Pastor Kerry delivered a timely sermon on the power of words this morning. Words have power over us. Words come from thoughts. Thoughts are the rudder of our ship.

Have you heard of people who besmirch their abilities? Apologizing for their perceived lack of skill and ability. Their words create their performance and the opinions others have of them.

Hateful words engender hate. Speaking evil of others hurts them and their reputation with others. Hate speech hurts the speaker. Speaking evil creates evil surroundings depressed feelings and a recipe for failure and subsequent disaster.

We crave happy words. Someone who will recount the good things that we have done and remain silent regarding our mistakes. Kind words create a settled spirit and a sense of place. Most people are lovely considerate and kind if we give them a chance.

We can control our future. Happy kind words forecast our days. When we speak of how awful life is and our propensity for getting the short end of the stick we create a self-fulfilling prophecy. When we speak of hope faith and success ‘As a man thinketh so is he.’

Life is a day-at-a-time proposition. There is no quick fix. No magic bullet. No elixir that cures all ills. There is a mental and verbal road map of success, accomplishment, love, and caring that will magically change our lives if we avail ourselves of its power.

‘I am trying to think of what Billy B is good at but nothing comes to mind,’ Minister said as he bragged on every young man in the church and told of their abilities.

Prove the naysayers wrong. Defy the critics. Illustrate the power of positive words and thought. Be the example that defies the bullies…

The Salukis are playing their first home game at SIUC. September is half over. Where does the time go? The State Fair has come and gone as well as Labor Day. Events I looked forward to as markers of my favorite season, Autumn. Now we are in the thick of it and it is like life not waiting. Scarlett O’Hara told us that tomorrow is another day but that tomorrow is today. Beetlejuice is 73 and we have no time to DillyDally…

Each day we begin again. The past is gone and the future has not arrived so we have today. Today it encompasses our world. What we want to accomplish is today. Our hope to help our fellow human beings is today. ‘Whatsoever they hand findeth to do, do it with thy might; for there is no work, nor device, nor knowledge, nor wisdom, in the grave, whither thou goest.’ Ecclesiastes 9:10

Love lost can be found. Relationships broken can be mended. Hope differed can be obtained. Rebuilding starts at daybreak.

‘Who knows how to write their name,’ Mrs. K said to her first-grade class on the first day?

Billy B announced that not only did he know how to write his name but write many other words. He strode to the blackboard as a conquering hero. Taking the chalk in his hand he winked at Mrs. K and began to write.

‘Oh goodness no Billy B…you can take your seat,’ Mrs K. said.

Before the class, some squiggles and marks were not dissimilar from the cuneiform script. Mrs. K was a kind teacher and told Billy B not to worry as he would soon be writing his heart out.

The mistaken script posing as cursive writing had disappeared…Mrs. K had erased it.

Cool and breezy my kind of Friday. The painters are gone, and you can not paint in the rain. The redwood stain is good. The yellow door is welcoming. The rain is appreciated.

‘I broke out my windbreaker this morning,’ Chet said. ‘It also repels rain,’ he added. ‘There are Halloween movies on TV they are the old ones which are the best,’ Chet grinned.

‘Well it is Friday the 13th,’ Jane noted. ‘Anything can happen be careful to not step on a crack or you will break your mother’s back,’ Jane laughed. ‘I stayed in a high-rise hotel last year that did not have a 13th floor,’ she added with curiosity.

‘Someone is knocking at the new green door,’ Billy B said. ‘I wonder if the painters have come to paint even in the rain,’ he asked? ‘Hello…hello he called out but to no answer as there was no one there,’ Billy B discovered.

‘Now there is a knock at the back door that enters from the writing porch,’ Chet said. ‘I will take a photo with my iPhone when I swing the door open,’ he added with flair. ‘Take that you Friday The 13th Trickster,’ Chet proclaimed!

‘There is a fuzzy image on the photo I can not determine what it is,’ Jane said. ‘It looks like a picture taken quickly where the person in it is blurred,’ she postulated. ‘I saw a figure of a woman standing over my bed the other night in what I call a waking dream, she was staring at me and when I asked her name she left in a blur,’ Jane said with fright.

‘I once talked with a Blurry Man who I assumed was unfocused due to my poor eyesight,’ Chet said. ‘He explained that he was from the future and that in my time his physical being could not be completely composed,’ said Chet. ‘He asked if I had any questions regarding the future so I asked him if mom and dad would live long lives…he answered ‘One Will.’ ‘I then asked him if I would attend university…he answered, ‘A short time.’ ‘When I awoke from what apparently was a dream Mom was crying as Dad lay dead of a heart attack in his bed,’ Chet said with tears in his eyes.

