Nothing To Say

I have nothing to say today, but don’t think for a moment that will stop me from saying it. I mean, people with nothing to say say things all the time. In fact, you can’t seem to shut them up. The harder you try, the more they apparently have to say. They keep saying nothing, over and over again, sometimes for weeks, months, even years. It’s amazing how much people can say without really saying much of anything. And how much listening can happen as a result. Listening that seems like it’s important, which falsely, and even destructively, affirms the one saying nothing, but in the end it doesn’t take anyone anywhere. Why? Because listening to nothing is just that. But I do admire the effort, and the confidence, and the passion, in a strange way, of those who can say so little with so much.

But I will say this:

Peace to you.

© LW Publishing 2011

Losses

 My youngest daughter still has a few words that she gets wrong, and we’ve learned not to make a big deal out of this kind of thing. I actually enjoy it. They get it figured out in the long run. But when they do, when the particulars of childhood are left behind, it makes me sad sometimes.

The current word that I love, that she gets wrong, is when something grosses her out. She says, “That’s exgusting.”

Frankly, I think it’s a better word than the original. It has a little more bite to it.

There are lots of things that you hate to see go with the kids as time passes on. The way you can hold them when they’re really small. The way they mangle certain words and make faces and laugh about certain things. The moments when they first try to be funny. Those cute little baby teeth, all lined up so perfectly straight and even, which get ejected and replaced by over sized, out of place teeth that are way too big for their current faces. And sometimes it seems to take forever for some of the gaps to fill in their smile.

You realize that kids lose so much as time goes by. Sweet things, like the ability to hide under small tables and watch the feet of the grown ups go by or fitting completely in the arms of your mom or dad, wrapped up with your head tucked under, feeling safe. Or the simple joy of playing with an empty card board box or the feeling of running on the grass, barefooted, with the belief that you are the fastest creature on the planet.

Sometimes we also lose trust in the people we look up to at way too young an age, which can be very hard to get back. And sometimes, unfortunately, we lose our innocence.

When I stop to consider all of the loss, all of the things we can lose as we leave childhood behind, frankly it’s kind of...

exgusting.


Matthew 18:2-4




Peace to you.

© LW Publishing 2011

Keep Your Eyes On The Navel

I recently discovered this word: “omphaloskepsis”

Isn’t that great? It sounds like something out of a Dr. Seuss book.

Webster’s Dictionary says it means “contemplation of one's navel as an aid to meditation.” It comes from the Greek language (doesn’t everything?). “Omphalos” is "navel.” Without the “om” (a meditative vowel all to itself, for those who are into such things), the word sounds suspiciously like something else we won’t get into here. And “Skepsis” means "examination." It’s probably related to the word “skeptical.” Who knows. But what gets me is that there’s a word for the act of contemplating one’s navel. How cool is that?

I suppose there must be a word for everything, or at least we have the power to create a word for pretty much anything. I just love this, how we find ways of saying things that no one would ever really say, but we could if we wanted to.

The thing is, what I’m most concerned about here is the important issue of individuals who are omphaloskepsistically impaired. Consider how it makes a person feel who wants to meditate, but they can’t actually see their navel due to a distended mid-section resulting from hyperphagia.

Hyperphagia is a word for the problem of eating too much. Do you, too, suffer from this tragic, crippling disorder? Oh, the humanity! Perhaps we should start a foundation or a telethon or something to deal with it. A support group at the very least.

Hi. My name is Dave. And I’m a hyperphagic.

Frankly, I’m just happy that I don’t suffer from autocoprophagy. I would tell you what that is, but it might make you disgorge whatever your hyperphagia led you to recently consume.

I’ll just leave it to you to use what I’ve offered here as a starter for spending some quality time omphaloskepsising.


Peace to you.



© LW Publishing 2011

What?

I was in da kitchen when a idea came ta me. I went acrossed da fambly room ta my computer ta rite aboud words dat people misponounce all da time. Ahm not sayin a don do it maseuf sometime, but id still bother me. Me and da kids were makin frengh toast wit egg yokes in da kitchen and I snuck away ta do dis. Hopefully dey won burn da house down. I wadn feelin mean aboud id. Id jus gah me thinkin aboud how some people say nuculer instead a nuclear and theens lite dat. Nuculer id my paticular pet peeb. Geord W. Bush, who I don hate, even doh um apparenly suppos to, accordin to popalar seniment, he use to say dis wrong all a time. It drobe me crazy. But dats jus me. I don take id for granite dat you feel da same way. Supposably everbody has dere own pet peebs aboud words. Pronounciation idn auways easy. I guess dis is jus my perscription fer findin peas aboud id. Ostensively anyway. Ostensibly? Laugh er cry.

Okay. I’ll stop writing now. This is making me tired. I don't want to start prespiring.





