I want to be an old man one day. I want to drive a squeaky clean pickup truck to meet my friends for breakfast at Jack’s at 5:30 in the morning. I’ll eat a steak biscuit unless the bologna biscuits are on sale. We’ll sit at the round table and laugh about the good old days when gas was only .89¢ when we started driving. When a stranger walks in we’ll ask if anybody knows him. And if they don’t, we’ll get to know him. We’ll have nicknames for all the little kids because we might not remember their real names. That will endear them to us. After breakfast we will piddle in our gardens, or go horse trade old guitars and guns.
I met a man yesterday who was 98 years old. He drove himself to the Council on Aging. I’m not sure if he came to hear me sing, or if he just came out of habit because old men have routines. But he stayed and talked to me in the atmosphere that lingers after the songs are over but everyone remains quiet, intently listening. He was still sharp in his mind. That’s the kind of old man I want to be.
I met another old man that cycled 100 miles when he turned 90. A spry old sinewy man, tough as woodpecker lips-that is the kind of thing that old men say. I hope to be a fit old man. Not the kind that wears shorts so everyone has to look their old nasty bird legs. There are some things in life a man ought not have to look at.
I want to be an old man that can tell a good story. Can’t nobody tell a story like an old man. And I might start carrying around little candies to hand out at church for children in case my eyebrows scare them.
I just lost one of my favorite old men, Bro. Boney. I wasn’t expecting it, and I’m still not over it. He was one the kind of old men that shook everyone’s hand at the church. He did that with purpose. He had a way of making people feel like they belonged there. He’d been coming to Thanksgiving with my family for the past few years. He’d sing snatches of those old hymns and I’d accompany on the guitar in the corner until our wives would calm us down. One year the power went out, so we couldn’t be ignored. Everyone joined in and sang along. It was a good night.
One year he brought a BB Gun to the church while we cooked a bunch of turkey breasts for Thanksgiving. It was something that you would expect an 8 year old boy to do, but there he was, the oldest man present, plinking away at cans. I just thought that was hilarious. I kept this picture as his contact picture on my phone. I always have the hardest time deleting contacts of friends that have died.
The hoary head is a crown of glory, if it be found in the way of righteousness. Proverbs 16:31
Old men are a blessing, otherwise God would not have cursed the house of Eli by denying them old men.
Wherefore the Lord God of Israel saith, I said indeed that thy house, and the house of thy father, should walk before me for ever: but now the Lord saith, Be it far from me; for them that honour me I will honour, and they that despise me shall be lightly esteemed. Behold, the days come, that I will cut off thine arm, and the arm of thy father’s house, that there shall not be an old man in thine house. And thou shalt see an enemy in my habitation, in all the wealth which God shall give Israel: and there shall not be an old man in thine house for ever. And the man of thine, whom I shall not cut off from mine altar, shall be to consume thine eyes, and to grieve thine heart: and all the increase of thine house shall die in the flower of their age. I Samuel 2:30-33
I want to be the kind of old man that young men want to get next to in the prayer room before church. The kind of old man that makes children laugh. That gives good gifts. That speaks the truth in love. That cares. That loves the same woman for decades and raises godly children.
I guess the best way to be the kind of old man you want to be is to be the kind of young man you ought to be.
I enjoy a daily routine to an extent. I don’t necessarily want to do the exact same thing every single day for the rest of my life, but I enjoy a reliable structure otherwise I’d never get anything done. That is not to say that I always know what is going to happen through the day, I think most of us don’t. It is those nuances that make life interesting. These little encounters can crash into your routine, sometimes changing the course of things, sometimes in a big way. Sometimes they cause us to refocus and get back on track. Take the past Monday for instance.
The first encounter happened by phone before I even made it to work.
“Yes, Mr. Zane. We do a birthday party on the first Thursday of the month for all of the residents and the man who has been leading the band is retiring. Would you be interested in leading?”
This is the kind of thing that I do in my marketing role. It seems a bunch of assorted staff from the hospital get together and play music at the adjacent nursing and rehab facility. I have never met any of these people. I don’t even know how many musicians there are, but I am assuming there are no singers or they wouldn’t have asked the activities lady to give me a call.
When she asked me, I couldn’t help but laugh. I imagined a group guys in scrubs, moping like a teenage musicians because their lead singer up and quit on them. A band in existential crisis. I’ll keep y’all posted on how it goes.
