Click.

Actually, there wasn’t even a click. It was just a sense of suspended animation while I held my car key in the position which normally ignited my engine, but this time–no fire.

The radio did not work.

The lights didn’t work.

The car was suddenly cast into the role of being a one-ton paperweight.

All because my battery was dead.

It didn’t give me any warning. Oh, I suppose I should have been keeping up with its passing birthdays, but I didn’t.

So I, who just short moments earlier was in the midst of a deep discussion about some procedure to raise at the upcoming meeting, suddenly became a dumbfounded, indigent traveler, with no idea on where to go or what to do.

Fortunately, somebody gave me a jump to start my car and I drove down to the local Wal-Mart to purchase a battery.

Because here’s the truth: there’s just no goose without the juice.

Nothing happens without the energy.

As I watched them put my battery in, I waxed philosophical. (I occasionally do that, fostering an annoying practice which somehow refuses to leave me.)

  • I need a battery for my emotions.

I must remind myself that to feel things–otherwise I am not capable of being in relationship with other humans who, like me, are creatures of emotion.

  • I need a battery for my spirit.

Something other than prayer and Bible study, that proves that I am loved and there just might be something out there other than stars and molten lava on dried-up planets.

  • I need a battery for my brain.

Without that battery I cannot create the jolt which stimulates new ideas rather than pumping out all the training of my youth.

  • And God knows, I need a battery for my body.

Often the fuel I send to my cells better prepares me for a nap than a walk.

It only took them ten minutes to give my car the boost it needed to be a car again.

It made me wonder what I could do with ten minutes.

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