Being raised to be a southern gentleman I was taught to embrace manners. "Please" and "thank you" were not necessarily appreciated but expected. I was taught to acknowledge people in their accomplishments and to gently confront them in their indiscretions. Not only did my parents take on this monumental task but they also relied on a few select others to assist them in this endeavor. In my parents' occasional absence I was attended by a fine southern widow lady named Mrs. Wolfe. Even as a child I pictured her as always wearing white lace gloves with her day dress and never having visitors see a chair in her house without a lace doily on it. I never really saw her in a pair of lace gloves nor a lace doily on her chair but knew that in my absence that was how she lived. She, with my parents, shared in the responsibility of shaping me to be a mannerly young boy and in spite of all their best efforts I am sure felt defeated quite often. Nevertheless, today as an adult I count myself as one of the fortunate people in the world to have a mannerly air about them. I am careful to try my best to be gracious and am blessed with a patient (and beautiful) wife who often covers my mannerly shortcomings. I suppose due to the blessing of mannerly influence in my life I feel compelled to make a mannerly statement to generation Y. I give this background to say to generation Y: "I am sorry." I say this with all the sincerity I can possibly muster from the depths of my soul.
Some may wonder what I am sorry for. Many look on generation Y as one of the most blessed generations to ever live in America. They have been raised with more societal advances and more personal luxuries then any before them. However, I feel my generation (and the generation before mine) has greatly let down generation Y. Here is a partial list of some of what I am sorry for:
- For allowing the world to try and convince you that politicians will save you from your situation. Jesus is the hope. (Revelation 11:15)
- For allowing the world to try and convince you to accept the sin and the sinner. Love the sinner but hate the sin. (1 Peter 3:9)
- For allowing the world to try and convince you that abortion is OK. How can we begin to think that our nation can be fully blessed when we allow the senseless murder of over 3700 unborn babies a day. God values ALL life. (Jeremiah 1:5, Proverbs 6:16-19)
- For allowing the world to try and convince you that homosexuality is acceptable. It is not. (Leviticus 18:22)
- For allowing the world to try and convince you that Jesus is not the only way. There is ONLY one way to get to heaven and that is through the acceptance of Jesus Christ as your savior. (John 14:6)
- For allowing the world to try and convince you that material possessions are all you should strive for. You truly can't take it with you. (Luke 12:15, Luke 12:20)
- For allowing the world to try and convince you that it is OK to watch trash on TV and the Internet. It is not. (Philippians 4:8)
For all this and more I apologize. The list could go on but I will stop. Now allow me to make another "mannerly" appeal. Please do something about all of it! Please leave the generation that follows you a world that convinces them of Jesus' love and the rewards of pursuing a Godly life. I know you can do it. And before I forget (apologies to my parents, my wife...and Mrs. Wolfe) - Thank you.
Sunday, November 9, 2008
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
The Coming Election Part 2.
Growing up and living in the south, one of the things I have had privilege and occasion to do is to hunt. To be more specific - raccoon hunt. For those who have never had the opportunity to be in the middle of the woods on a clear, crisp, autumn night I cannot begin to fully and justly explain the lure of a far off owl's call or the excitement one feels when the quiet is broken by the loud bawl of the hunting dog as he goes about his business of putting a raccoon up a tree. Growing up with a dad who loved to hunt we always had several hunting dogs around. Some were good while some were not so good. Regardless, they were always well fed and given a nice warm place to live in return for their hunting efforts. At one point in my life, when I was about twelve years old, we had the great pleasure of owning a rather large, deep red hound. He was a pleasant dog, never cross. He was a bit younger than other dogs we had owned and as such he was quite more energetic than the others. Everyone who saw him immediatley liked him due to his easy going nature and good looks. Just by looking at him one could feel the promise of a great hunting season to come. He could practically bring tears to a seasoned hunters eyes when he would open his mouth and let go with a resounding tenor bawl that seemed to shake the very trees we would soon be hunting. When one heard him all things of seasons past were soon forgotten. Following is the story of "The dog you got."
We had had a couple of rough seasons. We had lacked in success - as had several hunting friends of ours - but had been told by several seasoned hunters that the raccoon population was down and combined with other factors it would turn around soon. They felt we were simply at the down end of a cycle. Nevertheless, my father and I felt we could not continue status quo.
