SUNDAY THOUGHTS: SHORT STORIES---SAD, YOU SEE

Gloria was troubled by what she heard. She simply didn't understand how people so easily forget the content of their own lives.  Maybe she should remind them; shame them even. Maybe they'd find something wholesome to talk about. 

"Do they know that everyone who knew them "when" is not deceased or brain dead?" 

It occurred to her that the gossiping busybodies in her presence had no shame. Even the little she knew about them both, was enough to prove that neither of them had any room at all to judge anyone’s moral fitness. 

"They ought to be on their knees, around the clock, thanking God for his grace alone", she thought. 

She laughed. "Look at me. Now, I'm judging them. Sorry, Lord".

They were so comfortable in their merciless indictment of others, and didn't seem to even notice that she was even there. They were so smug, but the more they talked, the more their envy, fear, and insecurity showed itself. She realized their need to feel superior to others. It helped them deal with their own guilt. Every time either one of them brought up the Bible, Gloria wanted to slap them with the wet dishtowel she was using. 

"How do people with skeletons that still have meat on them, become so self-righteous?", she thought. 

"I know. The things they used to do, they CAN'T do anymore more...or nobody's interested...or it would kill them."

Gloria busied herself with the dishes. "When do they think they ought to get ready since they don't know when they're gonna die?" one of them asked. 

"Who knows what he's doing when he's not at the church? Where do you think he was that time of the morning when we called?" the other one asked. 

She shook her head. "Even if whoever they were talking about was a stark-raving, murderous, whoring crackhead, he'd be in no less deserving of a seat in Hell than those two loose-lipped Sadducees. If Jesus cracked the sky, they'd both still be glued to those chairs, too caught up in their speculation, and criticism to even notice he'd come and gone".

They both scowled when Gloria had enough, and asked, "And you don't think God is displeased with the gossiping you're doing right now?" 

They told Gloria that she was dipping in their conversation. "But you're holding that conversation in my presence, and talking about people that I know. In the last 9 minutes you've talked about 4 different people, and none of it was complimentary or encouraging. You're sitting here sharing information that you don't even know is true, but you think you're on your way to Heaven because you know a few scriptures by heart?"

She put the last dish in the drainer, and left the room. They dismissed her, and continued reveling in their "holy boldness", and how they had no trouble telling people when they were wrong, or weren't "living right".

Gloria went to her room, closed the door, and wrote in her journal:
"Lifting up the name of Jesus takes boldness. Sharing one's own testimony of the depths of one's own iniquity takes boldness. It's not bold to point out the vices of others; to sit around and gossip and lament what a shame another person's actions are--past or present. That doesn't take boldness. All that requires is hypocrisy, ignorance, and amnesia about one's own transgressions. Condemning others is not boldness. It's sanctimonious delusion. Condemning others is not a responsibility. 

God doesn't need help identifying troubled, impaired, imperfect people. That's easy. That encompasses everyone. Pointing out the sins of others doesn't take boldness. It takes a lack of compassion, usually caused by the gigantic 2'X4" impairing the sight one's own eye, and keeping one from seeing one's own wretchedness. 

One's sense of spiritual superiority to others is often based on the mastery of theatrics and sporadic adherence to oppressive rules taught in places masquerading as houses of God. 

How distressing to think that one is close to God, and yet hate, indict, and ridicule those he loves; those for whom he has demonstrated patience, great mercy and love. 

How do we forget that it is what Jesus did, not what we do that is the principal thing?

Jesus died for the Bible thumper, too. Religion and doctrine and denominational strangleholds have spawned a toxic, confused, rigid, pompous brand of Christian, who exalts him or herself , and his or her own habits and theology, instead of the Living God and His Word. 

People in denial go through their Bibles with a magnifying glass and searchlight, looking for anything that will oppress or shame others. When it comes to themselves, they search the Bible with a Sharpie, white-out and a pair of scissors. 

A good way to get people to throw nets into your section of the Sea of Forgetfulness to dredge up your whales, is to feel justified and arrogant enough to constantly stock, display, and fish out other people's guppies from your own self-made lake.

ALL unrighteousness is sin. Yours may be presently covered under the blood of Jesus, but didn't he wait for you to answer the door? Didn't he give you time? Didn't he draw you? Didn't he give you rope when you were too far to drag your own self back? Why then, are we so impatient with others, as if God has lost the ability to draw others to Him? 

It's more understandable than ever why some people will never enter a church.
Heaven (and Hell) will be quite a surprise! Jesus paid it all. HE said it is finished. He doesn't need us to embellish because we don't really believe that John 3:16 applies to everyone.

