QUIET PIG

Let’s face it.  The world would be a better place if everybody had a Quiet Pig.

Is this controversial teaching?  Am I the first Preacher to say this?  Probably so.  What else would you expect?  I’m not like a lot of Preachers.  I’m not afraid to let people know that I for one am “Pro Pig” when it comes to Quiet Pig.

When I was a kid I had a little, plastic, pink pig that I liked to carry around with me named Quiet Pig. He was really smooth and fit right in the palm of my hand. I loved Quiet Pig.  But Quiet Pig wasn’t for everybody.  He had pretty high standards as to who could hold him and who couldn’t. 

Simply put: If you wanted to HOLD Quiet Pig, you had to BE Quiet Pig.  This is isn’t always easy to pull off - especially if you’re 3 years old.  Or, over 53.

The great thing about Quiet Pig was he only came out on certain occasions. You’d usually see him pop up all of sudden in church or at weddings, right before you were about to bust out and start acting like a maniac, drinkin’ all the communion grape juice or playin’ Ring Around The Rosey with some poor bride’s gown. 

Right at that critical moment, my Mother would pull Quiet Pig out of her purse and just look at me. I was practically hypnotized just by the sight of him.  Once I saw his beautiful, shiny, pink, plastic porkiness I would immediately stop whatever squirmmin’ I was doin’, shut my mouth and just wait further instructions. 

I knew that before I could touch him, my Mother was gonna make sure I understood what a big deal this was. Quiet Pig meant business.  It was time to pipe down.  No peace, no pig.  No Pig...a spanking was next.  Guaranteed.  So there were plenty of reasons to pay attention.

The minute I had Quiet Pig in my hand, I immediately became calm and quiet and good for hours on end.

I’m thinking of sending a crate of Quiet Pigs to the Middle East...and maybe a couple of Grumpy Elders I know.

Whatever it takes.

As together we stand and sing.

BP

MOM'S SCHOOL OF PREACHING

I am often asked, “Brother Preacher, how in the world did you get so unbelievably talented?”

It’s an excellent question; one that I have often pondered myself at length.  It’s hard to imagine exactly how so much talent and raw personal charisma can be crammed into one humble Preacher like me.  It’s probably one reason for my huge head.  I’m not saying I’m arrogant, I just saying I have a huge head.  All that talent and charisma has to hang out somewhere.

Obviously, I was born with most of it.  I can’t remember a time when I did not have massive talent and influence.  I have a vague memory of being passed around a room and told how cute and amazing I was by everyone.  I also have a memory of the exact same thing happening when I was a little baby.  That first memory was from about two weeks ago.  Clearly my amazing-ness has always been an undeniable trait of mine.

But when it comes to pure preaching talent, I have to say that the training I received from my mother was invaluable.  She never preached herself but somehow knew how to tell me how to do it.  This was not unusual for my family.  I was also taught how to dive from my father...who didn’t know how to swim.  Which is why I tend to belly flop a LOT.

From the time I was barely able to walk, I was preaching under the tutelage of my mother.  While other kids were out playing army or climbing trees, I was in my room with my sister and my mother preaching to stuffed animals, eatin’ saltines and drinkin’ grape juice. 

PREACHER’S NOTE: NEVER baptize teddy bears.  They sink.

My mother would give notes on my pacing, my topics, even my gestures.  She was good.  She even worked out a series of signals she could do with her head that she would send me from the back of the church building to tell me if I was too loud, too quite, too fast, too slow.  She’s like a Preaching third base coach.

My best sermon back then was one about commitment.  It was called: “A Swing Or A Slide: What Kind of Christian Are You?”  (Hint: you wanna be a swing.)

One of the most valuable lessons I ever learned while enrolled in my mother’s “School Of Preaching” was the importance of ending a sermon properly.  Let’s face it: nobody ends a sermon better than me.  Don’t believe me?  Watch this...

As together we stand and sing.

BP

ADDICTED TO CUTE

I've just received some rather disturbing news.  

It appears that my dear, sweet mother is officially "addicted to cute".  

To be more clear: my mother is a "Cute-dict."  

There.  I said it. And believe me, it's as hard to say as it is to spell.

I'm not sure when it started, but at some point my Mother became obsessed with the tiny, the fuzzy, the puffy and the sweet.  

Cute chickens, adorable bears, singing puppies, tiny donuts, miniature refrigerators that hold tiny cartons of tiny eggs.  To say nothing of the hundreds of cute, chubby, little YouTube kids saying the books of the Bible while eating Popsicles. 

Cute has stolen her waking hours and by extension, many of mine.

I know she's going through a bad patch when her emails to me end with graphics of pink kittens in blue tuxedos jumping on yellow marshmallows and waving signs that say, "Let's All Be Cute!"  and "For Cute's Sake."

I'm a grown man, for cryin' out loud.  What am I supposed to do with with this kind of animal?  How am I supposed to respond to this sort of sign?

There's no telling where this will all lead: cute tomato pillows, cute bobble head angels in the back window of the car, sweaters with cute roosters on them saying, "cute-a-doodle-cute".

I'm terrified.

What's worse, I know she's not alone.  It's an epidemic out there.  Many of you are in the same position as my Mother.  Some even worse.

You make cookies in the shape of chubby owls.  Your screen saver is Winnie The Pooh driving a cupcake car.  You have ring tones with Chipmunks singing Christmas songs.  You give your husbands ties covered with...well...you know.  

It's not right. 

"He that is without sin, let him cast the first stone."

This has to stop.  We can't let this go on.  

Only you can help.  Only you can stop this epidemic that is devastating the country.  

How?  

Start by being patient.  The Cute-dict rarely knows she has a problem.  They will deny it by saying things like:

"A LOT of people have teddy bear wall paper."

And...

"What's weird about baby salt and pepper shakers?"

Don't believe them.  They are trying to trip you up.  A lot of people DON'T have that kind of wall paper and there is PLENTY wrong with baby condiments.

Remember that this condition starts slow and grows over many years.  So to cure it, be patent, start slow.  

Start by keeping this and anything like it away from people like my mother:

It only leads to this...

 And this...

And NO one needs THAT.  Whenever possible, replace this...

With this...

And when in doubt, end all emails with pictures of construction sites and stacks of dirty dishes.

Beyond this, have the Cute-dict watch weekly, old war movies, take up karate and sleep on white sheets - no Mickey Mouse sheets...or backpacks.

For the good of this country, for the sake of the world, for my Mother...please...stop with the cute already.

As together we stand and sing.

BP