‘Hurry let us get packed for the Friday The 13th Movie Marathon at the Orpheum Theatre,’ Neva J exclaimed. ‘Blurry Man is going with us he says he knows each of you and is part of the family,’ Neva J said with a grin…

It has been dry. Rain is in the forecast. I love the weather I am part of it. The rhythms of life are predictable. We are affected by the phases of the moon. Tides know this. Long dead stars speak to us across the galaxy. The passing of a year seems fast when we are old but the length of each day does not change. We either look for ways to kill time so it will pass more quickly or to save it like a miser hoarding his gold. Our relationship with time is a dance. First-time leads then we lead…we think…

It takes a long time to accomplish good work. Speed is not a requirement for excellence. Success is incremental. We watch the 30-minute television show where the problem and solution are performed in a minuscule time. We sadly expect the same results in life. It takes years to develop a good name and minutes to tear it down.

Michelangelo took over 4 years to paint the Sistine Chapel. He worked 18 hours a day.

Quantity is not quality. Craft is a study effort to accomplish the product as near perfection as possible. The slow and steady work of professional workmanship is of value in all endeavors.

My first lesson was as a young man of 20 when I began in Building Services at SIUC. I was the replacement for a Building Service Worker I, who was obviously on the ’30 Minute Plan.’ All areas of the General Accounting Building were dirty with some being filthy. I set about cleaning them for perhaps the first time in some time. Soon I received compliments for the occupant’s clean work environment. I understood that all crafts were vital and should be performed excellently.

When I became superintendent of the department I hearkened back to the commercial axioms of my youth such as, ‘Hertz Puts You In The Drivers Seat,’ or McDonald’s Doest It All For You.’ I believed that the customer was always right. When someone thanked us for our service we did not respond with, ‘No Problem,’ we said ‘You Are Welcome.’

Building Services was full of career staff who loved their University and their valued place in it. They knew that their work was vital to the success of the institution. Recruitment and Retention were squarely on their shoulders…they welcomed the challenge.

I watched the painter paint our front door. He sanded the old finish. he put primer on the surface. He painted with care and precision. The front door looks like a new one. The old folks often said that if you could not afford something new a little paint does wonders…

The Painting Project continues. The young men staining the Writing Porch and painting the Patio are younger than my sons. They call me Sir. I recall how it felt to be working on projects for people much older than me…not so long ago in my compression of time.

Reversals are obstinate boulders on the road of life. What appears easy is hiding the challenges. Murphy said what can go wrong will go wrong. I remember painting. Painting is one of the few crafts that I felt I could have made a living at if I had to. Yet with my best efforts, I always got paint on areas I should not have. The last time MJ and I painted the front door we taped it off and had drop cloths and supreme will and focus…only to still spill some red paint.

Mistakes must become our friends. Mistakes are learning experiences. I despised hearing this as a young man. As an old man, I know it is true. The peculiar thing about mistakes is that you have to admit them to learn from them. Often when I would ask a colleague to clean an area on Campus they would respond that they had already done so and that the result of the experience was what I saw before me. Upon a small demonstration of what a little elbow grease would do they looked on in amazement. Once the Dean of Morris Library reported that her new office furniture was getting nicks and marks on the chair legs. When I asked our technician to demonstrate how he vacuumed around the marred chairs he first assured me that he was not hitting them with a vacuum. He proceeded to hit them several times in short order before I told him I had seen enough. Sometimes a second set of eyes is a good thing.

Focus aids in quality control. Excellence can not be phoned in. This is true throughout life. Success requires immersion in the task. I desired to be valuable to Southern Illinois University, and I wanted a career. I wanted to be good at my profession and understand my University through its many offices and disciplines.

Politicians are surprised. They seek simple answers to complex questions. Marquee silver screen moments with no substance. Entertainment has become pervasive in our society. We have difficulty distinguishing truth from fiction. Perception is the reality in Hollywood…

The answers we seek can not be found in the warm fuzzy depths of our iPhones. We do not write cursive any longer. Really we do not write much because we do not read much. Conversation is becoming a lost art as we hide behind our technology. We are social on Social Media we do not speak to the person sitting next to us in the pew at church.

