Sermon Tone Analysis
Overall tone of the sermon
This automated analysis scores the text on the likely presence of emotional, language, and social tones. There are no right or wrong scores; this is just an indication of tones readers or listeners may pick up from the text.
A score of 0.5 or higher indicates the tone is likely present.
Emotion Tone
Anger
0.12UNLIKELY
Disgust
0.09UNLIKELY
Fear
0.55LIKELY
Joy
0.57LIKELY
Sadness
0.57LIKELY
Language Tone
Analytical
0.36UNLIKELY
Confident
0UNLIKELY
Tentative
0.6LIKELY
Social Tone
Openness
0.51LIKELY
Conscientiousness
0.03UNLIKELY
Extraversion
0.06UNLIKELY
Agreeableness
0.57LIKELY
Emotional Range
0.14UNLIKELY
Tone of specific sentences
Tones
Emotion
Language
Social Tendencies
Anger
< .5
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> .9
“Watch out!
You nearly broad-sided that car!", my father yelled
at me. "Can't you do anything right?"
Those words hurt worse than blows.
I turned my head toward the
elderly man in the seat beside me, daring me to challenge him.
A lump rose in my throat as I averted my eyes.
I wasn't prepared
for another battle.
"I saw the car, Dad.
Please don't yell at me when I'm driving."
My
voice was measured and steady, sounding far calmer than I really felt.
Dad glared at me, then turned away and settled back.
At home I left Dad in front of the television and went outside to
collect my thoughts.
Dark, heavy clouds hung in the air with a
promise of rain.
The rumble of distant thunder seemed to echo my
inner turmoil.
What could I do about him?
Dad had been a lumberjack in Washington and Oregon.
He had enjoyed
being outdoors and had reveled in pitting his strength against the
forces of nature.
He had entered grueling lumberjack competitions,
and had placed often.
The shelves in his house were filled with
trophies that attested to his prowess.
The years marched on relentlessly.
The first time he couldn't lift a
heavy log, he joked about it; but later that same day I saw him
outside alone, straining to lift it.
He became irritable whenever
anyone teased him about his advancing age, or when he couldn't do
something he had done as a younger man.
Four days after his sixty-seventh birthday, he had a heart attack.
An ambulance sped him to the hospital while a paramedic
administered CPR to keep blood and oxygen flowing.
At the hospital,
Dad was rushed into an operating room.
He was lucky; he survived.
But something inside Dad died.
His zest for life was gone.
He
obstinately refused to follow doctors’ orders.
Suggestions and
offers of help were turned aside with sarcasm and insults.
The
number of visitors thinned, then finally stopped altogether.
Dad was left alone.
My husband, Rick, and I asked Dad to come live with us on our small
farm.
We hoped the fresh air and rustic atmosphere would help him
adjust.
Within a week after he moved in, I regretted the invitation.
It seemed nothing was satisfactory.
He criticized everything I did.
I became frustrated and moody.
Soon I was taking my pent-up anger
out on Rick.
We began to bicker and argue.
Alarmed, Rick sought out our pastor and explained the
situation.
The clergyman set up weekly counseling appointments for
us.
At the close of each session he prayed, asking God to soothe
Dad's troubled mind.
But the months wore on and God was silent.
A raindrop struck my cheek.
I looked up into the gray sky.
Somewhere up there was "God."
Although I believe a Supreme Being had
created the universe, I had difficulty believing that God cared
about the tiny human beings on this earth.
I was tired of waiting
for a God who did not answer.
Something had to be done and it was up to me to do it.
The next day
I sat down with the phone book and methodically called each of the
mental health clinics listed in the Yellow Pages.
I explained my
problem in vain to each of the sympathetic voices that answered.
Just when I was giving up hope, one of the voices suddenly
exclaimed, "I just read something that might help you!
Let me go
get the article."
I listened as she read.
The article described a
remarkable study done at a nursing home.
All of the patients were
under treatment for chronic depression.
Yet their attitudes had
improved dramatically when they were given responsibility for a dog.
I drove to the animal shelter that afternoon.
After I filled out
a questionnaire, a uniformed officer led me to the kennels.
The odor
of disinfectant stung my nostrils as I moved down the row of pens.
Each contained five to seven dogs.
< .5
.5 - .6
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> .9