Breathing In, Speaking Out

 

After working in emergency medicine in the field for a few years, one begins to obtain finesse in handling various patients. Focusing on equipment and gear can often leave you wondering why the patient deteriorates. Some patients don’t get better no matter what you do. Then there was the lady patient a friend treated years ago. She was having difficulty breathing. He’d done all the correct things; establishing oxygen flow, inquiring about allergies and medicine taken, and listening for abnormal lung sounds. None of which assisted her breathing.

In the process of further examination he found that the bra strap in back was so tight he couldn’t get a finger under it. He deftly withdrew his bandage scissors and clipped it in two. The lady let out a huge sigh of relief and her breathing difficulties ended. To this day, whenever he meets a female with breathing difficulty the first thing he does is cut the bra strap.

Air movement is essential to life. Air must come into our bodies so that air can be discharged or used for voice communication. God tells us to speak His kingdom into this earth and shows us how He spoke creation. Scripture encourages us to pray in the Spirit without ceasing. Yet, when we even think about doing so, it seems impossible for us to take in a breath required to speak those sounds. And, if you’re like Paul and your habit is to pray more than others, it isn’t easy to skip the appointed time because of the lack of air in your lungs.

God gives nine examples in Genesis of how speaking creates results. But speaking without His power creates neither results nor improvement. Some time ago I realized that in all the instances of Jesus’ healing ministry, it required a) the gospel, b) the spoken word of healing and c) the act of faith by the one being healed. Can you wonder if the man lowered through the roof would have been healed if he hadn’t gotten up off that mat? Or if the man who was told to dip seven times in the Jordan had never done that? Or if poor blind Bartimaeus hadn’t walked down the road?

Is something bothering you? Use your words to change it, and step out in faith. It’s God’s way.   

Seed Spittin'

 

What could seed spitting have to do with writing? When you look at society today, do you wonder if any of the people under thirty years of age have ever spit watermelon seeds? What about you? Are there mores preventing you from even trying?

I grew heritage Baby Bell watermelons this year. Only five were allowed to grow so they could have the best chance at development. When I harvested the first, I didn’t know what to expect. Did I wait long enough for it to mature? No, but I was curious and impatient.

Turns out, the second watermelon was perfect. Because it’s a heritage variety, there’s a generational blessing attached to it. Modern hybrids won’t produce the same variety year after year and the quality suffers. Buy the seeds every spring, plant, tend, cultivate, prune, and pick the fruit. Next year, do it again. Heritage plants produce seeds which can reproduce the same variety, so I save those seeds for next year’s planting. And four generations of plants later, I still get the same luscious fruit.

This morning I harvested the next to last melon. After slicing the end of it off, I cut a wide cross-section to enjoy post-lawn mowing. Wow. What a lot of seeds. Almost impossible to remove them from the fruit. When I grew up in the ‘60s, watermelon spitting was a cherished art. Contests proved one’s worth. But the skill developed through years of spitting enough seeds out of the way gave way to enjoying the meat of the melon.

Nowadays, with seedless melons, kids loose another opportunity to learn patience to get to the good stuff. No spitting for them. Slice it, dice it, and shove it down their throats. And they’ve applied the same actions to most of their lives. College? All done. Now where’s my CEO salary. Discipline disappears.

 When one needs to spit seeds, there are certain natural laws to follow. Don’t chomp a piece bigger than you can chew and separate the seeds inside your mouth. Watermelon is full of, well, water. Have a napkin to wipe your face and for heaven’s sake, don’t slop it all over your good clothes. And when you’re done, discard the rind out of the path of travel, like in a garbage can, the pig sty, or over the fence. It’s the nuances of seed spitting where one learns common sense, and patience.  Patience is how we handle stumbling blocks. It’s a learned skill. Watermelon eating is a basic exercise to learn. Many of today’s young generations lost the opportunity.

Editing our work is a lot like it. We write volumes in order to garner the good stuff, but we must be willing to do the good work of separating and spitting out the seeds. A writing mentor once told me a scene was too long, although well-written. We decided to chop half of it. Her comment to me? “Don’t trash these good words. Save them for another time.” Those things that don’t fit in this work, will be seeds for future work. Processing, saving, storing, and replanting those seeds gives us a future in writing.

Don’t delay, spit out those word seeds and create a legacy for our next generation of readers.

Now hear this!

 My social media experience turned sour a couple weeks ago. 

With nothing more than a comment about how certain posts of mine were only "1/2 truths", Facebook summarily trashed all three of my pages. My personal @warrenajohnson3, my book page: The Pheromone Chronicles, and my old business page: @haversackhistory. If you haven't been eliminated by FB, be forewarned. All of your contacts will be discarded. All of your posts will be lost.

Without any warning, and without any FB jail time, I've disappeared from that venue. It's a shame, really. My views are conservative, patriotic, and based upon 71 years of life in these United States. I contributed to another page called The Liberty Den. There were 2 million followers. If I may say so, that was an incredible platform for a writer. Facebook killed that three years ago and the page garners some 2,000 followers last I checked.

So, all told, my presence on social media is now limited to this blog post. I no longer have access to some 76 thirty-minute FB-live broadcasts on the SCLFM Constitution page, which I've done over the last two years. Even though I was saving them, they apparently only went to a FB file. Gonzo.

You'll likely see more posts from me on this venue. I'll continue to tell truths as I see them. We'll have to see whether this venue values free speech more than FB.

I'd appreciate it if those of you following me would extend an invitation to your friends to follow along.

I'll have a new blog up within the day.

Best blessings, friends.

Warren