The second encounter happed as I walked past the council on aging. A BMW with out of state license plates passed me as I was walking on the sidewalk , then it backed up and rolled down the window. The man in the passenger seat leaned out and asked if I would be interested in painting a mural on the side of his restaurant. It smelled like they had a pet baby skunk riding in there with them.
“I noticed you were photographing that mural, you do that kind of work?”
I told him I was capable of doing that kind of work, and I have never actually painted a mural…but I always wanted to. He said he would do it himself, but he was color blind. I got caught up in the moment and we exchanged numbers. It would be a fun job. Something that you could drive your kids past and say, “See that giant alligator eating a bucket of fried chicken painted on the side of that restaurant? I painted that.”
I think I could design a nice mural. I would paint a big guitar on fire with a snake crawling out of the sound hole. And some firefighters spraying it down with Coca Cola. Or maybe some ducks wearing WWII fighter helmets and goggles, flying in formation as batteries of duck hunters sent up volleys of anti-aircraft flak. I think that would go over well in Louisiana.
I don’t really have time to do all the things I am trying to do right now, but the draw to do something creative has always had a heavy influence on me.
I’d been thinking about that all day when I had my third encounter. I held the door open for a Thai lady in a mobility scooter at the Dollar Tree. She thanked me and then immediately began to tell me about a 72 year old lady who was working on a zero-turn lawnmower when it fell on top of her.
“She laid their for three days and three nights. A thousand pounds. She died.”
I did not know why she felt compelled to tell me this story. It is a tragic story. I was reminded of my friend Cecil who died in a zero-turn mower accident. Life is so unpredictable and sometimes we get unpleasant surprises. I couldn’t have predicted any of these three encounters if you had paid me $50,000, but really I enjoyed my day.
I get to travel a lot for my job. So I take my camera along for drive-by photography. It seems to me that the economy in Louisiana moves East and West along I-20 and I-10. And I live in Central Louisiana. One of the recurring themes in these photographs is decaying buildings. I don’t go out of the way to find them, I have to go out of my why to find new construction. One of the things I like to imagine is what these buildings were like in their prime, with people bustling in an out of them. What kind of clothes did they wear? How did they talk? What did they eat for lunch?
I imagine this was once a thriving little grocery store. The painting makes the pain worse for me: It is fake.I thought this man was interesting. He was shuffling material from one medical building to another across the street. The crack in my windshield somehow makes this picture better. The kind of obscure photograph that you imagine a special agent gets on those old detective radio shows.Cows have a special place in my heart.“These cars always reminded me of fighter planes.” That’s what the man driving one told me once at a gas station 20 years ago. His was green though.I wonder what kind of art is produced here. I like that old chair.Something about the colors on this building speaks to me.It was exhilarating being this close to a train.This is probably my favorite picture from this week. I love this time of the morning. I imagine this is a scene from a book that you can’t put down.I love these little lizards. Anything that eats bugs can hang around my house.Name the title of the book that this could be the dust jacket for. That’s the kind of thing I think about when I am composing a shot. Another good cover for a book about a haunted house.
Maybe he meant, Young man you don’t understand how good you really got it.
Do you remember when you were in high school and the whole English class had to take turns reading Shakespeare’s Macbeth out loud? Our teacher assigned a different cast for each scene so we could all get a chance to experience public speaking anxiety. You never knew when it was your turn; you just waited in agony; your only consolation was how bad your classmates were doing. Everyone was saying the right words, but hardly anyone was really confident in their understanding of the text, despite any confidence they pretended to have in pronunciation. They were simply words without meaning: noise. It would’ve been painful to endure if we weren’t so clueless. I have a feeling that some of us thought we were doing a good job, but I don’t think anyone in my class went on to pursue an acting career. As bad as it was, I still enjoy hearing people read out loud.
I can hear us now just droning on…
Macbeth: If we should fail?
Lady Macbeth: -We fail?
But screw your courage to the sticking place
And we’ll not fail.
Now think for a minute of the old man you used to see at the grocery store—it helps if you had a job at a little grocery store while you were in high school—who had worked as a mechanic for 50 years and had to drop out of middle school to help out on the farm. He couldn’t pass an English class if his life depended on it, but it didn’t really matter; even with atrocious grammar and a vocabulary half consisting of words that could not be found in the dictionary, he could still create a sentence that would stay with you for 20 years because he knew exactly what he was talking about.
