Connection

Connection: (n) a linking relationship

I have a heart that’s full of emotion. Every time I deny this, I feel sick.

I have a soul that’s rich with God. Ignoring this makes me grouchy.

I have a brain which is peppered with notions. Setting them to the side causes me to seem erratic, lacking focus.funny wisdom on words that begin with a C

I have a body that wants to be healthy. Damn well better listen.

I am connected. These parts are connected.

My heart needs a soul to seek the comfort of divine reassurance, so when I renew my mind I can come up with inspirational possibilities, causing my body to do great things.

When I meet you, all four of these kick into gear. Sometimes I smile when people say “we had an emotional connection.” Or, “it was like we were mental twins.”

I just don’t believe that.

Every person I’ve ever been spiritually enlivened by also caused my physical body to become erect.

All the humans who touched my emotions initiated my brain to think of ways to enjoy them more and bless them fully.

We are humans–we connect. When we don’t, we become insincere and phony, quietly hating ourselves and making other people avoid us.

 

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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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Chasten

Chasten: (v) to reprove

There are things that work and there are things that don’t.

Perhaps one of the most misleading ideas promoted in our society is the notion that a thousand paths lead to the same singular destination.
This has caused us to believe that we can ignore the wisdom of time and forge our own thoroughfare–and as long as we get “somewhere near it,” we’ve done a good thing by being independent.

Independence is over-rated. More often than not, it’s permission to fail instead of succeed–because leaving the sanctity of good counsel to prove your autonomy usually comes with a bundle of extra problems which have to be explained away later, as you cautiously tout your victory.

But let’s make three things clear:

1. Complaining is not chastening.

Human beings should not have to endure the incessant repetition of a grouchy spirit hounding them over their actions.

2. Assuming is not chastening.

Trying to take on the profile of “the gentle soul” who innocently assumes everyone knows the truth of the matter is often useless and can be vindictive if the silence causes another soul pain.

3. Prejudice is not chastening.

Asking a black man to hold his tongue because he’s “the son of Cain” and therefore not as worthy as white people is not a rebuke granting growth, but instead, instilling inferiority and fear.

Chastening is understanding what needs to be done–seeing that someone has taken a faulty turn and correcting him or her before the misstep turns into a tumble.

It must always be done in love, it must always be done quickly, and it must always be drenched in mercy and grace.

 

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Cessation

Cessation: (n) the process of ending

“All good things come to an end.”

Unfortunately, all bad things don’t.

For some reason we get bored with good things and decide to either evolve them or abandon them. But bad things seem to be granted social
tenure. They get to hang around even if they do stupid stuff.

Why? Because bad things are grouchy and good things smile.

It’s a lot easier to ask someone who’s smiling to go to the back of the bus than it is to approach a grouchy person with such a request.

Yes, it’s true. As long as the black man smiled back at the white bigot, not much happened–which brings me to one of the things that demands cessation in our country:

Racism.

Truthfully it will not leave until we stop talking about the beauty of cultures and the glories of separate ethnic practices. Even though we insist that everybody is different and that it’s a good thing, we work like hell to try to find common conversation and similar ground. Otherwise, parties would just be drinking in silence.

Another thing that demands cessation is genderism.

There are those who think it’s cute to point out the difference between men and women, and in doing so, keep women in a position of scrounging for crumbs of praise, while denied the cake.

And if you don’t mind, I’ll close by saying that we need a cessation on the idea of being tough.

I don’t know how that works. If everyone is tough, isn’t that just a world filled with cranky people instead of toughness?

Someone has to be kind–otherwise, nothing happens.

Nothing breaks.

Nothing changes.

Cessation will occur when we stop being afraid of grouchy people–because we decide we enjoy smiling ones.

 

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Burden

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Burden: (n) a load, especially a heavy one.

Being able to define what a burden truly is may be a step toward maturity and a leap in humanity.

We are quick to complain of simple cumbersome circumstances. They are often temporary but we still lodge our formal objection.

Sometimes I don’t understand myself. I am fully aware that the universe does not favor me, yet somehow I anticipate front row seats, flowers at the backstage door and standing ovations for simple tasks.

Vanity is not merely propping up our better features. Vanity is when we believe our features should be sufficient without propping.

What is a burden? Because once we define it, then we certainly know, in the realm of the spirit, our mission is to make it as light as possible.

The burden should be light.

But until we conclude what burdens us, we are apt to invent new definitions for the condition based upon the color of our mood.

For instance, watching the grandchildren one week may be a treasure, but on the following Tuesday may seem to be a burden.

There are times that shopping for a new pair of shoes has the sniff of adventure, and on other occasions, just stinks.

We keep moving the poles, changing the dimensions and re-negotiating our grouchiness.

The true definition of a burden is something which is unexpected but proven to be necessary and therefore needs to be taken in stride as much as possible–so we don’t lose our good cheer.

Yet if we stubbornly insist that life should never sneak up on us, we will constantly be jumping out of our skin at the slightest inkling of evolution.

 

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Began

Dictionary BBegan: past tense of begin

If you acknowledge the source, you can avoid remorse.

Even though it’s very popular to talk about how to begin, the celebration is much more powerful if we first commemorate how we got to where we are now.

Yes, our “begin” is much more efficient if we laud our “began.” May I explain?

I began several years ago to stop being so fussy about trying to get my personal avenue in life. Yes, I have preferences. No one cares. Lamenting their apathy only makes me aggravated and grouchy. So I began to take care of myself and not require that others do it for me.

A decade ago, I began to be self-critical about my projects instead of waiting for the criticism of others. I would much rather be overly analytical of my personal affairs rather than having to recoil from critique.

I began to realize that financial responsibility is not optional.

I began to give independence to my children, so they could have a life separate from their allegiance to my fatherhood.

I began to talk less and think more.

I began to celebrate that intervention by problems is the only way to coax innovation.

I began to begin.

And in beginning … I can now celebrate what I began.

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Barbecue

Barbecue: (v) to cook meat, fish, or other food on a barbecue.Dictionary B

Annoying.

What is the definition of annoying? Annoying is anything that makes me grouchy instead of allowing me to enjoy the pleasure that was intended for the moment.

  • Barbecues are annoying.
  • Barbecuing, even more annoying.
  • Those who barbecue–annoying most of all.

Am I the only person who wants somebody to fix me a steak, put it on a plate and let me eat it instead of having to listen to the evolution of the whole process or hear the cook explain the tedious measures necessary to garner just the right sauce and tenderness for the meat?

There is more discussion of food at a barbecue than there is unabated joy in devouring it.

And God forbid that you should find yourself standing at the grill next to the Master Chef. By the time you get done listening to a recitation of recipes, mystery ingredients and correct temperatures for the best flavor, you will want to run from the premises and go out and eat a salad.

That’s how serious it is.

Everybody thinks they are an expert on almost everything–but most people eventually admit some weakness.

But not barbecuers.

They are the best, or nothing at all.

That’s why they make silly hats and aprons for the process, as a uniform to go along with the insanity.

So when I find myself invited to one of these escapades, I sit at the furthest table until I am sure that the food is thoroughly cooked, and then, when most people are being bored by the giver of the feast with a lecture on charcoal, I slip in, steal my portion from the platters, and run into the woods to eat … like a scalded bear.

 

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