Tag Archives: prayer

Cool

Cool: (adj) moderately cold; neither warm nor cold

You can tell you’re a hot-head because you sweat the small stuff. But the question remains, what must be done to make sure cooler heads prevail?

Here’s a clue: you can’t just have a cool head. Your whole persona has to be cool.funny wisdom on words that begin with a C

People who are stringent, unforgiving or dogmatic will not suddenly wake up one morning and say, “You know, I need to be more forgiving.”

A cool head begins with cool feet—feet that aren’t afraid to walk the path of life, knowing that some detours and adjustment are inevitable.

It’s a good idea to have cool knees—that means when you find yourself knocked down to them, rather than melting in a pool of self-pity, you take a moment to pray before you rise again.

Certainly, cool hands are required for everyone, not just Luke—a sense that you will linger and care about people with your touch, instead of yank them, push them or strike them.

Cool eyes—looking for great possibility instead of darkness.

Cool ears—hearing the better parts of the conversation and discarding the ignorance.

Cool is when you know that being hot burns things up and being cold freezes progress. Yet, arriving lukewarm makes everybody want to vomit.

Cool is that temperature where human beings actually gain the capacity to tolerate one another.


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Convalescing

Convalescing: (v) to recover health and strength after illness

If you will allow me, I will outline the process:

  1. I am sick.

I am not just “under the weather.” I am not “fighting off something.” I am not struggling with allergies.

  1. I am prepared to receive assistance.

Having used up my favorite rabbit’s foot and gone through the Internet to try several homeopathic methods, I am not prepared to do what is necessary to get 
well.

  1. I will understand and honor the procedure.

Even though there are many medications for a cold and the flu, the old adage, “3 days coming, 3 days with you and 3 days leaving” is pretty much on point. The goal is to try to even those nine days out, into one common, more tolerable passage of misery.

  1. I will start doing things that keep me well, and begin convalescing toward better health in the future.

A friend of mine was diagnosed with lung cancer. He wanted prayer to be healed. I saw nothing wrong with that, so I joined in agreement. Three days later, when nothing got better, I walked into his room and he was smoking cigarettes again. I said, “What the hell?”

He replied, “The damage is already done. Might as well enjoy my exit.”

If you’re not ready for your exit, start convalescing by treating your ailments for what they are, and then find ways, through good health, good eating and good attitudes, to scare them away.

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Continue

Continue: (v) to last or endure

He bowed his head and began his prayer.

“God, who by the way I consider to be my Father since You made me and everything. I’ve been doing some work on me lately instead of worrying about them. It seems like every time I get concerned about other people, I get bratty and start believing my efforts are sufficient and theirs are bullshit. It’s actually a lot of fun.”

(He paused his prayer, waiting for an answer. There was silence. So, he continued.)

“Well, anyway, I just wanted to stop off and talk about the fact that healthy eating is all right if you’ve got the time to think about it and can actually find the four or five foods you like which contain vitamins. Or maybe it’s minerals. I do feel better. What do You think about that?”funny wisdom on words that begin with a C

(Once again, he sat still, waiting for a divine response. There was none. He pushed on.)

“I’ve been thinking about that ‘loving my neighbor as myself’ bit and I realize that one of the problems I have pulling that off is that lots of times I secretly am so pissed off at myself that I am pissed off at everybody else. Therefore, I kind of do treat everybody the way I treat myself. I know I’m not supposed to be conceited, but if I’m not confident in where I’m going and who I’m trying to be, I will never believe that anybody else is worth the time of day.”

(Once again, he sat motionless, listening very carefully for some murmur or mumble from His Majesty. It was quieter than a mouse since they do occasionally squeak. So, he concluded:)

“I won’t hold You any longer. Just understand how I depend on Your grace, subsist on Your mercy and I’m trying, in my simple way, to imitate Your class. Thank you for your time. I hope You heard what I had to say, and I would welcome any recommendation You might have for my life.”

(He finished praying, said his amen and then, in a very small, still voice, he heard, deep within his soul, “Continue.”)


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Contaminate

Contaminate: (v) to make something impure

The first time I said a prayer my soul merged with God.

Then I went to prayer meetings. Now a sense of loss floods my heart every time I listen to over-exsggerated supplications.

The first time a woman kissed my lips and touched my face I thought I was going to melt like butter on a hot waffle.

Then came television, movies, and all sorts of insidious representations of romance, which make me sometimes wonder why in the hell we’re attracted to each funny wisdom on words that begin with a Cother.