“How you doing today Mr. Wallace?”
“I’m doing fine, and you?”
“Pretty good.”
“Pretty good hard to beat.”
Pretty good hard to beat has been incorporated into my language. It may seem just like words on paper-or a screen-but it was the way he said it that let you know there was a lot more meaning that went into that sentence. Maybe he meant, Young man you don’t understand how good you really got it. I think about that old man whenever I chance to use this phrase. Whatever he may have intended, it certainly resonated with me.
That is what we call in music phrasing. Phrasing is how a musician puts a sequence of notes together into a musical thought, and how they interpret written music. It is the reason that Blues musicians could limit their musical vocabulary to the 5 note pentatonic scale and make people cry. It is why folk music can be so simple in its form, but still able to make us recall memories of places we’ve never been and times in which we never lived. And the same reason that beginner musicians sound like beginner musicians: their phrasing is off somehow. They may be playing the right notes-even reading the right notes from a master composer-but still unable to convey the real meaning of what the composer was trying to say.
The blues is feeling good about feeling bad.
Phrasing is more than having a nice voice, or tone. But I imagine that won’t hurt, but I’m not convinced it helps all the time either. It doesn’t matter how nice your voice is if you don’t have anything to say. Or if you are only going to regurgitate words that came from someone else’s heart.
It took me a while to really appreciate Shakespeare, and the closest I have come to understanding it was to see a play performed by actors who understood it at least better than me. I took Sarah to Blackfriars Theatre in Staunton, VA to see a All’s Well That Ends Well and Two Gentlemen of Verona. It was a far cry from bending over the text book following along as your buddy in class-who had never read a book for pleasure in his life and barely had a grasp on 21st century American English-stumble through his assigned lines without the faintest idea of the plot. Those Blackfriars performances have stuck with me and I would like to go back again some day.
Phrasing isn’t any one thing, but a host of subtle things like tone, dynamics, timing, space, and feel. These are all musical terms that could each have their own textbook and university course. So whether speaking or playing and instrument, how do you learn to phrase well? For a start, I think it is important to know what you want to say. For a musician, the most important part of phrasing is to get emotionally involved with the music. I think the best way to do that is to pay attention to the lyrics. And that means you need to understand the lyrics. People can tell when you don’t know what you are talking about. You don’t have to master the language of music-or the English language for that matter- to say something that will connect with a listener, but you do need to master your vocabulary, no matter its size. You don’t want to sound like someone who picked a random $40 word out of a dictionary and tried to force it into a $15 vocabulary. It will stick out like a Ferrari in a trailer park. If you want to build your vocabulary you need to read good stories-and listen to good music. A well written novel has the power to increase your emotional intelligence. Good readers understand empathy.
Even a fool, when he holdeth his peace, is counted wise: and he that shutteth his lips is esteemed a man of understanding. Proverbs 17:28
If you want your words to carry weight, don’t waste them.
This is my 200th article for what began in 2016 as Mostly From Memory, a blog where I started sharing short essays on my memories from growing up in a small town in Alabama. Since the statute of limitations has not run out on a few events, I am kind of out of material for the childhood stuff unless I want to run the risk of getting sued. Or I could start making stuff up. Which is how I think that some authors get into fiction. You take a piece of story that really happened, but you change the names of the people and move the location to somewhere far off like Pell City, Alabama, and describe some of the characters as prettier or uglier than they really were and add some extra details like an embezzling scheme, a murder, and some romance or dragons to spice up the plot a little bit. You know, just like cooking. You begin with a chicken breast—that’s the part that really happened—but it could really hurt someone if you serve it raw. The fiction part comes in with how you decide to present it: grilled, fried, boiled, fricasseed… And a good cook can make just about anything palatable, if not spectacular.
I haven’t gotten into fiction yet, but I have branched out and written about a lot of topics like grief, obituaries, music, biographical sketches, and social and cultural constructs, and how to overcome them. It is this sort of material that I am drawn to write about.
This makes me ask the question, has my writing style changed? I think it has changed in the same way that a person ages. If a man is still talking and behaving like a 20 year old at 40 then I think you would agree that something is off. And when a 40 year old takes measures to alter their physical features to appear 20, whether people pretend along with them or not, we all know that it is fake. I feel that my writing has aged with me.