My father and I had been dissappointed in the season prior and felt it might be time to make a change. Our older dog had provided us with several great hunting seasons but had appeared to slip in his abilities. As a result, I especially felt a change was needed. My father cautioned me against any rash changes. He relied on that old southern saying "the dog you get may be worse than the dog you got". I refused to listen and immediatley began the search for a new dog. Soon I had my dad convinced that the coming season would be better if only we had a new, younger, better looking, better sounding dog. I had a friend who knew an older gentleman who was willing to sell one of his dogs. The older gentleman was well known to have good seasoned dogs so it stood to reason that if he had one for sale that had been running with his older dogs then the dog must be ready to take the lead and become the main dog in our kennel. My dad acquiesced and we drove our old pickup to the man's farm to have a look at the dog that held our hopes for a great season to come. When we saw him we were taken with all the wonderful outward canine attributes he possessed. When we heard that bawl, that beautiful mouth, we both knew we had to have him - he was the dog for us. Any dog that sounded so great had to be good - but not just good - GREAT! My dad paid the man the price he was asking and we drove away the proud owners of a new beautiful dog. The future season would be better. He would provide for us in a way we had never known. That beautiful tenor bawl said it all!
We took our new dog home and positioned him in the front kennel - a place reserved for our number one. Just his presence made us feel a certain disdain for all the other dogs we owned. They could not compare to "the one". I could not wait to put him to work! My dad and I decided we would go that very night. Our luck was about to change. After dinner we dressed in our hunting clothes, collected our new dog and headed for the woods. We turned him loose and waited with expectant anticipation. It wasn't long before he made good on his unspoken promise to turn our hunting experience around - we heard that deep, beautiful bawl ring out through the crisp, clear night. In a matter of minutes he indicated with that beautiful bawl that he had located the tree for us and assured us a raccoon would be sitting in the top of it. We hurried to the tree and excitedly shined our lights in the expansive branches. We looked and looked but to our dismay - no raccoon! We could not believe our new number one dog had let us down. He had sounded so good. We knew it probably wasn't his fault. Something had happened and would soon be corrected - we were certain. Unfortunately the scene was to be repeated several more times that night before we decided to go home and try again the next night. Again we started our night's hunt with great expectations only to find that the promises held in our new dog's superior looks and his beautiful bawl would not be completed in his actions. He was young, good looking, energetic and sounded like no other in the county yet his inexperience overcame all his positives. In spite of his willingness, he simply wasn't ready.
In thinking over the coming election this story came quickly to mind. The voting public seems to be taken with looks and speech that will fall empty in promise. Yes - Mr. Obama has the ability to make some wait excitedly on promises that will not be met. If he is bestowed the privilege of becoming "the one" we will all regret moving him to that place of honor. The dog we get will be worse than the dog we got.
I believe the night we moved our new, beautiful dog to the back of the kennel our old dog looked at us and hung his head. He seemed to be aware of the mistake we had made. He seemed to show a sadness of knowing it would not soon be corrected. If able I am sure he would have said, "The dog you got was worse than the dog you had."
We had had a couple of rough seasons. We had lacked in success - as had several hunting friends of ours - but had been told by several seasoned hunters that the raccoon population was down and combined with other factors it would turn around soon. They felt we were simply at the down end of a cycle. Nevertheless, my father and I felt we could not continue status quo.
My father and I had been dissappointed in the season prior and felt it might be time to make a change. Our older dog had provided us with several great hunting seasons but had appeared to slip in his abilities. As a result, I especially felt a change was needed. My father cautioned me against any rash changes. He relied on that old southern saying "the dog you get may be worse than the dog you got". I refused to listen and immediatley began the search for a new dog. Soon I had my dad convinced that the coming season would be better if only we had a new, younger, better looking, better sounding dog. I had a friend who knew an older gentleman who was willing to sell one of his dogs. The older gentleman was well known to have good seasoned dogs so it stood to reason that if he had one for sale that had been running with his older dogs then the dog must be ready to take the lead and become the main dog in our kennel. My dad acquiesced and we drove our old pickup to the man's farm to have a look at the dog that held our hopes for a great season to come. When we saw him we were taken with all the wonderful outward canine attributes he possessed. When we heard that bawl, that beautiful mouth, we both knew we had to have him - he was the dog for us. Any dog that sounded so great had to be good - but not just good - GREAT! My dad paid the man the price he was asking and we drove away the proud owners of a new beautiful dog. The future season would be better. He would provide for us in a way we had never known. That beautiful tenor bawl said it all!