The first time I voted I believed I was accompanied to the polls by George Washington himself.

Now, through the disappointment of the Electoral College and the tainting of civil discourse, I would rather have a 24-hour stomach virus. (Well, maybe not.)

The first time I stood onstage and sang a song for an audience, and had chills go up and down my spine as I harmonized with my friends, I thought I had pierced the heavenly gates and joined the supernal chorus.

Now I feel perplexed at a musical cacophony that shouts, screams and contorts without ever touching the human heart.

I remember the first time for many beautiful things.

And then humanity tried to contaminate the simplicity, insisting that the complexity brought deeper meaning.

It didn’t.

I have taken a brief season of my life to debug myself from the infection of religious fanaticism, entertainment porn, political grappling and music composed with a tin ear.

I feel good.

I feel simple.

I no longer feel contaminated.

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Connotation

Connotation: (n) an idea a word invokes in addition to its primary meaning.

Love makes me think about kissing.

Maybe a little bit about the love of God. Both are rather pleasant.

Politics connotes younger folks arguing about subjects they just read about, pretending they’re experts. Unpleasant.funny wisdom on words that begin with a C

Religion conjures organ music in a dismal atmosphere. Recently it’s added the connotation of beheadings.

Prayer makes me sleepy.

Maybe that’s because I do most of my praying right before I go to sleep, or it’s just a great sleep-inducer.

Money brings a smile.

It’s not because I love money–it’s just that having it relieves one carnal infraction against our living. It also opens the door to being generous.

Family is a fairly decent word. But candidly, most of the grimaces and growls that may come our way are attached to those who share some of the D in our NA.

Life is not a series of definitions. It is an accumulation of feelings, which means we have the chance to take shitty words and crappy experiences, and reshape them by offering more enlightened endeavors.

 

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Mr. Kringle's Tales...26 Stories 'Til Christmas

(click the elephant to see what he’s reading!)

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Component

Component: (n) a part or element of a larger whole

Bob thinks intelligence is the key. So he studies, but ends up being overbearing with his opinions. Therefore no one can stand him.

Reverend Thompson contends that prayer is the answer but generally speaking is so busy holding seminars on the issue that he misses manyfunny wisdom on words that begin with a C phone calls from those in need.

The man running for Congress insists that political maneuvering is the essential component for a successful run for office, but then discovers there is a lot of lying that accompanies such choreography.

The women’s rights organization feels it is necessary to diminish the role of men in order to gain air for their cause, and after all the arguments are done, they are quietly and privately referred to as “bitches” behind their backs.

On the other hand, the chauvinists are darned tootin’ certain that if we could get back to the “nuclear family,” everything would be all right, as they lead their nervous wives and frightened children into the next over-planned activity.

Everybody thinks they have the component to make our society run more smoothly. Even though I see great worth in many of these efforts, I have found that the best piece to bring to the puzzle–the component that always seems to be needed for any occasion–is a simple splash and dousing of good cheer.

 

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Circa

Circa: (prep) approximately (often preceding a date)

Circa the time that humans discovered fire, they started cooking their meat.

Circa the arrival of iron, swords and plowshares were made. (Unfortunately, our species preferred the weapon.)

Circa the revelation that knowledge could be transferred into manuscripts and eventually books, libraries were built to confirm the power of
our more docile wisdom.

Circa the season when souls from Africa were considered slaves and only two-fifths of a person, the “Abraham of America” came and made us all a great nation.

Circa the arrival of instruments came music.

Circa the introduction of music came soul-washing.

Circa the introduction of a madman, the atom was split.

Circa the dropping of a bomb, we discovered the power we have to destroy ourselves.

Circa one war after another, young men and women have learned to protest the insanity of blood-letting.

Circa the arrival of the Internet with the ability for international communication, there is a scream for moderation and a prayer for personal contact.

Circa this moment, we are in search of our heart.

Here’s hoping we find it.

 

 

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Chosen

Chosen: (adj) having been selected as the best or most appropriate.

Without spraying dark, sticky thoughts into the air, I must admit that if I knew what I know now, I might not have chosen to be born.

I don’t think I would have chosen Mary and Russell as my parents. Considering my youthful antics, they might not have chosen me.

I certainly would not have chosen to be raised in the Midwest of the United States during a season when prejudice, bigotry and self-righteousness were considered to be “American values.”

I wouldn’t have chosen to be fat. Even though some people try to gain their self-esteem while encased in blubber, the excess poundage does take its toll.