And maybe my readers have come and gone just like friends in different in different stages of life. I may have lost some of my readers when my material shifted, and that is understandable. Just like when you take the last bicycle ride with your neighbor who is getting his driver’s license the next week. You’re still friends, but he is going places you can’t go now. And you spend less time together. Then when you get your license, you’ll probably go to different places than he went. And you meet new people who are less interested in your past than they are your future.
I did a lot of looking back when I first started writing. I felt the need to put some of those oral stories into writing. I am glad I did because I didn’t realize how quickly my sources would move on without warning to a place that I can’t go yet, taking their oral stories with them. I have been looking inward a lot of my recent material. But I am trying to practice looking out.
I think I am beginning to understand why older people say less.
If you have been with me since the beginning, thank you. You may not have noticed the shift because you’ve grown with me. But if you are an occasional reader, you may have noticed changes just like your great-aunt noticed when she only saw you twice a year at Easter and Christmas. And I guess that is what I want to talk about today: I really just want to write articles that make people want to think about things that matter.
I think people matter. I think how you treat people matters. I think motives and attitude matters. I think education matters. I think that morals matter. I think that mental health matters. I think that physical health matters.
I think that it is healthy to have hobbies or areas of interest.
I just finished reading A Hunter’s Fireside Book: Tales of Dogs, Ducks, Birds & Guns by Gene Hill. If you were not aware, I am not a hunter, but I appreciate good writing no matter the subject-within reason of course. Good writing can make even the most boring pastime seem interesting. While I don’t necessarily think hunting boring, I do think Gene Hill was a good writer. And I really enjoyed the book. This book was a collection of columns he wrote for various outdoor magazines in the 60s and 70s. I can understand how readers felt when they got a new magazine and turned straight to where they knew his column could be found. He finished his career as full-time columnist for Field & Stream magazine. He died in 1997. All of this reminded me of how much magazines used to be a part of my life.
Zach had a big pile of second hand Field & Stream magazines that he procured from the thrift store. I used to read them too, and I didn’t really care for hunting or fishing then either. But the stories were interesting. And so were the ads. We’d stare at those rifles. Or think of how much fun we could have with one of those 6 wheeled amphibious ATVs in the tiny black and white ad spots in the very back of the magazine.
There was another author that wrote a lot for Field & Stream, Patrick McManus. We had some of his books, but those second hand magazines from his era would’ve been worn out a long time before they could be found by a country boy at a thrift store.
Every once in a while Mom would buy us a bunch of National Geographic magazines from the thrift store or a yard sale. We even had a subscription on and off throughout my life. I loved those old magazines. The pictures were so interesting that you wanted to read the articles. I still want to go to see some of the places that I discovered reading those old yellow magazines; Angkor Wat, Easter Island, New Guinea, Hong Kong, India…Steve McCurry and Rudyard Kipling have taken me to India so many times that I would like to go in person some day. The advertisements in National Geographic were quite a bit different than the ads in Field & Stream. I distinctly remember the Rolex (specifically the Milgauss) and Canon ads. It was also interesting to see ads for new cars that you had only ever known as old.
Mom subscribed to Traditional Home. Those ads made me realize that we were in fact, poor. But I loved looking at the floor plans of those high dollar houses. That magazine also gave me an appreciation for interior design. It is hard to condense 15 years of reading a decorating and design magazine into a single sentence or even paragraph other than to say that poor design choices still bother me.
I guess the only guitar magazine that I have ever subscribed to was Premier Guitar. For the longest time I liked them because they never had people on the cover, just guitars. That changed when BB King died. I have stopped subscribing because I think the editor is a smart alec. Even so, whenever a new guitar student asked me a question about say, what a phaser pedal does, I have to work hard to keep from giving them a 5 page report with works cited and audio clips because they really want a brief AI answer, not a research paper, or even a magazine article.
I think that it is healthy to have hobbies or areas of interest.
Magazines were how I discovered a lot of things, like how to identify a quality piece of furniture. And where I learned a lot of guitar and gardening techniques. I started eating honey and gorgonzola cheese on crackers because I read it in a magazine. I learned how to intonate guitars and marinate grouse in magazines. I still haven’t marinated any grouse though, but I can intonate your guitar for $45 if you’re in the Jena area.
Some magazines would print corrections from previous articles. I liked that. I like it when things are made right. It also was a good reminder that real people worked to put together the magazine. I also liked that more than likely a reader caught the mistake. Sometimes a magazine would post a letter from a reader and it was as interesting to read as one of the regular staff writers. What a cool career writing for a magazine would be.