We took our new dog home and positioned him in the front kennel - a place reserved for our number one. Just his presence made us feel a certain disdain for all the other dogs we owned. They could not compare to "the one". I could not wait to put him to work! My dad and I decided we would go that very night. Our luck was about to change. After dinner we dressed in our hunting clothes, collected our new dog and headed for the woods. We turned him loose and waited with expectant anticipation. It wasn't long before he made good on his unspoken promise to turn our hunting experience around - we heard that deep, beautiful bawl ring out through the crisp, clear night. In a matter of minutes he indicated with that beautiful bawl that he had located the tree for us and assured us a raccoon would be sitting in the top of it. We hurried to the tree and excitedly shined our lights in the expansive branches. We looked and looked but to our dismay - no raccoon! We could not believe our new number one dog had let us down. He had sounded so good. We knew it probably wasn't his fault. Something had happened and would soon be corrected - we were certain. Unfortunately the scene was to be repeated several more times that night before we decided to go home and try again the next night. Again we started our night's hunt with great expectations only to find that the promises held in our new dog's superior looks and his beautiful bawl would not be completed in his actions. He was young, good looking, energetic and sounded like no other in the county yet his inexperience overcame all his positives. In spite of his willingness, he simply wasn't ready.
In thinking over the coming election this story came quickly to mind. The voting public seems to be taken with looks and speech that will fall empty in promise. Yes - Mr. Obama has the ability to make some wait excitedly on promises that will not be met. If he is bestowed the privilege of becoming "the one" we will all regret moving him to that place of honor. The dog we get will be worse than the dog we got.
I believe the night we moved our new, beautiful dog to the back of the kennel our old dog looked at us and hung his head. He seemed to be aware of the mistake we had made. He seemed to show a sadness of knowing it would not soon be corrected. If able I am sure he would have said, "The dog you got was worse than the dog you had."
Sunday, October 26, 2008
The Coming Election
In the south we commonly use an expression that conveys several different affections. It addresses both care and concern. It can address a genuine affection while at the same time it can indicate a worrisome preoccupation with the well being (usually mental well being) of the person or persons it is intended for. This expression has been proven by time to be as eloquent in today’s language as it was in the time of our country’s birth. The expression can be used in any form of conversation, dialogue, poetry or prose. It is no respecter of economic position, educational standing, gender, sexual orientation, religious affiliation, political leaning or race. It can be used in any tense – past, present or future. It can be used to express ones concern for a solitary being or for a group of people and has yet to be limited as to the size of group in can convey said concern for. It is a simply wonderful expression and on any given day we can hear it come from the mouths of the most well intentioned people.
The expression is “Well bless your/their heart(s)”.
While its usage is not wholly described above it generally is seen as a substitute for phrases such as:
“What were they thinking?!”
“Please excuse their lack of common sense.”
“Had they half a brain we would not be having this conversation.”
“I wish I could think of any other way to say this but due to the lack of intelligence on their part…”
“I can’t believe what an idiot you are!”
“I am sorry. I didn’t know you were that dumb.”
Please understand that the above list does not fully encompass the possible usages and some would argue that the expression does not necessarily carry a negative connotation. Yet those of us in the know readily admit it was borne out of the need of southerners to have the ability to address uncomfortable subjects while staying true to a politeness that has been bred into our heritage and is the most dominate trait of certain southern social circles. If one is over the age of sixty he or she may even find the need to whisper the expression or at the very least precede or follow the expression with a sister phrase such as:
“I heard…..” (This generally follows the aforementioned expression and is intended to somehow release the person speaking from any and all liability concerning what is about to follow. They are simply relaying what any thinking person should know is the truth.)
“You didn’t hear this from me….” (This generally precedes said expression and is somehow intended to truly make the person listening forget where and from whom they heard what is to follow. The effectiveness of this particular phrase when used in conjunction with our discussion subject is highly questionable.)
