Chronicle

Chronicle: (n) a factual written account of events

It is a rather humbling thought–that each one of us basically makes our appearance on Earth and disappears, all within a hundred years.

A hundred years may sound like a lot if you’re five years old, but by the time you reach fifty, it is melting like summer ice.

Truthfully we all leave one lasting impression behind. How did we chronicle our journey?

Because we do chronicle it–through our attitude, our faith, our persistence, our interactions and our willingness to evolve and adapt.

Some people choose to chronicle Earth by acting like they’ve been placed here to critique it. They always seem to have a negative side to the most positive results. They will gladly tell you it’s just their nature–their way of helping to maintain quality control.

Some people chronicle the Earth by refusing to participate.They develop four or five ideas which they refuse to amend no matter how much evidence comes to disprove their assertions. They are proud of stubbornness.

There are those who chronicle the Earth by ignoring it and waiting for heaven. Their whole focus is in achieving an eternal life which has been heavily promoted but not seriously reviewed.

But for those souls who believe in simplification, the best way to chronicle the Earth is to stay silent until it is time to count one’s blessings. Obviously there will be some struggle in achieving good. There will be many errors in the process of getting there. And there will be moments when the Earth will seem like the hell we’re escaping to get to the heaven we desire.

Yet it is such a boring way to live–complaining about the status quo instead of announcing the coming show.

I shall chronicle the Earth, though I will only be here for less than a century.

I will make sure that century is peppered with good reports, bold experimentation and a faith that includes myself and others, with the presence of God.

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Choosy

Choosy: (adj) overly fastidious in making a choice.

Oh, there goes Webster again.

For some reason, the dictionary feels it’s important to offer a certain amount of social commentary in describing the words that are showcased.

Here is the truth of the matter as far as I know: if you are not choosy, eventually you don’t get to choose, and you’re stuck with what’s chosen for you.

Welcome to Earth.

So portraying “choosy” as a negative attitude is the propaganda of governments, religionists, politicians and Madison Avenue agents, who would really like to plan your entire life, but feel that saying this bluntly might scare you away. So instead, they connote that you are “choosy” if you do not choose what they want you to choose on any chosen occasion.

If the dinner menu for the night is barbecued baked beans with barbecued beef and barbecued corn bread with barbecued pudding for dessert, folks might frown at you if, in a choosy way, you insist you prefer not to “go barbecue” tonight.

The problem in our world is not that people are too choosy. The difficulty lies in the fact that we’re not given enough choice.

  • Politics is divided into two major parties, with a whisker’s difference between the pair.
  • Churches insist they offer varieties of services, while simultaneously delivering the same spiritually tone-deaf message.
  • And the clothing in the department stores settles into shades that are determined to be this season’s preference, with stylings which are the “hit of the catwalk.”

What would happen if Americans actually did become choosy?

If we decided not to let the critics determine the best motion pictures?

If we didn’t leave it up to aging librarians to pick out the top books?

What if we had an open marketplace, an open discussion, an open spirit and an open mind–to give things a platform and see how they fared?

What if the whole world were a blind taste test? How would McDonald’s, Wal-Mart, Apple, Democrats, Republicans and the religious system chart?

I’m choosy–and pretty proud of it. I often disagree with other people about my choices, but never in a disagreeable way.

But I’m not about to believe that something being popular gives it any more credence than I am to think that the hula-hoop was meant to last forever.

 

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Choice

Choice: (n) selected as one’s favorite or the best.

Webster seems to believe that choice is expressing a preference. Perhaps that is the universal concept.

But the problem with that particular interpretation is that it opens the door to decisions being made that are harmful to others, but can be
justified based upon “the freedom of…”

Does freedom give us choice, or does freedom demand responsibility? And what is the blending of freedom and choice?

Do I have the right, simply because I live, breathe and exist, to move about the Earth at my whim?

Of course not. No one believes that. What we disagree on are the specifics of the restrictions. The debate is about where your choice ends and my freedom begins, and where my responsibility kicks in and your choice begins.

I think the definition of choice needs an addendum.

If we’re going to continue to exist as a human family, cooperating with one another, choice must become a preference without harm.

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Cherub

Cherub: (n) a beautiful or innocent-looking child.

It takes a lot for me to become motivated to try to lose weight.

It’s similar to convincing an ant-eater that ant consumption is bad for its health. After all, you are named “ant-eater.” To suddenly stop eating ants not only removes your diet, but robs you of your identity.

I.e., if I am not a fat man, who am I?

If I’m not the guy talking about calories while lamenting my metabolism, how would I be able to find myself in a crowded mall?

My identity is wrapped up in my weaknesses just as much as my virtues. I don’t know why we take so much time to lie, cheat and cover up our frailties, when the
y are obviously going to pop up and announce their presence.

But every once in a while, I do become motivated to try to carve away some of the fat from my body. It usually takes a shock. One such occasion happened when a gentleman from a newspaper, reviewing my show and describing my face, wrote: “He is a chubby fellow with cherub-like features.”

