(This birdie card is an original creation: A Superb Snail Mail postcard I’m sending out to a savvy lover of mail.)
So now that there’s enough interest in Superb Snail Mail to keep me busy, I thought I’d post about the power of birdies.
Like a whisper Twitter started chirping and soon journalists learned to scour the twitter feeds for breaking news. One of the first big breaks was the tweeted death of the King of Pop, Michael Jackson.
Twitter bucked the wisdom of online gurus and what was already working on the interwebs. Twitter simplicity was so elemental that it felt restrictive. Quick tweets (remember “a little birdie told me”) were held to just 140 characters, even for direct messages. It had its critics and could be exasperating, but it worked.
It turns out news spreads well if the message is simple and widely dispersed.
The same thing will work for you. Think of your message and your creative endeavors like a diaspora of ideas. It doesn’t take a loud voice to get the word it takes lots of little birdies…chirping.
Now, think about a message you’d like to disperse. How many little birdies will it take? Start here, and let us know what you’re working on.
Should we spread this message through Twitter? That would be cool. Click the twitter button.
Word of mouth is fine too. I don’t mind being old fashioned.
The thought crossed my mind that some people could see me naked Saturday, if there is The Rapture. So, really that’d be judgment Day for sure. I should have lost more weight.
It saddens me that some have sold all their things because of believing Harold Camping. I sort of wish he would get beamed out of here on Saturday, so he won’t ruin more lives. And I hope he’s wearing clean underpants.
Only certain kinds of leaders hope to control the mind of their followers. The ones who thrive on gaining power or influence. Creativity and imagination cannot be undermined when we lead. Notice how God is a leader who will not control our minds. God allows that we think freely, and use our personality to cooperate with his work and grace in this world. God is all good. God is ridiculously not power hungry. Bizarre to think about, yet so true.
The best leaders use the minds, gifts, and talents of those they lead for the greater good of all involved. The desire to power is nothing but a trap that leads to disaster. But, how do power hungry leaders control our minds?
Mind Control is a funny thing. Well, an odd thing. Certain people are more susceptible, but influence over one’s thoughts and actions happens when that power is handed over. The absent-minded or the feeble minded may be foolish and permissive with what they possess. Nevertheless, in every case I can think of, the reigns of one’s mind are relinquished, not taken.
Do you have a strong will and mind?
Not so fast! In a VERY common way, many of us let others control our mind too frequnetly. I promise you, your mind has been controlled. Consider this: We may dwell on anger, frustration, or bitterness as we allow others to control our moods, and therefore our heart and mind. We give their words and actions power–because we acquiesce our control. Some influence on the outside gains access over a part of us, inside. We allow it to be so. Hijack is a great word for this! The fruit of the spirit called self-control is developed to fend off this very thing.
Can we be self-controlled in a way that gives over a bit of control to a trustworthy person for the goal of greater good (in our lives and with those around us)? Certainly. AND We Must. Wisely.
Growth will not happen if we seek complete control. It’s a freeze ray, and will cut us off from life. Hyper-control=bad. How do we strike a balance?
And now for the biggest challenge you’ll have all week. Let me control your mind.I should explain: Put yourself in a place to receive spiritual guidance. Contact me with something spiritual, emotional, mental, or situational that you are struggling with, and I will pray about it and together we will see where God is, in all of it. We’ll communicate a bit, and see where growth can happen. We will relinquish the part of our control we have let arrest our growth. Yet, we will keep our self-control in that we will be wise with what we have in body and mind. Option B: Do this with a trusted friend, and let us in on your process.
Will you take my challenge? AND
What are your thoughts on leadership and mind control?
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Cuss / noun 1 an annoying or stubborn person or animal : he was certainly an unsociable cuss. 2 another term for curse (sense 2).
Disclaimer: I’m not using a moral arguement against cussing, though you might expect I would, at a site with spiritual flavor like this one. While, many may say it’s a sin to cuss, I think what may be the truest thing is that the intention of using the vulgarity that is the real issue at stake. Nevertheless, I won’t go in that direction. My contentions are not nearly so deep or heartfelt. This is simple practicality and common sense at work:
Simply put: I don’t think foul language is powerful enough. I finding it lacking. Any great use of the stuff tips me off that I’m in the company of communication amateurs.
In truth, I’m not very offended by expletives. The shock wore off in high school. And high school–childhood–is about the only time a certain amount of cussing is, sort of, understandable. By nature, kids don’t know how to express themselves very well. Salty language makes rookie humans feel older and more formidable. It gives them a sense of power, as they flex their ” ‘I’m growing up’ muscles”. Yet, it’s the running myth that if something is bleeped on tv, it resides in the realm of “grown-up language”, and signifies something more heady and legit. In fact, expletives are quite banal.
I cuss quite rarely, and when I do it’s actually because I’m having trouble expressing myself. In some foolish desperation I concede to inferior “describing words”. So, really, cussing takes away from our points, rather than aids them.
