Negative Ned

 

Negative Ned

     Allow me to introduce you to Ned. The guy in never-never-land, you know, the one who is The No Man. This guy can’t say yes because to voice an aye would mean a change in his attitude.

The No Man’s wife came to my home to ask for advice. “My hubby turns down every suggestion I make, and I’m tired of it.” Her face grew flushed with anger.

Hmm? What to utter in response to her tirade?

“When you ask him to do something, he answers with a resounding no?” Just keep talking, maybe the situation will resolve itself.  That’s my motto.

“True. That’s what he does. If I want to entertain friends, he says, no.  If I want to vacation in a certain spot, ‘it’s Katy bar the door. He turns down every suggestion.’”

“Well, that is a problem,” I respond as I nod and smile.

Should I take her side and tell her the No Man is an idiot? Since she is a parishioner, this could mean a problem. She will repeat whatever I tell her, and then the No Man becomes mad, and the situation becomes a hot potato for me. We don’t aggravate members of the congregation.  Well, not on purpose, anyway.

So, I say, “What have you done about this in the past?”

She wipes a tear from her eye and says, “Nothing. I stopped voicing my opinion or my desire to do anything special, but I’m ready to make changes.”

“Hmm.” I say. “That’s too bad. Everyone deserves to have a say-so now and then. I can understand why you want to alter the pattern.”

At this point, I’m thinking the No Man is a real dolt, but I can’t say this out loud.

Instead of voicing my thoughts, I respond, “Why do you think he plays the Devil’s Advocate?”

Uh oh!  Should I have said that?  Oh well, it’s too late to zip my lip now. The cat’s out of the bag. I’ve just implied one of my congregants is one of Satan’s minions.

She doesn’t seem to notice my comment and replies, “I suppose he worries about money, my safety, or how exhausted I get from undertaking ventures.”

He might be a caring husband, or is he? Perhaps he prefers the simple life, but she’s missing out on things she might want. Is that fair?

“How nice,” I say. “He shows his love for you by saying no.”

Argh! Gag me with a spoon. A man shows love for his wife by spoiling her. I’m thinking this guy deserves a taste of his own medicine. So, I suggest this.

“Maybe you should tell him no for a change. Say something like, ‘because I love you, I’m going to be Negative Nellie and say no thank you to your idea of where to spend the weekend. I will go on vacation by myself.’”

She looks startled. “I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“He would throw a fit and tell me I can’t do it.”

“So, what else is new? He might see the light and agree.”

As she bites her lip, I wait.

What am I doing? Why didn’t I refer her to a professional counselor? I have no business suggesting she stand up for herself. On the other hand, she needs to grow a backbone.

She gathers her purse, ready to leave my living room. “I’ll do it! You’ve made excellent points. I’ll let you know how it turns out.”

I walk her to the door and hug her.

“Keep me posted. I hope everything turns out well.”

I stand in the doorway and wave goodbye. I close the door and inhale deeply. Negative Ned is going to be as mad as a hornet when his wife bucks him. It’s time for me to run for the hills. When Negative Nellie calls Negative Ned out, the bad stuff will hit the fan.

It is my bad, and my suggestions have disaster written all over them.  You see, for some odd reason, my pastor hubby wishes to grow a flock. Not scare them away. And I think I just did.

Stay tuned.

Ring Up for Prayer

 

When my dad lived on Earth, he enjoyed telling family and friends about his grandfather Morton. That would be my great grandfather. I never met him, but I have a picture of the man with his immediate family. I can see the resemblance between my great grandfather and my brother Rick. These two guys were tall and lean. Well, my bro wasn’t so lean in the picture below, but his weight would come and go. Mine comes and stays. During his thinner times, Rick resembled our great grandfather to a greater extent.

           The Morton Family. 

Seated in the center, my great grandfather. 

My Grandfather is the boy who looks about 10 years old standing next to his mother.

   My brother, Rick Morton, and me.

Rick Morton

Younger and thinner days

I have no idea why people didn’t smile for photographs back in the “old days.”  My relatives look gloomy.  I’m guessing the antique picture was made about 1880, and times were likely depressing. Rick and I look happier than our ancient relatives.