To reverse reversals we must engage in our world. Religious fatalism is not the answer. Christ was deeply immersed in the people of his time. Conspiracy Theories go down smoothly when there is nothing to combat their assimilation. Friends and neighbors tell us that our fatalistic ideas and dark perception of our country are correct to encourage us in our despondency.

We must admit we made a mistake…today is a new day…

It was Tuesday…it seems like yesterday. Time stood still. A beautiful September Day. Thoughts were on autumn football school and work.

We were living in a new house. Neva J was with us. Retirement was slowly getting closer. There were good times and hard times. The basement was done—as large as our former house. We sang the Jeffersons Song…Moving On Up To The Big Time…

Newsflash…a plane hit one of the World Trade Center Towers. We had visited them a little over a year before. Soon both Towers were hit. Obviously not accidents. Pandemonium. What next? Who next? Where does it end?

Neva J did not understand…neither did any of us. Fog reigned. Fear ruled. Life-altering change had come to us in a moment…

My stepfather had died. My mom could not live alone. We had to get a bigger boat… A new century. We are under attack. Is it World War III? Will there be nuclear bombs?

A Tuesday 23 years ago…

Another lovely day in Little Egypt. Fall is definitely in the air. Hope is wafting on each breeze. Giant City is reborn. People are everywhere. Busses kids and cars are double parking to find their sense of place. This is Woods Walking Weather.

Thoughts are keenly clear. Sweaters will soon appear. What will we do for Black Friday where will we go? Brock and Marcy are coming. They have a new little dog, Bonnie. She is beautiful. Affection rises as sap in a tree. The need to care for each other and bind the brokenhearted. Right words are rare as hensteeth. Wisdom is precious.

What is hidden in the heart is known to the bearer. Love is a splendor thing, but it is difficult to realize in a climate of confusion. How do we,’ reach out and touch someone…reach out and just say hi.’

Words are filtered through our aural machine. We assign meaning. At times obtrusive and obstructive meaning. The speaker cares. The speaker expresses love concern and hope for reception from the listener and results that encourage the person being spoken to. Communication is hard.

Reruns of the Sopranos Series on HBO played last week. Seventeen years since the last season. Where does the time go? The actors looked older. This watcher looks older as well. The Sopranos was groundbreaking television. We rooted for the antihero. We felt his pain. He was a family man whose Mafia business was what he did for a living. He saw a therapist regularly. His therapy sessions caused him to have more empathy than we were used to for The Mob. Tony Soprano was a cruel man who could be loving. I have always loved shows about La Cosa Nostra. The Sopranos is one of my two favorite television shows. I identified with the show in some of the most difficult times of my life when we were caring for my mother who suffered from Alzheimer’s Disease. Life seemed so difficult that somehow Tony Soprano’s life seemed appropriate…

Easy it is to render advice regarding hard times. Harder it is to live through them. Advice is hollow coming from those who do not understand what they are speaking of.

We humans are made of dirt and water. We are mud creatures. We contain good and bad. Our motives are mixed. Yet God says that we are fearfully and wonderfully made…

As the Mob said on the Sopranos let’s give each other a Pass…

We are complex creatures. We do not understand what is happening in each other’s lives. Pithy Parables do not suffice for inner turmoil. People smile on the outside and cry on the inside. Tony Soprano told Dr. Melfi that he was the Sad Clown…

Patience is a virtue in relationships. Listen then listen more carefully.

September is almost a week old. This morning leaves were falling in the Woods. A few trees have bare limbs already. Time changes things. We gaze at the horizon and wonder what is over the hill. One time folks thought the Earth was flat. Some still do. The Question is difficult to plumb its depths. Where did we come from and why are we here? Profound in its simplicity.

Spanked on our bottoms we gave a lusty cry. Where are we and who are these strange people? We had been engaging in deep thoughts and suddenly were relegated to cries burps and the pleasure of elimination. It seemed we had forgotten all we knew. First, we were cold and then we were hot, not unlike the Golden Years.

Preparing is essential. Life is a marathon, not a sprint. School is important. Algebra must be learned but why? Is it people skills or academic prowess that is valued? We become proficient in the curriculum. Now we understand. We are ready. For what?

Was money the answer, the arts, or a combination of both? When we stood up and lifted our voices, no one listened. When we banged the lectern, no one heard.

There were the people who were unseen and unheard. We helped some. They were grateful as exhibited by their glowing smiles and dancing eyes.

