Jacob Hannah on how he’d like to preach

"Uh, Brothers and Sisters!” he managed to choke out. How he hated those sissified words! It was more practical and comfortable to say 'ladies and gentlemen' but he was not permitted to say that. It wasn't preachy enough.

'Ladies and gentlemen' was something you might say to a crowd about to look into your tent to see a two-headed calf or a woman with a beard. But he'd have felt a little better talking like that anyway.

LAYYYDDDIIIEEES AND GENTLEMEN!

Come up here and let me tell you about God jumping down from his throne and scarin hell out of a young boy in the woods!

Pay me yer shillings and I'll excite you through and through! I'll tell ya things you'll hardly believe, but you'll get your money's worth! It'll thrill ya. If God coming to Earth in the 1800's don't thrill ya, then it oughta make ya laugh and you still won't miss your shilling!

But old Turner'd never let him say it like that because they had come to preach, not bark.

Worry

Take a stroll with Worry and a willing partner find,

who'll bring along your troubles so they'll not be left behind.

He'll summon all the vultures who will hover overhead

while  fear about your troubles leaves your courage feeling dead.

Mr. Worry will not comfort you; commiserate he does,

for he thrives and grows but stronger while reducing you … because

the more he walks beside you the more welcome he remains

and feeds upon your sorrow making loses of your gains.

Take a stroll with Worry and you stroll on liquid sand

where to step away is difficult and nowhere can you stand,

for standing still is sinking and his vultures overhead

will feast upon the hopes and dreams you've given up for dead.

The Mother of your soul doth weep when Worry slithers in,

an uninvited guest so cruel who wants you not to win.

And Worry wed with Anger -- both destroy a vital chord

when the Mother weeps while watching you pick up a sharpened sword

to wreak a mindless havoc without wisdom at your side,

but Worry, laughing all the time will see how you deride

your essence and your virtue in the thrall of Anger's lust

and full of pride so wounded you grind Wisdom into dust.

© 2000 My Secret Thoughts, Arthur Ruger