Several years ago, I was part of a team working with a church to help organize and improve their Sunday School. There were four age-group people (adult, youth, children, and preschool [me]), and we had a team leader, who, I think, was a Minister of Education. We were members of various churches around the country, and I don’t even remember where we were working.

Our team leader had a phrase that he really liked to use. And use, and use, and use. He wanted people to “buy into” whatever it was that he was talking about at the time, like the ideas we were suggesting, the locations of teaching rooms, the enlistment of new teachers, and that sort of thing. We were at the church for a whole week, with each team member meeting with their age-group teachers and staff people. The team leader met with the pastor and other workers, both staff and volunteers. At the end of the week, we all came together, team and church members, to present the ideas and plans and to think about how the church could implement the things they had planned. Our team’s members sat at the back of the group.

I’d heard the phrase “buy into it” so many times during the week that when our Team Leader began to present and explain all the details, I had a pen and paper pad out, for taking notes, and, honestly, for keeping count of how many times he asked folks to “buy into” the plans. Many years have gone by, and I cannot recall exactly how many tick marks I made during the 40-minute presentation. But there was at least one per minute and some minutes had two, or more. I am not making this up. (I was also, sort of, taking notes, so as not to seem so obvious as to call attention to my documentation.) Then we bowed our heads as our Team Leader prayed. And, I promise you, I am NOT inventing this or recalling it wrong: when the man prayed, he actually asked God to buy into our plans! Seriously. And I am truly embarrassed to tell you that I could not hold back a snicker, which I quickly tried to cover with a pretty serious and extended cough.

I really wanted to send the man a Thesaurus, anonymously, of course, with pages marked at places where other words like accept, agree, confirm, endorse, and  recommend would be good choices.

Anyway, I recently remembered this guy when I attended a large training event with some other people from my church. We listened to a few, brief, speakers, who had encouraging words for us. Then, the primary speaker talked, giving us ideas for the work we were going to be doing and suggestions for supplies and for how to teach. That woman apparently knows only one superlative word: AWESOME!

About halfway into her presentation, I was so very sorry that I didn’t have a pen in my hand, because I would love to have known how many times she used the word. She used it when she talked about our opportunities, she used it when she talked to other people on the stage, she used it when she shared examples of things we could and should use when we talked and taught. I want to send her a Thesaurus.

And then, of course, I began to pay more attention to the words I use and the things I say. My “superlative” word is, apparently, amazing. We’ve recently had an amazing amount of rain, here. Our pretty, solar, outside Christmas lights are amazing. (Actually they haven’t been very amazing recently because we had all that amazing rain, and the solar cells cannot power themselves up unless there’s sunshine.) The Thursday after Christmas, David and Peter and Kevin went to Thursday LateNight at the Mayborn museum. April and I went to see the new Spiderman movie, which had gotten really good reviews. It was, as you might expect, amazing. (It is, after all, Spiderman!)

Now I’m thinking I need to retire “amazing” for a while, and try to expand my vocabulary use.

Looking at “A” words, there’s: astounding, astonishing, admirable, ambitious, awe-inspiring, august (dignified, noble, grand), A-1, accomplished, adroit (very able, skilled). I’m thinking that, if “amazing” is the first thing that pops into my mind, “astounding” and “astonishing” might be the easier to pull up into my head as I try to increase my vocabulary.