Another Reader-Submitted CCCE

September 22, 2006

Holy shit, it’s been two weeks since I updated? I’ve been lazy busy* lately, but I’m back with another submission from Matt. Enjoy:

I envy Kevin. My brother Kevin thinks God lives under his bed. At least
that’s what I heard him say one night. He was praying out loud in his
dark bedroom, and I stopped to listen, “Are you there, God?” he said.
“Where are you? Oh, I see. Under the bed…”

I giggled softly and tiptoed off! to my own room.

Kevin’s unique perspectives are often a source of amusement.

But that night something else lingered long after the humor. I realized
for the first time the very different world Kevin lives in.

He was born 30 years ago, mentally disabled as a result of difficulties
during labor. Apart from his size (he’s 6-foot-2), there are few ways in
which he is an adult.

He reasons and communicates with the capabilities of a 7-year-old, and
he always will. He will probably always believe that God lives under his
bed, that Santa Claus is the one who fills the space under our tree
every Christmas, and that airplanes stay up in the sky because angels
carry them.

I remember wondering if Kevin realizes he is different.

Is he ever dissatisfied with his monotonous life?

Up before dawn each day, off to work at a workshop for the disabled,
home to walk our cocker spaniel, return to eat his favorite
macaroni-and-cheese for dinner, and later to bed.

The only variation in the entire scheme is laundry, when he hovers
excitedly over the washing machine like a mother with her newborn child.

He does not seem dissatisfied.

He lopes out to the bus every morning at 7:05, eager for a day of simple
work.

He wrings his hands excitedly while the water boils on the stove before
dinner, and he stays up late twice a week to gather our dirty laundry
for his next day’s laundry chores.

And Saturdays-oh, the bliss of Saturdays! That’s the day my Dad takes
Kevin to the airport to have a soft drink, watch the planes land, and
speculate loudly on the destination of each passenger inside.

“That one’s goin’ to Chi-car-go!” Kevin shouts as he claps his hands.

His anticipation is so great he can hardly sleep on Friday nights.

And so goes his world of daily rituals and weekend field trips.

He doesn’t know what it means to be discontent.

His life is simple.

He will never know the entanglements of wealth of power, and he does not
care what brand of clothing he wears or what kind of food he eats.

His needs have always been met, and he never worries that one day they
may not be.

His hands are diligent. Kevin is never so happy as when he is working.

When he unloads the dishwasher or vacuums the carpet, his heart is
completely in it.

He does not shrink from a job when it is begun, and he does not leave a
job until it is finished.

But when his tasks are done, Kevin knows how to relax.

He is not obsessed with his work or the work of others.

His heart is pure.

He still believes everyone tells the truth, promises must be kept, and
when you are wrong, you apologize instead of argue.

Free from pride and unconcerned with appearances, Kevin is not afraid to
cry when he is hurt, angry or sorry.

He is always transparent, always sincere . And he trusts God.

Not confined by intellectual reasoning, when he comes to Christ, he
comes as a child.

Kevin seems to know God – to really be friends with Him in a way that is
difficult for an “educated”
person to grasp.

God seems like his closest companion.

In my moments of doubt and frustrations with my Christianity I envy the
security Kevin has in his simple faith.

It is then that I am most willing to admit that he has some divine
knowledge that rises above my mortal questions.

It is then I realize that perhaps he is not the one with the handicap.

I am.

My obligations, my fear, my pride, my circumstances – they all become
disabilities when I do not trust them to God’s care.

Who knows if Kevin comprehends things I can never learn?

After all, he has spent his whole life in that kind of innocence,
praying after dark and soaking up the goodness and love of God.

And one day, when the mysteries of heaven are opened, and we are all
amazed at how close God really is to our hearts, I’ll realize that God
heard the simple prayers of a boy who believed that God lived under his
bed.

Kevin won’t be surprised at all!

When you receive this, say a prayer. That’s all you have to do. There is
nothing attached.

Just send this to people, please.

Prayer is one of the best free gifts we receive. There is no cost, but a
lot of rewards.

FRIENDS ARE ANGELS WHO LIFT US TO OUR FEET WHEN OUR WINGS HAVE TROUBLE
REMEMBERING HOW TO FLY

Oh boy, a Magical Retard. Some choice quotes:

He reasons and communicates with the capabilities of a 7-year-old, and
he always will. He will probably always believe that God lives under his
bed, that Santa Claus is the one who fills the space under our tree
every Christmas, and that airplanes stay up in the sky because angels
carry them.