Superman could’ve picked any job he wanted as a cover, but he picked journalism.
I suppose that some people still subscribe to magazines, but I’m not sure who they are. I imagine that your social media algorithm is a good representation of what your magazine rack might’ve looked like 40 years ago. One nice thing about that is information is more readily available. I’m not sure that social media can quite replicate the feeling of seeing a magazine in the mailbox.
Since the AI Assistant comes with my WordPress website, they are essentially in my employ and are subject to an annual performance review, which I have decided to share with you.
I must confess. I have been asking for a little help with writing from an assistant: Artificial Intelligence Assistant. You do not have to convince me that this intelligence is artificial. Since the AI Assistant comes with my WordPress website, they are essentially in my employ and are subject to an annual performance review, which I have decided to share with you.
Good afternoon AI Assistant. It is time for your annual performance review. First, let’s take a look at your job description together.
AI Feedback on Post: Check for mistakes and verify the tone of your post before publishing.
Lets start with the positive. I appreciate that you always perform your work in a timely manner and are available around the clock. I have noticed that your feedback on my articles frequently use phrases like deeply reflective, introspective, and heartwarming. Thank you. As a words of affirmation person that means a lot to me.
Now for the negative. Sometimes I wonder if you understand my humor. It seems like you have missed the tone on quite a few articles and I am not sure that you are familiar with the concept of satire. We need to work on that. My audience is not computers, and their intelligence is real. So when I write something humorous or satirical, I don’t need you to suggest that I change it to be more inclusive or offer suggestions to resolve the issue. What I really only need from you… is spell check. If your comments weren’t so absurdly entertaining I would have let you go a while back. Lets take a look at some specific feedback that you have given me for various articles.
When reviewing this article you stated “The content is written in English.“
This is the kind of feedback I expect from a fifth grader writing a book report with a word count requirement.
“Consider focusing on a specific theme or topic to maintain reader’s interest.”
Ok, that one stung a little.
“Develop a clearer structure or storyline to guide the reader through your thoughts.”
I’ll have you know, that my thoughts are not clearly structured. I’m trying to make the reader think.
“Try to incorporate more descriptive details to make the narrative more engaging.“
The Cyclist’s Guide to Evading Dogs; or Dog Stories for Practical People
Now in your defense, I’m not even sure my audience will understand what is satire and what is genuine feelings in this article. And for once, I don’t want to offend a dog owner. That’s why this article is not published.
The content contains valuable personal experiences and tips for dealing with dogs while road cycling. It provides practical insights and a reflective narrative that resonates with fellow cyclists. To enhance the impact of the content, consider including additional safety measures or alternative strategies for peaceful coexistence with dogs on the road. Additionally, incorporating a concluding summary or call to action regarding responsible pet ownership may further engage the readers.
Did you even read the article? I am at war with the dogs. I am not interested in peaceful coexistence with dogs on the road. I thought this article made it clear.
These dogs are a lot happier than the dogs I wrote about. And they are running the wrong way. Not to mention the cyclist is on the wrong side of the road.If all the dogs were this lazy and happy I wouldn’t have written the article in the first place. And the dogs wouldn’t have bitten me. I will overlook the cyclist on the wrong side of the road because of the flower pot in his lane.
The content shows a strong sense of nostalgia and storytelling, effectively conveying the excitement of setting and tending a fire. However, it might be beneficial to include a brief disclaimer or safety note regarding controlled burning to promote responsible practices. Additionally, providing insight into proper safety measures could further enhance the piece. Finally, considering the potential influence on readers, it’s crucial to emphasize the importance of adhering to local regulations and safety guidelines when engaging in controlled burns.
I worry about your reading skills sometimes.This is only marginally better.
The content demonstrates a clear understanding of the significance of high and low context communication, using various examples to illustrate the cultural differences. To improve, consider summarizing the key points for easier reader digestion. Additionally, providing specific real-life scenarios relating to high and low context communication would make the content more engaging and relatable for the audience. Consider incorporating actionable advice for individuals dealing with high and low context communication differences in their personal or professional lives.
Easier reader digestion?
Radio Kid This kid looks like he is playing a video game and not really listening to the radio. I quite like this image though.
At first glance this looks like a nice picture until you see the little boy and wander what is he doing with that third hand.This looks like Hallmark hired Norman Rockwell to make a Mother’s Day card and paid him by the person. I like to think that figure outside is dad waiting on everyone to come take the family pictures.I asked you to make it look like Norman Rockwell painted it. This looks like Shania Twain got hired for a Martha Stewart Ad.