My grandfather, the boy in the picture with sleeves too short, had white hair at an early age. So did my dad, and so do I.  The DNA from the Morton side.

My great grandfather, and I wish I knew his name, was a substitute preacher in the Methodist church. My dad loved and respected him, as did the people in the Texas town where the Mortons lived.

My dad wasn’t around when the ancient photo was taken. (Duh!  LOL.  You guessed that, right?)  But as a child in the 1920s, he visited his paternal family.

He said every night, the people in the township would come over to the Morton house for prayer. Those who couldn’t come in person would call up to the Morton house.

 

     

Phone types of the era. I don’t know which one the Morton family used.

Back in those days, phones were few, and folks who had them were on a party line. These call ins must have resembled early Zoom Calls. A lot of folks connected at the same time.

The phone receiver was brought as close as possible to my great grandfather. He then knelt and prayed in a loud voice so all could hear across the wires. He closed each evening in prayer for the community. People made requests for personal issues, and he mentioned them all to God.

In his later years, he grew sick with stomach problems. One evening his wife cooked cabbage, and my great grandfather said, “That smells so good.”  He prayed it would stay down, and it did. Citizens in the community begged him to ask the Lord again for food to stay down, but he refused.

Why? I don’t know. Perhaps he thought it selfish to pray for himself. I’ll meet him in heaven, and perhaps I'll ask. From stories I’ve heard, he must have been special.

I see announcements on TV for people to call a number with their need for help. A few churches maintain 24-hour prayer closets and record requests. Individuals on Facebook ask for prayer. Strangers pray for strangers.

People need the Lord. I’m happy my family prayed for others back in the day, and it is a blessing individuals continue to do this.

I doubt party lines exist today, but we can zoom call, Facebook call, or leave voice mail. I’ve even texted prayers.

I hear landlines will go away and only cell phones will exist in the near future.

A couple of people phone in for my Bible Study each Sunday morning. We don’t see each other, but they listen and make comments.  Sort of like the people during my great grandfather’s day with the audible calls.

The old is new and the new is old.

If you want to phone into my Bible study, let me know. I’d be happy to have you. Just like my great grandfather was pleased to have listeners.

Hot Money

I've mentioned my cooking disasters in past blogs. I'm just not good around stoves, and recipes never turn out correctly.

I burn food.

But I've never burned money. Not yet anyway.

I have a friend, and to protect the innocent, I'll call her Daisy. Daisy's husband owns a business. I'll call him Dylan. After closing the store for the night, Dylan brought home a bank sack full of cash.  Without thinking, he pitched the bag full of paper money into the oven.

Well, don't ya' know, the wife, Daisy, came along and turned on the oven to preheat to 500 degrees. She left the kitchen while the oven readied itself for the chicken.

Arriving in the bedroom, she greeted Dylan. He was changing into leisure clothes. Daisy changed into hers.

The couple discussed the day as moments went by. Soon, Dylan sniffed the air. "What's burning?"

Daisy replied, "Nothing yet, I'm preheating the oven."

"You turned the oven on?" Dylan's shout could be heard far and near.

Daisy nodded.

"Ye oh!" Dylan gave a yell and ran for the kitchen.

With mittens covering his hands, he pulled from the oven a smoking bag full of half-burned money.

With wide eyes, Daisy exclaimed, "How did that get there?"

Dylan trembled as he retrieved a few of the 100-dollar bills from the ashes. "I was in a hurry to get out of that suit, and I threw it in there."

"Is all the money ruined?"  

Dylan shook his head. "No, but I don't know about these bills that are mostly charred. I doubt the bank will accept them."

"How will we explain burned money to a bank?" Daisy picked up a black greenback.

Dylan snapped his fingers as an idea came along. "Let's dye your hair blonde, and tell them you are a dumb blonde who forgot she threw this bag into the oven and then turned it on. Maybe they will accept that explanation."

Daisy retorted. "Forget it Buster. You dye your hair blonde and tell them you did it."

Arguments got them nowhere. Dylan put the sack of hot money into the home vault, and there it remains to this day.

Family Secrets