Life is childlike again. The sound of the trees in the wind is exciting! Jonathon and Jennifer smile. Aaron is reflecting on his deck to come. Brock and Marcy are coming to visit.

When you stop to look beauty is heightened. Colors are accentuated. Friendships are precious.

Next is coming. Next has always been baying at our heels. We know we must get ready. Slothfulness will not suffice. ‘I went by the field of the slothful, and by the vineyard of the man void of understanding, and lo it was all grown over with thorns, and nettles had covered the face thereof, and the stone wall thereof was broken down. Then I saw, and considered it well: I looked upon it and received instruction. Yet a little sleep, a little slumber, a little folding of the hands to sleep: So shall thy poverty come as one that travelleth; and they want as an armed man.’ Proverbs 24: 30 – 34

Did we understand the answer to the Question long ago? As we walk back to Jerusalem have we gone this way before…

As a child, I loved Saturday morning cartoons. For four or five hours, the television programming was aimed at kids, and it was gratifying. After arithmetic English social studies and PE, letting your mind rest and indulge in fantasy was a treat.

After cartoons came the Saturday Matinee at the Orpheum Theatre. In those halcyon days, all movies began with a cartoon first. Often the cartoons were different than what we could see on our three network TV stations. Norman Normal was a unique cartoon that could not be found on the small screen. The Pink Panther was another. You could get lost in the hand-drawn animated characters. I learned a lot from Bugs Bunny. I heard my first classical music there. I was a kid before the Psychedelic Revolution. The brilliant colors and strobing lights were a bit beyond my frame of reference.

The Flintstones were on in Prime Time. They are fashioned by reference to families of the early 60s. In those times many women were homemakers and lived to keep the home clean and wait on their husbands after a long day at the office. My stepfather often asked Neva J to get up and get him a glass of water at the dinner table when he was closer to the faucet than she was. Society was sexist and misogynistic.

I discovered early in life that women could do anything that men could do and often better.

Cartoons and movies expanded our young minds. Would we really have flying cars in the year 2000? Were there really grown men as silly and manic antics as The Three Stooges? Would it be possible to climb into the silver screen and live with Lady And The Tramp?

Have you seen enough of Elmer Fudd to notice that his physical features changed a lot through the years?

Make Believe helps us believe.

Tom and Jerry lived in such a nice house that I wanted to live with them.

Each Friday when I accompanied Neva J to the Food Center she usually bought me a 12-cent comic. Often I endeavoured to talk her into a 25-cent massive comic whereupon she informed me that money did not grow on trees and thus 12 cents was plenty. Unlike Frank Costanza who had a silver dollar collection, I had a comic book collection. It measured three feet tall. There were old and valuable Superman Comics. Comic Book Nostalgia had not yet taken hold of Comic-Con attendee’s hearts. Alas, when I moved at the old age of 17 Neva J asked me a time or two to retrieve them but I tarryed. She burned them in the burn barrel that every home in rural America had…

It is a lovely September day. There is a cool breeze with a slight drizzle. I saw a beaver planning dam construction. He was like most beavers I have witnessed—busy.

The Race is upon us each day. We are a bit of a juggler, enjoy puzzles, and are community planners. We are like the beaver planning our next dam construction. Life is a marathon, not a sprint

It is good to be in the race. On the sidelines lurk shadows of doubt. We would race but many are better. Racing is fun until you get tired. On the sidelines are Cotton Candy and Thin Mints. Everyone understands we have a sweet tooth. We will begin tomorrow. Tomorrow is a new day. Joy cometh in the morning.

The wily Hare passes us and laughs. At times he runs circles around us. We see him napping as we pass. His hammock looks inviting. Mental health and emotional readiness ebb and flow. We roll the stone up the mountain. It rolls back down. Sisyphus cheers us on from the sidelines. He says for us to not give up the joy is in the journey. The manifestation of success is in the mission. Life is an Exercise. A preparation for what comes next. Looking through a glass darkly to peer into the Secret.

Busy Beaver contemplates the beginning of the new project. The Dam will hold back discontent anger hate and violence. Many are required for the Race. Recruitment has been good from the sidelines. Joy is in the air…

The Little Locomotive says, ‘I think I can…I think I can…I think I can…I know I can…I know I can…I know I can…’

Mr. Turtle is at the Finish Line. Mr. Turtle smiles broadly. He beckons the racers to cross the finish line pick up a trowel and build the Great Dam against suffering…