The personal reflection adds a heartfelt touch to the piece. To enhance it, consider adding more diverse perspectives on motherhood to make it more inclusive.
What do you mean by adding a more diverse perspective on motherhood? What if I only have one perspective? After all, I only have one mother. You’ll have to ask another writer if you want another perspective. Make it more inclusive? Did you even read the essay? Motherhood is an exclusive club. No exceptions.
Additionally, offering practical tips or insights for mothers could further engage readers.
That’s just what a mother wants to hear on Mother’s Day: parenting tips-nay-mothering tips from a freelance writer man. I might as well publish a How To book for Mothers and sell it.
Quite honestly, AI Assistant, you fail me in the one area that I really need you: catching basic grammar and spelling mistakes. We’ve got to work on that a little better.
Disclaimer
I want it to be clear that my inspiration for writing is genuine and AI does not write articles for me. Why would it? I am not getting paid for this and there is no pressure to produce.
One of the reasons that I write is to share emotions and personal thoughts with whoever wants to read them. Writing is cathartic for me. I think this is one of the reasons that the AI Assistant doesn’t fully understand me. How can something soulless understand someone who is baring their soul?
AI seems to scare some people. Maybe I should be scared too, but I’m not. I view it like any other tool that has come along through the ages. Honestly, I have found very little use for it while writing other than its entertaining feedback. I have been running the AI assistant whenever I complete an article mainly out of curiosity, but I don’t think I have ever taken a suggestion from its feedback. In fact I often vehemently reject AI’s feedback which is what this whole article is about. This is my website, and I put a lot of effort into what I write on here. If AI were writing the material on here I would feel like a big liar.
Something that I am concerned about is how hard it is getting to be to tell what is written by a human and what is written by a robot. This is a problem that teachers are facing with students on writing assignments.
In one sense it is flattering to have someone tell you, “I started a blog and had AI write a few articles about ________ in the style of Zane Wells.” But it is also a little creepy to think about.
What strange times we live in.
AI Art Gallery
One interesting feature that the AI Assistant offers is generating an image based on what I have written. I am really curious how people visualize what they read. I have a friend that tells me he struggles to see a picture in his mind when he reads. I don’t think that there is anything wrong with him. It doesn’t seem to bother him-how would he know any different? But it bothers me. So I have curated an AI gallery for a few selected articles. I have laughed quite a bit at these images.
Every once in a while I get this message when I ask AI to generate the image.
An error occurred while generating the image. Please, try again! We’ve encountered an error. Possible content policy violation. Please try again.
I attribute this to AI not really understanding human emotions, and humor.
What does wisdom, understanding, and knowledge look like?
Sarah just got me a brand new notebook. It is a wonderful feeling to start a brand new notebook. Something about a fresh crisp and clean page makes me want to take my time and try to write neatly. I have always had poor handwriting-or penmanship as Col. Moore stated in his lament about trying to read my assignment-but on a good day I can still read what I have written, even if it was a long time ago. And when those sentences from the past are legible I often can remember what I was thinking when I wrote them. Which is the whole point of taking notes. For me anyway.
I never took notes in high school. I just listened and hoped for the best on test day. That still works pretty well if you only need to remember something until Friday, but it may fail you if you try to remember something twenty years later. Even so, I believe there is an art to active listening. Which is to say that I believe that you can practice to be a better listener. This is one of the reasons that I love audiobooks. But if I really don’t want to forget something I like to write it down. That doesn’t necessarily ensure that I won’t forget it, but this redundancy reinforces the chances of remembering. So I take a lot of notes. While listening of course. Especially to preaching.
I don’t recall bothering myself to even take note of a test date. I just showed up to class and took it day by day.
I haven’t always taken notes as an adult either. I made an attempt to start in college, but it was short lived. College and note-taking. I started in earnest about 12 years ago at Youth Camp. I noticed a fellow councilor writing away on a notepad during a day session. The man who was preaching was saying some pretty good stuff. So I found a pen and pad before the next service and I started taking notes too. After it had become a habit for a couple of years I found out that the person who I had seen taking notes at Youth Camp was simply trying to stay awake.