Occasionally one may encounter a soft spoken, genteel southern gentleman who will simply precede or follow the expression with a nod of the head or a facial expression which indicates a certain sadness at having to utter the phrase to begin with. Nothing more will be said as nothing more needs to be said. By using this phrase he has indicated both his disdain toward the matter being discussed and shown the necessary concern needed to retain his gentlemanly description. And being a man of few words he considers it a closed subject when one of the conversation participants interjects the phrase into the conversation.
We in the south have often speculated on how great it would be if our much used phrase was as popular across the nation as it is here in the original eleven. It would be so refreshing to hear Mary Hart when describing the latest indiscretion of Brittany Spears or when relaying the latest musings of one of our great national thinkers like Madonna or Sean Penn to simply look into the camera, smile, tilt her head and report “Well bless their heart. Now back to Pat to give us the latest on Robert Downey Jr.’s most recent attempt at rehab.” We as a nation would be able to collectively nod our heads, sigh that all knowing sigh that indicates certain agreement and turn off the TV. All reporting could be summed up, for the most part, with the use of our favorite southern colloquialism.
Could we even begin to try and wrap our minds around the unlimited potential use of the phrase when doing political reporting? So little would be left to interpretation. Our collective displeasure could be reiterated by our televised talking heads with the utterance of one simple phrase. There would be no need for each party to be represented in each report by their most vile of defenders. Both Republicans and Democrats could send the “party Grandmother” (or “party Great Aunt” in absence of the aforementioned representative.) The sweet, grey haired lady could repeat the phrase as needed in every interview or debate. Arguments over public policy could be deemed complete in as little as two sentences – three at maximum. Utopia!
But when I allow myself to mentally roam to such uncharted waters, to boldly go where no man has gone before, to explore a vast wilderness of verbal conciseness, I catch myself and fall back to reality. A reality filled with “he said - she said politics”. I return to a reality where no issue is ever laid to rest because no blame is ever accepted. “Why would blame need to be accepted?” one might say. “We just need to move ahead and work toward a solution that will benefit us all.” Or in the famous words of that great modern oracle Rodney King “Why can’t we all just get along?” Until blame (it used to be referred to as responsibility) is accepted – not just placed – then we can no more correct the ailment than we can go from point A to point B without directions. It would be a futile attempt at correction – much like giving a six month old child time out.
So as the sun sets on this election cycle we can all look back at what has transpired thus far and what lays ahead for our great nation. We sit on the precipice of electing the most inexperienced person ever nominated to national office. We sit on the precipice of electing a man who holds no regard for the unborn. We sit on the precipice of electing a man who aligns himself with convicted felons and known – even celebrated socialists. We sit on the precipice of electing a man who wants to redistribute wealth in a way we have not been witness to since Castro. We sit on the precipice of electing a man who will appoint Supreme Court justices that will complete the “Europeization” of America in short work. We sit on the precipice of waking up on November the 5th 2008 and heaving a collective sigh - the collective sigh that as described above “indicates certain agreement”. Yet this “certain agreement” will not be one of gladness and anticipation but one of great regret. It will be the type of regret one feels after looking at the crash scene covered with blood and knowing a mistake had been made and that the mental picture of regrettable consequences will not soon leave their minds closet. We sit on that precipice with a sadness that comes like the sadness felt as the patient enters Hospice. If we leap from that precipice and allow what seems inevitable to become complete then the world will wake one day to discover our favorite southern colloquialism as they all look at us from the outside and utter “Well bless their hearts.” They will collectively nod their heads and enter a long and deafening silence knowing no more needs to be said.
Our destruction will be upon us.
The expression is “Well bless your/their heart(s)”.
While its usage is not wholly described above it generally is seen as a substitute for phrases such as:
“What were they thinking?!”
“Please excuse their lack of common sense.”
“Had they half a brain we would not be having this conversation.”
“I wish I could think of any other way to say this but due to the lack of intelligence on their part…”
“I can’t believe what an idiot you are!”
“I am sorry. I didn’t know you were that dumb.”
