POLITICALLY CORRECT? SAYS WHO?

Floyd Finding Floyd Inspirational Christian writing 11 Comments

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I have to admit that I struggle with the whole “politically correct” business. Changing words or eliminating them completely doesn’t change the heart of a person, true change happens on the inside.

The wisdom to grasp those thoughts along with a persons actions should be the basis of changing a culture, not fear of what society might think or what was known as peer pressure to us as youngsters.

Who is the ultimate authority on what’s politically correct? Are the rules that govern political correctness always moral laws? If so, based on who’s rules of morality?

Some of it is refreshing, I think it’s a good thing that we don’t hear kids talk to their peers like we did as kids. Our generation, at least where I grew up was pretty harsh, although not usually to underprivileged or handicap kids. We were all bordering underprivileged.

Siblings? Forget about it! It was no holds barred when it came to verbal combat. It was war and war was all about winning. Being the youngest of four my only means of defense was my mind and tongue, boy did I use what few assets I had to their fullest extent.

Some of our sparring words were originals, others were just popular fun to say rhythmic rhymes thrown about like hand grenades at anyone who crossed our boundaries.

“When God was passing out brains, ______ (insert name of intended target here) thought they said trains and missed the last one”!!! “HA-HA-HA”!

Of course the ever popular comeback to any name being hurled in your direction, “I know you are but what am I”?

Then the eventual answer to that insult, “I already told you but you’re too dumb to know it and too ugly to show it”!!!

Sometimes it got even more personal in hopes of really hurting someone’s feelings. “Fatty, fatty two by four can’t fit through the kitchen door”! Pure viciousness.

The lightning jab of a parry right back at the heart of the opponent. “Your so skinny, my little sister’s even bigger than you”! The attack doesn’t stop, “Your so skinny you have to put rocks in your pockets when a breeze blows”!!!

Let us not forget about the grandma comparisons… “My grandma’s slow, but she’s old”! – “What’s your excuse”?!!!

The insults got worse as we got older… I remember a kid who was a senior told me when I was a freshman, “I use to have a shirt like that… Then my dad got a job”!!! I wanted to hit him… I didn’t.

A couple years later I had a kid sitting behind me in class say to me, “Is that the only pair of jeans you own”? – “What do you do”? – “Stand those things in the corner at night”?!!! At this point in my life, verbally sparring was the politically correct thing to do under those circumstances.

I was fed up with being politically correct then as well…

I waited till the teacher turned her back, jumped out of my chair simultaneously punching the kid as hard as I could in his belly…

I had another pair of 501’s and my mom always made sure I had a clean pair… I just really didn’t feel like explaining it to the punk, I’d had enough of being politically correct…

I’m not painting myself as innocent or condoning those type of actions, but sometimes sitting quietly by while injustice is being overlooked or ignored might be a bigger crime.

That’s sorta what it feels like now, living our lives by man-made rules without the proper heart is going to do little to change a person’s heart, that happens on the inside. Our society has taken some good, ethical, Bible-based tenets and mixed them with some man-made ones to get us where we are now.

Everyone and every religion are acceptable, even the ones that have declared war on our freedom, society, and way of life, except one: The origin of all moral laws– Christianity.

Sometimes we might have to break the inferred societal laws in order to keep the law written inside our hearts…

THE GIFT OF ART

Floyd Finding Floyd Inspirational Christian writing 12 Comments

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We’ve kept some of the drawings done by our kids when they were very young. Their gift of art given to my wife or me, sometimes both of us. Some were birthday or Christmas gifts, others weren’t for any particular event just done in love and the kids enjoying the act of giving and the gratification they would receive from our appreciation.

The kids still give us cards for special events in our lives and vice-versa. They don’t draw us pictures anymore, they’ve learned to express their love and appreciation with words and actions.

My mom has drawings and paintings my siblings and I did as children too, she cherishes those unorthodox scribblings as if they were embossed in pure gold.

Somewhere in the maturation process I’ve figured out that the quote from the Bible, “It’s better to give than to receive,” is very accurate, although I appreciate getting things as well.

The things I desire as gifts from others don’t have anything to do with money, in fact, all the money in the world can’t buy what I desire as gifts. Even as I give of myself in joy, I make mistakes, usually with loved ones more than others. The gift of love given by my loved ones is displayed in forgiveness… What a great gift.

That gift is as sweet as the drawings of children…

Money might be able to buy obedience for a time, but it can’t purchase respect. To appreciate someone for who they are as defined by their actions over a period of time is as rich a gift as any other.

Another gift that isn’t for sale is compassion. When I see that gift given I know the person offering it is one of the richest people in the world, I also notice that those same people are usually the happiest people as well.

Since I’ve received God’s free gift of eternal life paid for by the blood of His Son, I’ve realized He’s given even more than that as if that weren’t enough. I’ve also been given a bit of the same attributes of the One who’s image I’m created in.