Not confined by intellectual reasoning, when he comes to Christ, he
comes as a child.

In my moments of doubt and frustrations with my Christianity I envy the
security Kevin has in his simple faith.

It is then that I am most willing to admit that he has some divine
knowledge that rises above my mortal questions.

It is then I realize that perhaps he is not the one with the handicap.

I am.

My obligations, my fear, my pride, my circumstances – they all become
disabilities when I do not trust them to God’s care.

Who knows if Kevin comprehends things I can never learn?

Is that really what Christians want? To turn off their brains and accept everything on faith, reducing themselves cognitively to the level of a child or mentally handicapped adult? Does the author really mean to equate Kevin’s belief in a god with his believing in Santa Claus and angels holding up planes and that nobody lies?

Scoring- points for:
Attempting to promote religion through the use of analogy/metaphor/simile/”true story” that makes it look unappealing to those outside the religion.

Magical Retarded Guy

I promise I’ll get back into this.

*At first I wrote “busty” here, which I have been, but it really doesn’t take up much of my time.


Reader-Submitted CCCE

September 8, 2006

The inaugural reader submission comes from Matt, who sent in multiple CCCEs, so more will be appearing soon.
Image Hosted by ImageShack.us
From one pumpkin to another!!!!!!!

A woman was asked by a coworker,
“What is it like to be a Christian?”

The coworker replied, “It is like being

a pumpkin. God picks you from the

patch, brings you in, and washes all

the dirt off of you. Then He cuts off

the top and scoops out all the yucky

stuff. He removes the seeds of doubt,

hate, and greed. Then He carves you

a new smiling face and puts His light

inside of you to shine for all the world

to see.”

This was passed on to me by another

pumpkin. Now it’s your turn to pass it

to other pumpkins.

On its face, this email looks like it was written and sent by your aunt who collects Precious Moments figurines and wears hand-painted sweatshirts. Then this happens: “Then He cuts off the top and scoops out all the yucky stuff… Then He carves you a new smiling face and puts His light inside of you to shine for all the world to see.” Yeah, that’s a little gory. And the idea of a person being a hollowed-out shell of their former selves with a carved-on perma-smile and a light shining out through the holes isn’t terribly appealing.

Points Awarded For:
Color- that pumpkiny color was hard to duplicate.
Graphic- I don’t think it’s actually Precious Moments, but it’s close enough.
Backfiring analogy

Thanks, Matt! Keep them coming, y’all.


CCCE 3

September 3, 2006

This one comes from myspace. I seem to have four categories on my friends list: Musicians with official pages, celebrity fakes/fictional characters, people I know from elsewhere on the internet, and people I know in real life. And it’s always the people I know for real who post this stuff. One of my cousins posted this, and I’m totally expecting some of our mutual contacts to repost.

Subject I love you and im sorry
Body: Body: SAY THIS SLOWLY: God. I. love. you. and. I. need. you. Repost this within 5 minutes and title it: I love u and im sorry.A miracle will happen tonight. P.S. Do not ignore *God works in mysterious ways

So short, yet so much wrongness going on. Even if there were gods, would they really be so impressed that a person said eight words aloud and took fifteen seconds to repost something on myspace that they’d throw a miracle the way of everyone who did it? Somehow I doubt it.

Scoring- Points awarded for:

Severe and frequent grammar/spelling/punctuation errors
bonus points for the asterisk that randomly appears at the beginning of the last clause, seemingly for emphasis, but without another one at the end of the not-a-sentence-because-there’s-no-punctuation clause. Close your tags!

Vague threats
This message will not be ignored!

Promising a miracle if the message is forwarded/reposted
It’s a little sneaky, though. It just says a miracle will happen, it doesn’t promise a
miracle in the life of the poster. I’m sure somebody, somewhere tonight will have something wonderful and explainable happen to them that their religion-addled mind will call a miracle.

Most of the stuff I have in my regular email’s inbox isn’t too bad. What do I have to do to get on some crazy-ass people’s forward lists?


CCCE Numero Deux

September 1, 2006

Subject: FW: Where Were U, God?

Sally jumped up as soon as she saw the surgeon come out of the operating room. She said: “How is my little boy? Is he going to be all right? When can I see him?”

The surgeon said, “I’m sorry. We did all we could, but your boy didn’t make it.”