1 Corinthians 14:8-9
Peace to you.


© LW Publishing 2010

Playing With Words

I love playing with words, with language, and for some reason I find it to be very funny. Usually more funny than the people around me do. I’m sure this post will be another example of that. But there is an irony to how words are so important and yet aren’t. Maybe it’s because I’ve spent so much time studying words and language, I don’t really know, but this stuff even gets into my dreams sometimes.

One night I dreamt I was in ancient Rome. I was standing on some huge portico with miles of giant steps leading up to it, just finding myself there for some unknown reason, hearing people talking all around me. In my dream I was looking for someone or something, I don’t really know what. Then I saw, a short distance away, wearing a toga and everything, my friend Justin Quick. And Quick is a good name for him. He’s quick to care. Quick to help. Quick to show kindness. He’s great. But I have no idea why he was in my dream. So I called out to him and, no kidding, without a single thought, my dream self shouted out, “Justinian Quickenus! Justinian Quickenus!” He turned to me and started walking towards me and that’s when I woke up. Laughing. I literally made myself laugh in my sleep with my insane dream.

I told Justin about this dream. I think it just confirmed my weirdness. What can one think about such dreams?

But it doesn’t stop with the dreams. I have a phrase I use for my daughters. They are “Beauteous Maximus.” Sometimes they are “Smucha Muchas” or “Shweety Hearts.” Our house is “The Humble Abode.” I do things that aren’t very “pastorly,” and the lifestyle my wife and I live with three kids and too much going on is “coitus interruptus.”

Go ahead. Laugh at me if you want. I can take it.

But seriously. Don’t you find words to be funny? And some words are just weird. The word “the” for instance. The? Who came up with that? Why is a knife called a nyf? Back in the day it was a knyf, but we didn’t like the k in there, so we just dumped it. And I’m sure someone knows why, but if we knew it wouldn’t be as funny.

Or how about how doctors put the suffix -itis on things to make you feel like they’ve really told you something? Laryngitis, Appendicitis, Sinusitis, etc. etc. The suffix -itis simply means “irritating” or “irritated.” Isn’t that helpful? How about “Eyebrowitis” or “Mykiditis?”

This is all just the tip of the iceberg. No wonder communication is so hard. I just thank God for words like love and forgiveness. Without them this world would be all nonsense.




Peace to you.


© LW Publishing 2010

Cuss

There are times in life when we are all challenged to take the next step and move forward toward maturity, adulthood and enlightenment. For instance: learning to cuss.

I did not hear a lot of cussing in my house growing up. It was frowned on and I’m thankful for that. But it was a constant friend in the neighborhood. Some of the kids were masterful with it. The cussing flowed like chocolate syrup on the vanilla ice cream of life. And so it was that I tried to use this particular art in one of my endless attempts to fit in. And the plan was simple. I thought I’d learn the cussing thing. It seemed easy to figure out and it was an easy way to prove my manhood to the other kids in the neighborhood.

So I started in one day. I cussed and I cussed. I didn’t think for a second about the meaning of the words. It didn’t matter. Each word was simply a key for getting in the door of acceptance. And the kids in the neighborhood helped me! They told me which words were most appropriate in whichever situations. They high fived me when I got it right. It was very affirming. All day long, cuss cuss cuss, every other word. Icouldabeenagangsta.

When I went home in the evening, after being unaccounted for all day, I started to get nervous that I would accidentally cuss in front of my parents. I wasn’t sure, but I thought there was a good chance my mom would immediately kill me if she heard me cuss. Probably with a sawed off shot gun or a dull knife. And she’d do it in front of my brothers and sisters to make a good example of me, my blood spraying across their tender, horrified faces. But I somehow managed to control myself.

Over the next few days I couldn’t wait to get out there and practice my art. Cuss cuss cuss. Hey man, how’s it cussing goin’? Cussing great! Well I’m cussing glad to hear it. We should get our cussing bikes and cussing go to the cussing creek and try to find some cussing turtles or snakes. Cuss yeah, man! I bet there’s cussing all kinds of cussing turtles out there. Cuss.

Being me, I think I was enjoying the creativity of it. It took careful effort to fit all of those expletives in at just the right spot, to get the nuances correct. It was like a new toy. I loved it. But a few days later, the guys took me aside and sat me down on the porch to explain something to me. They told me I was taking things too far. Cussing was great, but I was overdoing it. I was cussing so much it was annoying them. Too cool to be cool. So they asked me to tone it down a bit. And I did. Failing once again to get it right with the indiscernible madness of human interaction.

Cuss.

When I was at university, an English professor said that cussing had no true meaning and was really a form of violence. He said that anyone can cuss, but not anyone can express their true heart. And I found that very challenging. I don’t know if he was completely right, but I think he was on to something. I learned how to cuss and I have since learned to put it behind me. Mostly. I have to confess that even now, decades later, the urge is still there sometimes. When you least expect it, it can rise, easy to the tongue. But I think the prof was right. I think it’s a good thing to want what you say to matter and have meaning. That simple desire could shape our connections to others into something more beautiful and true.




Matthew 12:36-37
Peace to you.


© LW Publishing 2010