Things my grandfather used to say: By Sean Dietrich (Sean of the South)
Be nice; because if you’re not being nice, what are you being?
Don’t cut in line. Don’t interrupt. Don’t pout. Never, ever take the last biscuit.
Smile, it increases your face value.
The wise man knoweth how to dumb it down.
You can’t think your way into the right action, but you can act your way into the right thinking.
Try your hardest, do your absolute best, and when all else fails, cuss.
Always obey your mother when she is around.
Everyone should pee in his own backyard at least once.
Listen to the elderly, they’re smarter than you. Unless they are men.
Treat other people the way you want to be treated. If the Golden Rule were actually practiced today, there would be no karaoke bars.
You never know what a consummate ass you can be until you give someone else advice.
Never judge a Denny’s menu by the photographs.
Let him who is without sin throw the first boomerang.
Whenever something stinks, check your own diaper first.
Don’t point fingers unless you're standing in front of a mirror.
Always, always, always trust your gut.
Tomorrow is a day with no mistakes in it, but you’ll change all that.
Be nice to kids, one day they’ll be running your nursing home.
Feed strays.
When in doubt, do it the way your wife told you.
Never pass up an opportunity to hold a baby.
A good wife always forgives her husband when she is wrong.
‘Fess up when you mess up. Admit when you’re wrong. Don’t gloat when you’re right. And above all, don’t act like you know everything. Know-it-alls make life so incredibly difficult for those of us who actually do.
Change your oil before you think it needs to be changed.
Quit watching the news for 72 hours and just see how you feel.
Doctors don’t know everything. Neither do preachers. Neither do granddaddies.
Your heart knows a lot more than you give it credit.
Life is too short to work for bosses who treat you like crap.
Make a resolution to rid yourself of all bad habits, you can start with perfectionism.
Never, ever be lazy unless you absolutely feel like it.
Always bury politicians at least six feet below the soil, because deep down they’re good people.
Everyone is screwed up. The only ones who aren’t screwed up live in graveyards.
If you love someone, love them hard. If you hate someone, love them even harder.
There is nothing half as exciting as canceled plans.
If you’re hogging all the credit, you’re going to hog all the blame, too.
This is not the end.
Neither was that.
Ninety-nine percent of the things you worry about will never happen.
If you really want to believe in God, you already do.
Always listen to your grandparents. And if you don’t have any, then you can always listen to mine.
Showing posts with label Sean of the South. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Sean of the South. Show all posts
Sunday, February 19, 2023
Thursday, November 24, 2022
When God visited, Sean of the South, Nov. 23, 2022
You probably didn’t hear about it. But yesterday, God visited earth.
Contrary to what you’ve heard, God is a big fan of people. He’s a huge fan. In fact, that’s why he came.
His visit was an under-the-radar thing. It was non-publicized. God wasn’t in it for press.
First, he came to Birmingham, Alabama. Of all places.
He stepped into a sleepy hospital corridor last night, and wandered the aisles barefoot. He stopped in the room of a little girl with terminal brain cancer.
The little girl was sleeping. He touched her bald little head. She never even knew he was there. All she knew was that she was dreaming of “angels and stuff.”
When the little girl awoke, something wonderful had happened. Something almost too impossible to believe.
Her mother was seated beside her bed. Asleep in her chair. The little girl sat upright. She stretched her arms. She yawned. She remarked how good she felt. Doctors checked her out. They couldn’t believe she felt “good.”
Because for the last six months, the child has felt like heck. For the last six months, the little girl has been dying. But today, something had shifted. All the treatments. All the therapy. Something was working.
Turns out, the scans the doctor sent away had come back all clear. The child okay. Not just a-little-bit okay. She is totally fine. No traces of cancer. Not a single bit. This child will live.
“My baby will live,” said her mother.
After that, God went to Oklahoma City. It’s not clear how he got there. Maybe he took a Greyhound. Maybe he flew. Maybe God doesn’t take public transportation. Maybe he just did the Star Trek thing, and beamed himself up.
Either way, he landed in a little town outside Oklahoma City. A dusty town which shall remain nameless, because it is small, and everyone knows everyone’s business.
There was an old man who was was suicidal. He is Cherokee. He was locked in his bathroom. He had the gun. He was going to do it. Really going to do it.
But then something warm washed all over him and told him, in an audible voice, “Don’t do it. Rachel drew you a picture.”
He stepped out of his bathtub when he heard the phone ring. It was his granddaughter. She was Facetiming him.
“Hey Grandpa,” said the 6-year-old child. “I called because I just drew you a picture.”
Her name is Rachel.