I was appalled.

There is no man born on this Earth who wants to be a chubby cherub. Matter of fact, if you told a woman that her blind date was “chubby and cherub-like” she just might call in sick.

I became obsessed.

I went to my bathroom mirror and stood there for at least fifteen minutes, peering at my cheeks–my second chin which was thinking about adding on an addition–and eventually became convinced that I indeed was a cherub. Although that supposedly has angelic proportions, it also makes you look too child-like and too plump.

I immediately started a diet, which didn’t last long because I was motivated for all the wrong reasons.

So over the years I have tried to grow a beard, which was as successful as any other cherub, and I’ve sported a mustache–a goatee which I occasionally have to pencil in because it’s just not dark enough.

This whole story would be very pathetic except for the fact that deep in my heart, I really don’t care.

My confidence is not based on my appearance, but rather, the confidence my appearance may proffer to others.

 

 

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Channel

Channel: (v) to take possession of a spirit’s mind for the purpose of communication

Standing in line at the local department store, I was listening to two young women discuss philosophy. Girl 1 said to Girl 2: “No one’s gonna tell me what to do. I’m my own person.”

It gave me pause for thought.

If we have eight billion people on this Earth trying to “be their own person,” we have an emotional explosion which is greater than any
megatons of bombs.

I don’t want to be my own person. I have met him. He is bland, mediocre, nervous, insecure and adds the disgrace of pomposity.

I need to channel greatness.

I would love to channel the spirit of Abraham Lincoln, who uttered, “with malice toward none and charity toward all” just a few days before he was murdered in a theater.

I would like to channel the moment that Thomas Jefferson decided to sheepishly write the phrase, “All men are created equal”–even though he knew he owned slaves.

I would enjoy channeling the fresh, creative, youthful energy of John, Paul, Ringo and George when they brought such singable and danceable music to America.

How about channeling the spirit of Jesus of Nazareth, who in the midst of ignorance and war, told the Earth to “love your neighbor as yourself”?

I would like to channel the spirit of the bear, who has the sense to know when to hibernate, the loyalty of the dog and the devotion of a woman to her man, her children and her cause when she feels that the circumstances are righteous.

And of course, it would be wonderful to channel the moment when God said, “Let us make man in our own image.”

I am not enough and never will be.

When I settle for me,

I end up cheating everyone I see.

 

 

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Central

Central: (adj) at the center, of the greatest importance

Is there a center to a box? I always consider a center to be associated with a circle. I suppose you could find the center of a square. Of course you can.

But still, “central” normally is equated with something that’s a circle–like the Earth. There’s a central point on the Earth. I’ve heard about it.
I could have looked it up for you but I didn’t.

There’s a central theme to almost every occupation.

But trying to discover what is central to the human race is difficult because people keep trying to “mash down” the circle.

Some human beings believe it’s their mission to disrupt everything, and therefore provide a climate of chaos wherein allegedly, sense and reason will emerge triumphantly.

I was halfway through writing that sentence and it sounded stupid.

To find deeper truth, some truth has to be honored–otherwise there is no path.

When we begin to question what is central, we start doubting the circle of the Earth and the wholeness of us as a people. That seems dangerous.

We might accidentally start threatening one another with nuclear weapons, or shooting down innocent people in the street–simply because we’ve forgotten what’s central.

Central to our race is a very simple idea: I have to leave you alone and let you be who you are while simultaneously letting you know I care.

It’s a little tricky.

Because if I let you know I care by interfering with who you want to be, then I’ve broken the central theme.

If I leave you to yourself to pursue your avenues but you know I do so because I have no interest in you, then I’ve also failed.

It is that amazing place we land–where we are tolerant, but vigilant.

I love you enough to let you be who you want to be while simultaneously standing guard to make sure you don’t hurt yourself or fail to miss an opportunity.

 

 

 

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Cahoots

Cahoots: (n) colluding or conspiring together secretly.

By cracky, it’s just not groovy to use the word “cahoots” even if it does sound boss.

What a bummer.

Once again, it’s kind of unfortunate–because private unions and secretive agreements have become the favored way of doing business in
America, which leaves the common man–and woman, for that matter–wondering if they can trust anyone, yet feeling mighty nasty for being suspicious of everyone.

I think it’s important to establish your allegiances in life.

I don’t know if I pledge allegiance to the flag or not, but I certainly honor those who have given their lives and continue to sacrifice for the cause it represents.

I have an allegiance to my brothers and sisters who are presently on Earth. It is not more than I feel for my family, but it is not less.

I have a tremendous allegiance to the faith that has proven to be effective in my everyday life.

I don’t want you to wonder who I’m “in cahoots” with.

I don’t want you to read my material and try to guess whether I’m a conservative, a liberal or whether I post on Fox News or Huffington.

I want to be clear.

I don’t want any silent arrangements on anything in my life. If I know it, I want you to know it.

Unless for some reason it’s none of your damn business.

 

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