Because that free gift comes with some wisdom, I realize that the very gifts that were spent on me I’m designed to spend on others as well. Gifts like love, respect, forgiveness, compassion, and mercy to name a few.

It’s an interesting paradigm shift, the more I give with the proper perspective, the more I get.

It seems the simpler the gift the better…

Have we contemplated the value of a simple genuine smile?

What would you give up to see a beautiful sunset?

How far would we go, or how much would one give in order to hug their mom or dad one last time before God takes them home?

What would we give to spend an eternity with God and the ones who made those scribble drawings for us that they were so proud of?

These simple words are my gift to the world, they aren’t perfect, they’re a little like those scribbled drawings done by our children and us before them, but these words are given with the same attitude and heart today.

These words like the drawings are given to the people that mattered most in the lives of children…

Today that person is you…

May God bless you with the gift of His love and may you be lifted up.

WEEDS

Floyd Finding Floyd Inspirational Christian writing 8 Comments

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The warmer spring days and an earlier rising sun brings extra activities. The birds racing, nesting and chirping, the longer days mean longer work days for the adults and longer play days for the kids. I love the green and blooming trees and flowers, the vivid beauty of God’s creation. However, the spring also brings my arch nemesis, the dreaded never surrendering weeds…

As I pull into my driveway I slow down, not to just ease the jolting of my body and truck on the rolled curb, but to survey my enemies. It doesn’t seem to matter how hard I try to get rid of the weeds, they always show back up, sometimes with reinforcements.

As I pull into the driveway I set my eyes searching from left to right, a man possessed by my mission: Eliminate all the weeds from my yard.

I’ve spent countless hours, year in and year out in search of a weed-free yard. I spray, I pull, and I sweat… Sometimes when I think I’ve won the battle of the weeds, I double, triple, and quadruple check. Just when I’m ready to announce a victory in the battle for that day my daughter comes out with her young eyes and becomes my weed-spotter showing me all the weeds I missed.

I have to confess that I am a tad on the obsessive side, but what would happen if I dare become content with a few weeds?

Many times while pulling weeds with my mind in neutral, it has occurred to me that my life is like the grass I try to keep weed free. This world is no longer the Garden Of Eden and the curse on me to work by the sweat of my brow is a grim reality.

There have been times in my life I’ve been relying on the powerful Weed Controller Himself to keep my life clean and weed free. I see no sign of weeds in my life and then Presto! One thought or action and I can see and feel the weeds of sin trying to take over my manicured spiritual life.

I call on God to clean me and de-weed me, often when those weeds of sin are being pulled out by His mighty hand a few of the good grass roots come out with the weeds. It isn’t pleasant to have my life manicured by God, sometimes it’s even downright painful, but what would happen if I dare become content with a few weed-sins in my life?

When I think God has removed all the weeds for the season, I often don’t double, triple, and quadruple check. Then of course He shows me all the ones I missed trying to avoid the work and the pain associated with the manicuring process.

If feels good to drive in sometimes and not see a weed in sight. It feels even better when my life is dependent on God and I don’t have any weed-sin in my yard of life, even if it’s just for this season.

I know the winds will come, blowing in the seeds of sin, the rains will follow and the process in my yard and in my life will start over. These might be new seeds, maybe different seeds bringing in different weeds, but weeds just the same… After all, this isn’t the Garden Of Eden.

May God set my eyes in search from left to right, a man possessed by my mission:

Eliminate all the weeds from my life…

IN GOD WE TRUST

Floyd Finding Floyd Inspirational Christian writing 9 Comments

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Flying above the clouds at 35,000 feet toward the sunset is a thing of exquisite beauty, the colors of the clouds reflecting the sunlight is far beyond imitation. The clouds below look like the beds of angels, beyond our understanding of true comfort. The angelic blanket covers not only the beauty below but also the ugliness as well.

Below is where fallen mankind dwells… Who knows what’s happening at the very second the plane passes over an exact location? The plane passes over cities, countryside, and everything in between.

Nice clean and organized row housing is visible, some have clotheslines in the backyards, others have swimming pools. Some houses are spread out as the grid loosens its grip on the independent rural settings. Some of those once proud homesteads are a bit worn down, not looking as strong and independent as they once were. The worn defenses almost inviting the spreading metropolis to gobble it up as it has everything else in its path.

We pass over junkyards, the places where some of the cars, now in their final resting places were the seats where some lost their lives… The cars there have become memorials where loved ones were maimed and changed forever.

The once shiny new vehicles when they were someone’s proud ride are the example of everything else in this world. While beautiful in some ways, display the delicate nature and the fact that this world is hard and unforgiving sometimes, everything is passing away… There is struggle…

In the country, the food chain is reality, from insect to rodent, from small plant-eating animals to big animals with teeth designed to break necks and shred meat. It’s a vicious life of survival… The strong survive.