Please understand that the above list does not fully encompass the possible usages and some would argue that the expression does not necessarily carry a negative connotation. Yet those of us in the know readily admit it was borne out of the need of southerners to have the ability to address uncomfortable subjects while staying true to a politeness that has been bred into our heritage and is the most dominate trait of certain southern social circles. If one is over the age of sixty he or she may even find the need to whisper the expression or at the very least precede or follow the expression with a sister phrase such as:
“I heard…..” (This generally follows the aforementioned expression and is intended to somehow release the person speaking from any and all liability concerning what is about to follow. They are simply relaying what any thinking person should know is the truth.)
“You didn’t hear this from me….” (This generally precedes said expression and is somehow intended to truly make the person listening forget where and from whom they heard what is to follow. The effectiveness of this particular phrase when used in conjunction with our discussion subject is highly questionable.)
Occasionally one may encounter a soft spoken, genteel southern gentleman who will simply precede or follow the expression with a nod of the head or a facial expression which indicates a certain sadness at having to utter the phrase to begin with. Nothing more will be said as nothing more needs to be said. By using this phrase he has indicated both his disdain toward the matter being discussed and shown the necessary concern needed to retain his gentlemanly description. And being a man of few words he considers it a closed subject when one of the conversation participants interjects the phrase into the conversation.
We in the south have often speculated on how great it would be if our much used phrase was as popular across the nation as it is here in the original eleven. It would be so refreshing to hear Mary Hart when describing the latest indiscretion of Brittany Spears or when relaying the latest musings of one of our great national thinkers like Madonna or Sean Penn to simply look into the camera, smile, tilt her head and report “Well bless their heart. Now back to Pat to give us the latest on Robert Downey Jr.’s most recent attempt at rehab.” We as a nation would be able to collectively nod our heads, sigh that all knowing sigh that indicates certain agreement and turn off the TV. All reporting could be summed up, for the most part, with the use of our favorite southern colloquialism.
Could we even begin to try and wrap our minds around the unlimited potential use of the phrase when doing political reporting? So little would be left to interpretation. Our collective displeasure could be reiterated by our televised talking heads with the utterance of one simple phrase. There would be no need for each party to be represented in each report by their most vile of defenders. Both Republicans and Democrats could send the “party Grandmother” (or “party Great Aunt” in absence of the aforementioned representative.) The sweet, grey haired lady could repeat the phrase as needed in every interview or debate. Arguments over public policy could be deemed complete in as little as two sentences – three at maximum. Utopia!
But when I allow myself to mentally roam to such uncharted waters, to boldly go where no man has gone before, to explore a vast wilderness of verbal conciseness, I catch myself and fall back to reality. A reality filled with “he said - she said politics”. I return to a reality where no issue is ever laid to rest because no blame is ever accepted. “Why would blame need to be accepted?” one might say. “We just need to move ahead and work toward a solution that will benefit us all.” Or in the famous words of that great modern oracle Rodney King “Why can’t we all just get along?” Until blame (it used to be referred to as responsibility) is accepted – not just placed – then we can no more correct the ailment than we can go from point A to point B without directions. It would be a futile attempt at correction – much like giving a six month old child time out.
So as the sun sets on this election cycle we can all look back at what has transpired thus far and what lays ahead for our great nation. We sit on the precipice of electing the most inexperienced person ever nominated to national office. We sit on the precipice of electing a man who holds no regard for the unborn. We sit on the precipice of electing a man who aligns himself with convicted felons and known – even celebrated socialists. We sit on the precipice of electing a man who wants to redistribute wealth in a way we have not been witness to since Castro. We sit on the precipice of electing a man who will appoint Supreme Court justices that will complete the “Europeization” of America in short work. We sit on the precipice of waking up on November the 5th 2008 and heaving a collective sigh - the collective sigh that as described above “indicates certain agreement”. Yet this “certain agreement” will not be one of gladness and anticipation but one of great regret. It will be the type of regret one feels after looking at the crash scene covered with blood and knowing a mistake had been made and that the mental picture of regrettable consequences will not soon leave their minds closet. We sit on that precipice with a sadness that comes like the sadness felt as the patient enters Hospice. If we leap from that precipice and allow what seems inevitable to become complete then the world will wake one day to discover our favorite southern colloquialism as they all look at us from the outside and utter “Well bless their hearts.” They will collectively nod their heads and enter a long and deafening silence knowing no more needs to be said.
Our destruction will be upon us.
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