It took me a while to develop a note taking system. When I take notes I am subconsciously trying to answer these questions: Am I following the speaker’s notes? What is the speaker saying? What is the essence of this message? What am I thinking that the speaker is not saying? What is God saying? How does this apply to my life? What songs will go for altar?
Good luck reading this. It was my notes from a powerful sermon at Youth Camp by Ari Prado.
I still take notes every service. And I journal fairly regularly. I even write these articles as an exercise in manifesting ideas. I believe this is all only practice to be a more excellent communicator. It has helped me learn to put my thoughts into words and be confident when I have to speak in difficult situations. From time to time I browse through my my notebook, particularly when I just finished one. It is a moment to reflect that chapter in my life. I may highlight major life events in the index in the front and write a synopsis of that time period. It is also interesting to know what a younger man was thinking.
I am hesitant to say that taking notes has made me critical of what people say, especially across the pulpit, but it has given me an awareness of their authority of subject material and the amount of preparation they spent on their speech or sermon. The last thing I want to be remembered as is a sermon critic. At the same time preaching is a matter of eternal significance and should not be practiced nonchalantly. If study for preaching is only internet deep then the sermon will be shallow indeed. Words are all that we have, and words must carry weight.
In the past year I have begun to look at taking notes differently. Principally because of these two scriptures:
Proverbs 3:19 The Lord by wisdom hath founded the earth; by understanding hath he established the heavens. 20 By his knowledge the depths are broken up, and the clouds drop down the dew. 21 My son, let not them depart from thine eyes: keep sound wisdom and discretion: 22 So shall they be life unto thy soul, and grace to thy neck.
What does wisdom, understanding, and knowledge look like? How do I not let them depart from my eyes? I think it is safe to say that this means words. How powerful are words! It is my sincere intention to learn to recognize wisdom, understanding, and knowledge when spoken and to write them down.
Proverbs 4:20 My son, attend to my words; incline thine ear unto my sayings. 21 Let them not depart from thine eyes; keep the in the midst of thine heart. 22 For they are life unto those that find them, and health to all their flesh. 23 Keep thy heart with all diligence; for out of it are the issues of life.
What do words and sayings look like? I can still hear my Dad say things, and if I tell them to you then you will hear them too. Maybe even for a long time after they’ve been said. But this can’t just be oral. Somethings must be written down. This concept of letting the words and sayings not depart from my eyes has caused me not only to be more diligent in taking notes, but also in reading the Word of God.
This year I read Reflections on the Revolution in France by Edmund Burke. I was initially intrigued by this work because I was on a French Revolution kick brought on by reading through A Tale of TwoCities yet again. What I found was I became far more interested in the writing style of the author than the subject material. This mastery of the English language is also what makes me, and countless others, Dickensian disciples. Mr. Burke writes a series of letters to a “French Friend.” Thankfully his friend could read English. As the title implies, these letters are his well thought out reflections on the French Revolution, an event that he watched unfold. The reflections were published and widely read during Mr. Burke’s lifetime. If you study political science today, you will become familiar with Edmond Burke as a political theorist. But I think he ought to be studied for his formal writing style.
How often have you had a conversation with someone and after it is over you find yourself wanting to edit what you said? It happens to me quite often. It is much easier for me to craft a clear response if I can write it. I am far more likely to choose appropriate words when given the luxury of reflection. With discipline and that most valuable resource time, I believe that anyone can put their deepest thoughts and feeling into written words. And people used to make this a habit in the form of diaries, journals, and letters to actual people.
Why do emails feel so stuffy and written letters seem so personal?
Although I keep a journal, and if you use your imagination I suppose you can call this blog-what an ugly word- and form of journalism, I cannot remember the last time I wrote someone a letter. For that I am a bit ashamed. At the same time I cannot remember the last time I received a letter. Most of our communication with friends today is done via text messages, FaceTime, and decreasingly for my generation, phone calls. All of these forms of communication lack the forethought and planning that a personal letter requires.
Even so, I believe that words fitly written are mere practice for words fitly spoken. As I said before, anyone can write if given time and inspiration, but it takes a truly gifted communicator to bring forth a fitly spoken word in real time. Words are powerful. Maybe this is why public speaking is a common fear.
A word fitly spoken is like apples of gold in pictures of silver. Proverbs 25:11
I am a long way away from where I want to be as an in person communicator. For that matter, I am a long way from where I want to be as a writer. But I am practicing. Thank you for allowing me to practice with you today.
Mostly From Memory 