Speaking directly

When ol’ Gene worked for a paycheck, which seems like centuries ago, my job was to manage people and operations.  I gave direction to many, many people—over the span of my career, well over a thousand.  I was in a complex business with critical deadlines.  The business had to run like a clock to survive. 

Early on I learned to communicate (both written and oral) in a managerial style, which is very direct.  Many of my instructions had to be relayed to others who interfaced with our operations.  The last thing I could do was communicate indirectly, i.e. speak to the side of subjects hoping people would somehow get the message.  They had to understand exactly what was expected, what they were to do, and when. 

Also, in communicating managerially, communications had to be with a minimum of words.  Time was money and long “flowered” dissertations were often either not read or misread.  So short, direct communication was a style I tried to perfect.

That brings me to Gene Pool’s blog.  I have noted that most folks first scroll down blogs to see how long they are to determine if they have the time to read what is written.  If blogs are long and drawn out, many readers are lost quick.  And second, if readers have to work to determine what the writer means, they will stop reading.  I don’t blame them because I do the same myself.  Today everyone’s time is limited, and with the volume of “stuff” that vies for our attention, we just don’t have the time to read long dissertations trying to figure out where they are going.  So my standard limit for blog subjects is one page of 12-point type.  If it runs over one page, I go back and streamline the communication. 

All that said, I have found that in normal social life some people are not used to short, crisp communications.  They perceive them to be blunt and thus confrontational, offensive, abrasive, or all the above.  They are not used to being communicated with as such.  Also, the old saying in written communications if it can be misunderstood, it will be is always present.     

Well, ol’ Gene and his blog has not meant to offend or ruffle feathers, at least thus far.  And if I do, there will be little doubt of the offence or ruffle.  A question that has always been one of my pet peeves is, “what do you mean by that?”  I have, and will try to say what I mean, and mean what I say the best I can.  And when I error or misstate something, please point it out so I can correct and apologize.  I do not want to unintentionally hurt someone’s feelings. 

So, here I am running close to the end of one page of 12-point type.  I must come to a close.  Thanks for staying with me on this matter, assuming you have.

Gene Pool

Chicken poop and flower nectar

This year is the year of the chickens for Cess and me.  Four weeks ago a box was delivered by the mail man containing fifty-five little chicks, each about the size of a ping pong ball.  Their specific breed is broiler chickens, to be raised for slaughter in just eight weeks.  During the eight weeks they will rapidly grow to about eight pounds thanks to many bags of high protein feed and lots of fresh water.  Thus far they have consumed about 400 pounds of feed.

Yesterday, Cess informed me that I needed to replace the wood shavings spread on the floor of the chicken house—that even though she tries to keep it as clean as possible by scooping up the poop, there are little white worms now in the shavings.  These worms are maggots from the flies chicken poop attracts.  And boy howdy, 400 pounds of feed going through chickens produces lots of chicken poop that attracts lots of flies.

As I went about the less than pleasant task I noted some little yellow flowers just outside the chicken house that were in bloom.  And fluttering around the flowers were several pretty butterflies, sipping sweet nectar.  I thought to myself there has to be a parallel or analogy here—pesky flies inside attracted by what attracts flies, and lovely butterflies five feet away attracted by what attracts butterflies.  There were no flies on the flowers and no butterflies on the chicken poop.  I guess one moral to this could be, if you want butterflies plant flowers.  And if you want pesky flies, spread chicken poop.

Then this scripture started rolling around in my head:

What do righteousness and wickedness have in common? Or what fellowship can light have with darkness? …  What does a believer have in common with an unbeliever?

Now where might the application be?

Gene Pool

Why I keep only nine of the Ten Commandments

Those of us with children know from experience that kids can sometimes ask the most penetrating of questions.  Mine sure have, that’s for sure!  And as they have grown to adulthood they still ask questions that ol’ Dad doesn’t always have ready answers for.  I think they do it just to watch me squirm. 

Sweet daughter, who now has grown kids of her own asking her penetrating questions (which she so richly deserves), asked me a few months ago, “Dad, if you are such a faithful believer in the Lord why do you only keep nine of His Ten Commandments?”  Of course, she was referring to the command

Remember the sabbath day, to keep it holy.  Six days shalt thou labour, and do all thy work: But the seventh day [is] the sabbath of the LORD thy God: [in it] thou shalt not do any work, thou, nor thy son, nor thy daughter, thy manservant, nor thy maidservant, nor thy cattle, nor thy stranger that [is] within thy gates: For [in] six days the LORD made heaven and earth, the sea, and all that in them [is], and rested the seventh day: wherefore the LORD blessed the sabbath day, and hallowed it.  

I tried to give sweet daughter the standard comebacks I have been indoctrinated with over the years, such as there is a verse saying believers came together on the first day of the week and broke bread (for that matter there is a verse that says believers met every day and broke bread together), that the Lord Jesus arose from the dead on the first day of the week, etc.  But as I listened to myself I noted how absolutely feeble those answers sounded when placed opposite a command of God he himself burnt into stone.

The more I pondered her question the more I was driven to I ask myself “specifically who does history say it was that changed the rest and worship day from the seventh day of the week to the first?”  It did not take long with a computer and Goggle to come up with a guy named Constantine the Great, a Roman emperor during the third century AD.  On March 7, 321AD he single-handedly decided that all the religions of the empire, of which there were many, would unify in working Mondays through Saturdays, and take Sundays (the day of the sun god) as the day of rest and worship.  That’s it!  Done deal!  So from then on, for Christians, Jews, pagans, et al, it was Sun(god)day—the venerable day of the sun.  And if anyone resisted the order of the established church or emperor there were all sorts of unpleasant things that awaited him. What’s new? 

Now it seems great Constantine claimed to be a Christian since he had some sort of vision that led his army to a victory somewhere.  But at the same time he carried the title of pontifex maximus, a title emperors bore as heads of the pagan priesthood.   He also went about sporting the Apollonian sun-rayed diadem, and had coins struck with his face appearing on one side and pagan gods on the other with inscription “committed to the invincible sun.”  To his credit (?) he authorized bishops of the then Roman (Catholic) church to determine doctrine (what is believed and taught) and dogma (a system of doctrines), whereby he assigned himself to enforcement throughout the empire of such doctrine and dogma.  Towards the Roman church he was friendly.  And the Roman church was friendly to him in return.  But to Christians who did not go along with “the program” i.e. those who tried to follow Scripture, they found themselves cross-wise with the empire—a bad place to be.   

So to sum it up, that’s the kind of guy who is basically responsible for why I go to church on Sundays, and keep only nine of God’s Ten Commandments.  All I can say is, “go figure.”

Gene Pool