I don’t know exactly what I would have chosen–I mean, I could continue this list and probably offend everyone I know.

But I certainly would have chosen Jesus.

This is not because I’m a religious person. Matter of fact, I have been known to doze off immediately at the mention of prayer.

It’s the practicality.

It’s the humanity.

It’s the responsibility that Jesus of Nazareth placed on himself and his followers that lets me understand that he “gets it.”

He gets what it means to be a human being on this planet called Earth. I don’t know if his manifesto would work on other planets. I don’t know anything about habitation in other galaxies.

But Earth requires a certain payload to launch your rocket.

I’ve chosen that.

I fail at it, and as long as I realize it’s a failure on my part and not a master plot against my happiness, I’m usually just fine.

I don’t know what else specifically I would have chosen.

I would not have chosen a career as a writer, because criticism and obscurity are your only friends.

Would I have chosen to pen this essay? Probably not.

I got up in a rather relaxed, lazy mood, and your interest just didn’t interest me that much.

So I’ve chosen, at times, to persevere–even though the immediate benefit does not scream its worth.

 

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Charismatic

Charismatic: (adj) relating to the charismatic movement in the Christian Church.

Even in the midst of the 500th anniversary of Martin Luther nailing his 95 Theses on the door of the Wittenburg Church, symbolizing the beginning of the Reformation Movement and the Protestant rendition of the faith, my mind prefers to go back less than fifty years–when
those boundaries existing between Catholics and Protestants were melted away by a simple sweet spirit.

I had just begun traveling the country–a young man full of dreams and plagued by empty pockets–when suddenly the walls that had once stood strong between the denominations of the followers of Jesus began to tumble by a movement of the Holy Spirit.

Matter of fact, many of my first opportunities to sing and share ended up being in front of Catholic Charismatic meetings, where those who honored a Pope and offered wine and cheese for snacks, suddenly joined hands in prayer with their Protestant counterparts.

It was beautiful. It was childlike. It was awe-inspiriring and sometimes a bit clumsy.

One night at a McDonald’s, one of my Catholic brothers, in an attempt to validate his newfound freedom and faith, proclaimed to the entire table of hamburger-munchers that “Jesus wiped with the same hand we do.” Everybody graciously said a quiet “amen,” our Big Macs suddenly shrinking in appeal.

What were the ingredients that made this movement so successful?

  1. They didn’t take too much time discussing theology.
  2. Everyone became known as a “Charismatic” instead of identifying by their denominational nametag.
  3. Love and hugging were just as important as Bible study and prayer.
  4. The music was like children’s hymns, sung with tears.
  5. It unified.

The Charismatic Movement didn’t last very long. False teachers, televangelists and those who wanted to make a dime off of a penny’s worth of thoughts soon came in and ravaged the faithful.

But it truly was charismatic.

Charismatic in the sense of being totally charming.

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Bronchitis

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Bronchitis: (n) inflammation of the mucous membrane in the bronchial tubes.

Odd as it may seem, the only way to stay well is to have been sick enough to build up antibodies to protect you.Dictionary B

It’s a strange system, isn’t it?

But without equity, some of us would believe that being ill was a sign of God’s anger, while others would conclude that clear nasal passages were a divine authorization to act superior.

So we all get sick.

It’s all about the timing.

When I was in my twenties, I recorded an album in Nashville, Tennessee, that started to get some attention. That in itself was remarkable, but then, when our group was invited to perform at a huge festival, our producers were nearly ecstatic, and were sure that this was the stepping stone to give us the focus to launch our career.

We planned the set, rehearsed the material–and somewhere along the line in the process, I got bronchitis.

I was so congested, choked up and stuffed that I was unable to produce any sound from my voice beyond a harsh whisper.

I tried everything.

Hot steam, over-the-counter remedies, honey and lemon and various configurations of prayer.

I stubbornly refused to cancel the festival, deciding that I would heroically see it through–that somehow or another, God in His infinite wisdom would grant me voice at the last moment.

In front of thousands of people, I croaked out what could have been our hit song–had I not been “Froggy McFrog.”

It was embarrassing.

No–humiliating.

Even those who loved me didn’t want to be around me. It made them try to be nice–and they didn’t feel nice.

So to some degree, from that point on in my life (since I kind of make my living from my voice) I have become a Cold Nazi.

If a sniffle is in the room or a child is dripping nasal fluid all over the house, I run away in horror.

I am not proud of that.

But my bout with bronchitis did warn me about the danger … of not having a voice in the matter.

 

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