Sally said, “Why do little children get cancer? Doesn’t God care any more? Where were you, God, when my son needed you?”

The surgeon asked, “Would you like some time alone with your son? One of the nurses will be out in a few minutes, before he’s transported to the university.”

Sally asked the nurse to stay with her while she said good-bye to son. She ran her fingers lovingly through his thick red curly hair.

“Would you like a lock of his hair?” the nurse asked.

Sally nodded yes. The nurse cut a lock of the boy’s hair, put it in a plastic bag and handed it to Sally. The mother said, “It was Jimmy’s idea to donate his body to the university for study. He said it might help somebody else. “I said no at first, but Jimmy said, ‘Mom, I won’t be using it after I die. Maybe it will help some other little boy spend one more day with his Mom.” She went on, “My Jimmy had a heart of gold. Always thinking of someone else. Always wanting to help others if he could.”

Sally walked out of Children’s mercy Hospital for the last time, after spending most of the last six months there. She put the bag with Jimmy’s belongings on the seat beside her in the car. The drive home was difficult It was even harder to enter the empty house. She carried Jimmy’s belongings, and the plastic bag with the lock of his hair to her son’s room. She started placing the model cars and other personal things back in his room exactly where he had always kept them. She laid down across his bed and, hugging his pillow, cried herself to sleep.

It was around midnight when Sally awoke. Laying beside her on the bed was a folded letter. The letter said:

“Dear Mom, I know you’re going to miss me; but don’t think that I will ever forget you, or stop loving you, just ’cause I’m not around to say I LOVE YOU. I will always love you, Mom, even more with each day. Someday we will see each other again. Until then, if you want to adopt a little boy so you won’t be so lonely, that’s okay with me. He can have my room and old stuff to play with. But, if you decide to get a girl instead, she probably wouldn’t like the same things us boys do. You’ll have to buy her dolls and stuff girls like, you know. Don’t be sad thinking about me. This really is a neat place. Grandma and Grandpa met me as soon as I got here and showed me around some, but it will take a long time to see everything. The angels are so cool. I love to watch them fly. And, you know what? Jesus doesn’t look like any of his pictures. Yet, when I saw Him, I knew it was Him. Jesus himself took me to see GOD! And guess what, Mom? I got to sit on God’s knee and talk to Him,! like I was somebody important. That’s when I told Him that I wanted to write you a letter, to tell you good-bye and everything. But I already knew that wasn’t allowed. Well, you know what Mom? God handed me some paper and His own personal pen to write you this letter. I think Gabriel is the name of the angel who is going to drop this letter off to you. God said for me to give you the answer to one of the questions you asked Him ‘Where was He when I needed him?’ “God said He was in the same place with me, as when His son Jesus was on the cross. He was right there, as He always is with all His children.

Oh, by the way, Mom, no one else can see what I’ve written except you. To everyone else this is just a blank piece of paper. Isn’t that cool? I have to give God His pen back now. He needs it to write some more names in the Book of Life. Tonight I get to sit at the table with Jesus for supper. I’m, sure the food will be great.

Oh, I almost forgot to tell you. I don’t hurt anymore. The cancer is all gone. I’m glad because I couldn’t stand that pain anymore and God couldn’t stand to see me hurt so much, either. That’s when He sent The Angel of Mercy to come get me. The Angel said I was a Special Delivery! How about that?
Signed with Love from: God, Jesus & Me.

Let’s see Satan stop this one.
Take 60-seconds and send this to five other people, within the hour, you will have caused a multitude of believers to pray to God for each other. Then sit back and feel the Holy Spirit work in your life for doing what you know God loves

This one’s making the rounds in my Myspace network (I friended a bunch of my cousins and a couple people from high school who are otherwise nice people,) but I wanted to preserve the font and color wackiness from the email. No particular nits to pick, as this is pretty clearly fiction (Sally and her son Jimmy? Peachy keen!) but someone will eventually think it’s a true story, and that it happened to their cousin’s hairdresser’s half-brother’s paperboy and present it as such.

Score- Points for:

Multiple colors used
Presence of a dead child
Send it to X people in Y minutes, and good things will happen- bonus points for the “Let’s see Satan stop this one*”

This one wasn’t really offensive, just eye-rolling treacle. And that’s good enough for me. And, yes, it was as hard to read in my inbox as it is on this page.

*I’ve gotten it twice and haven’t forwarded it, except for this, so does that make me Satan?