Passing over the cities is a grim reminder of the reality that it’s not so different for us humans here than in the wild rural settings. Some of the two-legged animals aren’t predators, but that’s what makes the two-legged animal so dangerous, one can’t tell the tame ones from the predators…

Some of those predators use their skills of chameleon to attack, corner and destroy their prey… Some of those are the liars, thieves, and sexual predators of women and children…

These predators most of the time look like model citizens, this type of predator uses societies laws to take advantage of their prey, they’ve learned to play the system or walk the fine line between legal and unethical.

The two-legged animals do their best to control their herd, they pass more laws and since we live in a fallen world and perfection is impossible, it only leads to more rules and  more laws designed to control the predators and protect the tame two-legged animals.

The world looks perfect at 35.000 feet, the problem is we don’t have wings and eventually we have to make our descent into the struggle of life.

Flying high above the clouds, the dirt, the struggle, and the beauty, the sun has made its descent as well…

In the lonely darkness, I ponder the hopelessness of this earth…

I reflect on a once much different country I’m passing over…

I understand our only hope is in God himself…

My desire is for this society to once again live, believe, and act on the simple words and belief that made this country great…

IN GOD WE TRUST…

A BEDTIME RITUAL

Floyd Finding Floyd Inspirational Christian writing 16 Comments

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“Can we do Whooshings tonight Dad”? she asked. “Sure,”–“Where do you want to do em”? I replied. My youngest would usually pick our bed. Sometimes I’d warn her, “If you pick our bed they’re gonna be really BIG Whooshings”! “OK”! she’d say scared and excited.

The exact definition for Whooshings might not appear in the Webster’s dictionary. The exact meaning of the word Whooshing as defined in our house is this: To throw or be thrown, the act of tossing a person in or on a specific target or bed from a significant distance, securing a safe landing. The name was actually invented by chance.

I’m sure the game’s origin could be traced back to me tossing her sisters into swimming pools. I’d hold them like a cradle, their back resting on my curled left arm with the back of their upper legs in my curled right arm. I’d stand back from the bed and with each count of a number I’d swing her left toward the bed stopping and rocking back toward the right readying them for the next number.

It went something like this, a big swing to the left with a loud audible “ONE”! Back to the right then a big swing back to the left and another loud “TWO”! One last move hard and fast to the right shifting quickly back to the left with an even louder “THREE”!!! As my little one would sail through the air flying toward the bed I’d yell, “Whoosh”!!! Hence, her made-up title of “Whooshings.”

After the first one, she’d shout “AGAIN-DAD-AGAIN”!!! “One-Two-Three”!!! And it would start all again. After 5 or 6 times, I’d have to calm the Whooshing Monster and ready her for bed. That was one of our rituals, we had another bedtime ritual that our youngest opted for sometimes.

This ritual was titled, “The Wrong Bed,” of course named by our little game-name-giver. It started by chance, I’d pick her up in that same cradle and as I walked toward her room I’d stop and set her in the wrong bed. In the beginning, it was usually her sister’s beds.

I’d play the part of the sincere dad, “OK Gurmy Girl, there you go, sleep tight, I love you, OK then”–“Dad”! Was her next line in the ritual cutting me off. “Yeah Babe.” Was my line, her next line was improvised, it went something like this, “Dad, this isn’t my bed”! I’d say cleverly with shock in my voice, “What”?! -“Are you sure”? And onto more improvised dialogue.

It got to the point when I’d pick her up from the first spot I’d lay her on other things– that was the fun of the game for her, then of course to tell me it wasn’t her bed with a sweet smile…

My little one got put to bed on just about everything in the house over the years. The breakfast table, dining table, kitchen countertop, bath countertop, coffee tables, my desk, even a few pinball machines.

Whatever the bedtime ritual, it always wound up in her bed and a prayer, me usually first then her. It always ended with a good night, “I love you” and an “I love you too.”

Something we were talking about made my little one think of the old rituals last night. She asked me, “Remember Whooshings Dad”? I laughed and said, “Of course I do” — “Do you remember, “The Wrong Bed”? I replied. “She laughed and answered, ” Yeah” —  “That was fun”!

A while later she announced she was going to shower, a little bit after that she came back in to say good night…

The days of Whooshings and The Wrong Bed are in the ever distancing past. I know from our older girls that our little one is right around the corner from being gone…

No more good nights or good mornings…

There were difficulties, I can’t say it was all perfect, but even in the discipline for everyone involved in different ways there was joy, in the end there is honor and the sweetest of memories.

Most of us with short memories can relate to the old adage, “You don’t know what you’ve got till it’s gone.”

I can envision someday my grandkids and great grandkids asking their mothers, “Mommy, can we do Whooshings”?

My girls smiling at their pride and joy’s, sometimes with their eyes swelling with tears…

Remembering us…

They too will take them in their arms and form a gentle cradle as they begin to count, One!- Two!- Three!!!

They too will have to practice letting their babies go and trusting they have set them on course for a safe landing…