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Friday, December 31, 2010


Another Sample Chapter From My Upcoming Book:  The Chicken Whisperer

 “Say “hello” to my little friend.”…from the movie Scarface


 could never intentionally break a man’s nose, but for the right girl, I could stab him with a pencil.

     As you can tell, I’m a movie man.  I mined them for instructions on life and love in my early years.  Although unreliable for wisdom, most told an entertaining story about a villain, a girl in distress, a hero, and violence.

    Living in the country on a farm, I didn’t have cable or a VCR when I was young, I had Saturday morning cartoons via rabbit ears.  My weekly dose of laughter was the only short, hand drawn collection of movies I was allowed to watch as a child.  But rather than trying to rescue a girl, my cartoon friends were always trying to get something to eat (I guess they were hungry).  While cartoons were short on females, they made up for it with tons of violence. 

    Sylvester was trying to eat Tweety but a cage and a grandmother stood in the way.  Bugs Bunny was trying to get a carrot but was chased by a stuttering man with a rifle.  Yogi just wanted a picnic basket but was constantly beaten by a park ranger.  Together they taught me going after what you want might make you a victim of violence, but being funny increases your chances of overcoming the opposition.

     I first experimented with violence as early as first grade when I defended my Christmas candy with a pair of Snoopy scissors.  The first time I used violence to rescue a damsel was when I was in sixth grade and defended the object of my affection with a mechanical pencil.
     A girl named Shanie, who’s silky hair tended to make me forget about school and think about shampoo commercials, sat two desks in front of me.  Between us was a bully who was trying to ruin her Clairol career potential.   Rufus had breath that smelled like regurgitated rotten eggs and for some odd reason this foul mouthed boy found pulling her hair amusing. He had no idea she was related to Whitney Houston:  she had a bodyguard.

     Love is like an injection of steroids to the heart.  It leads the white knight into the dark forest, the wounded soldier back to the home front and the lovesick sixth grader to extreme measures of violence.

   I watched him pester her for weeks, maybe even months.  Everyday, like clock work, out of nowhere, he would yank her hair because, just like me, he probably had a crush on her.  With tears in her eyes, she would beg him to stop and of course he would pretend he was clueless about what was happening.  At some point, it occurred to me she was a beauty in distress waiting for a hero.
   My weapon of choice was a plastic, red, mechanical pencil loaded with .05mm lead, pumped four times.   My target was the side of his neck where there was a rumor of a pressure point that could paralyze a man instantly.  Honestly, I didn’t even think about that.  I just stuck him as if I was Tony Montana in Scarface taking care of a bad drug deal.

     Two minutes later he was in the bathroom having an inch of lead pulled out of his neck with a pair of tweezers and I was in the hallway grabbing my ankles.  I was asked to explain my stabbing action before my teacher paddled me, so I told her the truth: I did it for love.  Looking back between my legs I saw her wipe tears from her face.  It was a beautiful story.  I’d stab him again, but I’d pump it five times and finish the job.

     Love is the sixth sense that propels us toward the proposition that life will be easier with a little company. Love is the cup of courage that sends us down the aisle with giant valentines, across the desk with pencils, and into the exciting darkness of an other’s hearts. Love is what calls us to the center of other people’s lives, and sometimes to assume the role of gladiator.  We may be wounded.  We may be maimed.  We may be torn.  But sometimes we will know victory and sometimes… the crowds will go wild.

     The Chicken Whisperer believed love’s potential for influence is defined by how much we are willing to sacrifice on behalf of the person we care about, how close to their suffering we are willing to crawl, and how determined we are serve them when they are wounded.   Rather than recognition or applause, he encouraged this servant-hood as a means of finding fulfillment.  This means that the mere act of loving someone, separated from how they respond, or even if they respond, should give us joy   We sometimes get confused and believe that true fulfillment comes from love that is reciprocated rather than simply coming from the act of achieving our own personal potential in the relationship and thus pleasing our heavenly Father.  Most of the world’s relational suffering comes from disappointment where love is not reciprocated.  The Chicken Whisperer said that when we love others we are also loving our heavenly Father and His love is reciprocated back to us constantly through His Son and the Cross.    The Cross set the standard for true love, where the Son of God, out of love, dies for sinners, hoping they will repent but not forcing them.  And He dies not only for sinners, but also because his sacrifice pleases God who loves Him and whom He also loves. God’s love for his Son enabled his Son to walk in obedience and love us, just as God’s love for us enables us to walk in obedience and love others.  Sacrificial love in us is enabled by the power of the Cross.   True fulfillment can literally come from simply sacrificially  loving and serving people the best we can out of our love and gratitude for our heavenly Father.   We cannot control others, nor does God, who can, choose to do so.  We can only pray that our pure, selfless, sacrificial love will penetrate the walls of defense that are erected daily by the wounded people we know.   And sacrifice is a bold statement in the daily news of the human heart.  

“It is not the critic, who counts, or how the strong man stumbled and fell, or where the doer of deeds could have done better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood, who strives valiantly, who errs and comes short again and again, who knows the great enthusiasms, the great devotion, and spends himself in a worthy cause; and if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that he’ll never be with those cold and timid souls who know neither victory nor defeat.” …Theodore Roosevelt

Shortly after the birth of his first child, our president lost his wife and, on the same day, his mother a few hours later.  The year, 1884.  The day,  February 14th, Valentine’s Day.


Anonymous Anonymous said...

Where is this book? Where can I find it?

January 13, 2011 at 2:15 PM  
Blogger timmhammerjonson said...

The book will be in print by the end of February and will be available at any Green Frog Coffee Co location. Ordering online will also be available. Sorry for the delay. But it is coming soon!

January 13, 2011 at 2:37 PM  

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