Then God then traveled to Oregon. The 33rd state. A state with rainforests, mountains and harsh deserts. God must have taken a pretty fast plane because he got there in just the nick of time.
There was a young man named Rob who was having a heart attack in his home. Rob is 26. He was standing in his hallway, and he was so scared. It’s not every day a 26-year-old collapses in his hallway, clutching his chest in terror.
“Don’t let me die, God,” Rob uttered.
When he woke up, he was in the ICU. The doctors said he had been dead for several minutes before they revived him.
His mother, who was sitting beside his hospital bed asked what he’d seen when he was clinically dead.
Rob said, “I just met my father.”
The young man’s father has been dead since he was a toddler. He’s only seen pictures.
“What did he say to you?” his mother asked.
“He said something about Baltimore, Maryland.”
His mother started crying.
“Why are you crying, Mom?” the kid asked.
“I never told you this, but your father asked me to marry him in Baltimore.”
Listen, I don’t know where this letter finds you tonight. I don’t know what you’re doing right now, or where you are spending Thanksgiving.
I don’t know whether you’re happy or sad. I don’t care whether you’re religious or not. Thanksgiving is one day away. And I don’t give the tiniest crap what you’ve heard, I want you to know that no matter who you are, no matter what you’ve done, God is your biggest fan.
I hope you have a happy Thanksgiving this year.
Contrary to what you’ve heard, God is a big fan of people. He’s a huge fan. In fact, that’s why he came.
His visit was an under-the-radar thing. It was non-publicized. God wasn’t in it for press.
First, he came to Birmingham, Alabama. Of all places.
He stepped into a sleepy hospital corridor last night, and wandered the aisles barefoot. He stopped in the room of a little girl with terminal brain cancer.
The little girl was sleeping. He touched her bald little head. She never even knew he was there. All she knew was that she was dreaming of “angels and stuff.”
When the little girl awoke, something wonderful had happened. Something almost too impossible to believe.
Her mother was seated beside her bed. Asleep in her chair. The little girl sat upright. She stretched her arms. She yawned. She remarked how good she felt. Doctors checked her out. They couldn’t believe she felt “good.”
Because for the last six months, the child has felt like heck. For the last six months, the little girl has been dying. But today, something had shifted. All the treatments. All the therapy. Something was working.
Turns out, the scans the doctor sent away had come back all clear. The child okay. Not just a-little-bit okay. She is totally fine. No traces of cancer. Not a single bit. This child will live.
“My baby will live,” said her mother.
After that, God went to Oklahoma City. It’s not clear how he got there. Maybe he took a Greyhound. Maybe he flew. Maybe God doesn’t take public transportation. Maybe he just did the Star Trek thing, and beamed himself up.
Either way, he landed in a little town outside Oklahoma City. A dusty town which shall remain nameless, because it is small, and everyone knows everyone’s business.
There was an old man who was was suicidal. He is Cherokee. He was locked in his bathroom. He had the gun. He was going to do it. Really going to do it.
But then something warm washed all over him and told him, in an audible voice, “Don’t do it. Rachel drew you a picture.”
He stepped out of his bathtub when he heard the phone ring. It was his granddaughter. She was Facetiming him.
“Hey Grandpa,” said the 6-year-old child. “I called because I just drew you a picture.”
Her name is Rachel.
Then God then traveled to Oregon. The 33rd state. A state with rainforests, mountains and harsh deserts. God must have taken a pretty fast plane because he got there in just the nick of time.
There was a young man named Rob who was having a heart attack in his home. Rob is 26. He was standing in his hallway, and he was so scared. It’s not every day a 26-year-old collapses in his hallway, clutching his chest in terror.
“Don’t let me die, God,” Rob uttered.
When he woke up, he was in the ICU. The doctors said he had been dead for several minutes before they revived him.
His mother, who was sitting beside his hospital bed asked what he’d seen when he was clinically dead.
Rob said, “I just met my father.”
The young man’s father has been dead since he was a toddler. He’s only seen pictures.
“What did he say to you?” his mother asked.
“He said something about Baltimore, Maryland.”
His mother started crying.
“Why are you crying, Mom?” the kid asked.
“I never told you this, but your father asked me to marry him in Baltimore.”
Listen, I don’t know where this letter finds you tonight. I don’t know what you’re doing right now, or where you are spending Thanksgiving.
I don’t know whether you’re happy or sad. I don’t care whether you’re religious or not. Thanksgiving is one day away. And I don’t give the tiniest crap what you’ve heard, I want you to know that no matter who you are, no matter what you’ve done, God is your biggest fan.
I hope you have a happy Thanksgiving this year.
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