Just for the sake of developing better communication, we needn’t use them. Maybe you enjoy tossing around a swear here or there. I don’t really care. But here are 7 points to remember on this topic:
7 Cussing Tip Offs
misnamed swear tin (for keeping fines)
1. Cussing quickly reveals one has a diminished vocabulary or the inability to use their vocabulary very well. (This can become a worsening habit also. Hence, it is sometimes combated with a Swear (fine) Bank.)
2. It displays a rather uncreative mind. (What could help? Simple: A thesaurus.)
3. If a cuss word can be used as an adjective, noun, and verb, it’s hackneyed, and by consequence, impotent. Let’s just say it’s, “lame” in a hobbling sense.
4. While cussing may somehow help one reveal emotions, or relieve stress, it doesn’t help one’s case. Quite the opposite. Logic is a better choice. Give it a try.
5. Foul language tells a bigger story about the person and his/her hang ups than it does about whatever the person is trying to convey. (It’s sort of sad, really.)
6. Cussing offends people for a myriad of reasons, but strangely enough, much use of it boils down to spotlighting simple bad manners and poor taste. Throughout history, “vulgar” language has some sort of reflection on social or economic status. [Ex: A mother says to her child who has been running around with the kids from “the other side of the tracks”, “No, honey, we don’t talk like that (or them).”] Most often people mentally associate foul language with an uncouth boorish social class, or uneducated and unrefined upbringing.
7. “Dirty words” are given meaning by a culture, not the other way around. What is the massively cussing person trying to prove, then? And why? [That’s the bigger question.] Here, subtext trumps communication. so probably a #fail
What are your thoughts?
My favorite cuss quote:
“Are you cussing with me?” -Fantastic Mr. Fox
There’s a feeling you can get, after you’ve done something horrible. It’s so bad, that you might consider poking your own eye out (if for nothing else than a viable distraction.)
My first job (besides babysitting) was as a hostess at Eat’n Park Family Restaurant. A woman about 10 years older transferred there. She had been a waitress for a long time (even a decorated one. Yes, Eat’n Park is special like that.) She also had the name “Lisa,” just like me. That’s about all the ingredients needed for good communication and lasting friendship, right? um. No.
Background:
Sometimes I’d goof off and crack jokes in passing with Lisa. No big deal. (If you know me, this is all highly typical behavior.)
WELL-
One day, like a stoke of non genius, it came into my head to wisecrack when I noticed Lisa had a blue pen scribble on her forearm. I noticed it was actually a very sloppily rendered mark of her own name. The “L” was super long on the bottom, and not in a cursive way. It was just odd. It struck me as humorous. I already knew she had a 4 year old daughter. Her little girl had probably been playing with her waitressing pen and wrote out her mom’s name all by herself. Or maybe Lisa had done it–for a joke, or because she was bored. So, feeling my comic Einstein vibe coming on me (which is inversely proportionate to my rational thought and good judgment), I said–rather flippantly, I might ad–“Hey, what’s that on your arm? Is that so you don’t forget your name?”
Sudden. Dead. Powerful stare.
Awkward pause. I could hear a spider near the salad bar blink.
Then I noticed she had a sort of sad “How could you, you freaking jerk?” look on her tired face. (I picked up on that because I’m really good at feeling people out!)
It was a tattoo.
A horrible one.
A mistake.
Perhaps a drunk boyfriend or trashed stepdad scrawled it there. Who knows. But whatever the story was, it was part of a painful past. A past she did not want thrown in her face by some stupid and insensitive quip from a dumb teenager.
My heart froze with panic. It’s the kind of panic where you start to smell yourself. A cold sweat mustache erupts on your lip usually, too
.
Would she stab me with a steak knife?
Plan to burn me “accidentally” with a scrod entrée platter? (Wicked hot, they are!)
I fumbled around, and got out, “um… hahah… I’m just kidding.” I was trying desperately to appear nonchalant. I considered whistling a tune to prove it.
Still, she just looked at me–steadily.
“I’m sorry,” I said, getting up the nerve. It felt like a blanket of shame washed over me. Self-loathing–all over the place.
She shook it off, and went back to work. From then on I tried to be extraordinary nice to her, in every way I could think of. I bused her tables, and got her refreshing beverages, and tried to be as pleasant, and positive as I could. She didn’t hold it against me, beyond a day or so.
Once, after a 10p.m.-5 a.m. shift when my dad failed to pick me up, she even drove me home in her weary beater of a car.
I still wonder about her.
It was poke-your-eye-out shame.
I’ll never forget it.
Have you ever had “inner death by shame”? (you can just answer yes or no, unless you want to be brave and tell your story)
Most often, great thinkers, and great writers use words well. Natural talent helps, of course, but with concentration, anyone may hone his communication prowess in writing and speaking. It is a skill, just as much as it is an art.
(This birdie card is an original creation: A Superb Snail Mail postcard I’m sending out to a savvy lover of mail.)