Abstaining from sex, drugs, and alcohol--the big three--have some people thinking they're safe. God hates a lot of other stuff, too. What a pity it would be if one has spent one's whole life supposedly working for Jesus and he says to them, "Name please?".

Gloria closed her journal, sighed and prayed. "Even if it's not good, Lord let me always be able to see and examine myself in your light. Thanks for reminding me that my salvation has everything to do with your plan--what you did, and my acceptance of it. Even that was your doing! Stop me in my tracks if I ever bump my head and think I can embellish or eclipse your finished work with my words or actions".

SUNDAY THOUGHTS: RESPONSIBILITY

If someone isn't wearing a hat, gloves, boots, or a coat in 11 degree weather, it's either because:

they don't have them, 

didn't think they needed them, 

are in some way impaired, 

are seeking attention, or 

they didn't want to wear them. 

If they don't have them, instead of criticizing or pitying them, take them to a store. 

Empty your wallet and purchase what they need. They'll feel better and, hopefully you will, too.

If they are impaired, if they don't know any better, if they are disabled, or are a child, and you see what's happening, YOU--not someone else--YOU go to their closet, get what they need, insist that they comply, and help them shield themselves from the elements. 

However, if they are in their right minds, possess a variety of garments and accessories suitable for all seasons, in addition to the activity of all of their limbs, but choose not to bundle up, or were too lazy to open their own closet, take them out, and put them on, that's THEIR stupidity. 

Any sickness that may follow is THEIR fault, and all shock, disbelief, criticism or reprimanding should be directed toward THEM. 

Why be upset with, or angrily address anyone else other than the ADULT person who refuses to do what they need to do to protect themselves? 

Save all of that chatter and ire for the person who refuses to listen to reason. 

Sometimes we play directly into the hands of those, whose need to have everyone fawning over them, causes them to do some pretty boneheaded things. "Where is your coat? It's freezing outside! You're going to catch a cold! Here, wear mine! Let me warm you up!" 

Cut it out.

 

Sometimes we KNOW we're not getting through to people, so we need a scapegoat to vent our frustrations. 

"Why didn't you tell her to put on a coat? 

Why didn't you let them know how cold it was outside? 

Why don't you put their hat and gloves by the door so they can see them?" 

Why don't you shut the heck up, and see that you're enabling the coat-less person to think it's the responsibility of someone else to do what they can surely do for themselves? 

Keep on badgering and blaming the scapegoat. 

Don't be surprised when that goat vents (or butts) back.

Don't allow anyone to interpret another person's stubbornness, poor judgment, dishonesty, divisiveness, or arrogance as negligence on YOUR part. Set them straight. 

Time out for being scolded, penalized, or misjudged for what someone else said, or purposely failed to do.

 

Don't allow anyone to throw any crosses on your back that don't have your name on them. 

Don't you dare pick them up. 

Own only those things for which you are responsible.

SATURDAY THOUGHTS: GOODBYE 2016

YouTube was on auto-play when I went to sleep last night. When I woke up, I heard these words, and they were like an end-of-the-year gift to help pave the way for 2017:

 

"Sometimes, the boat you're not rocking is actually sinking...Everybody makes mistakes, but some people make choices...Be sweet-- but with boundaries...When you're healed, you start to look at bad behavior for what it is...Decide what YOU'RE going to do...Challenge what is...You are allowed to exist...You don't please others to your detriment...Say "yes" when "yes" is really the answer...You are important, too...Do not change who you are, my kindhearted people..."  

#permissiontoexist

 

 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uvhUonCNFos

SATURDAY THOUGHTS: NATIONAL EGGNOG DAY

It's Christmas Eve. 

It's also National Eggnog Day. 

I was in the kitchen, thinking about my mom. She was such the holiday bunny. To her, certain things were just supposed to happen simply because it was Christmastime. 

It's a little chilly, cloudy, and rainy today. It's the kind of day that, if she were still alive, there would have been some homemade eggnog on the stove, and a large ladle resting nearby. I didn't even like eggnog, but I had no problem drinking my Mom’s. Hers was the only eggnog I would drink. On cold days, it was heavenly.

I was looking at the shiny silver pot she always used, and thinking about the work involved. I could pull out the big glass punch bowl, and the dainty cups. 

"I've got eggs. I could make some", I thought. 

Did I feel like it, though? Nah. 

It was a nice thought. All ambition. (My daughter recently gave me a litre carton of Paul hot chocolate. I guess it's not a crime to drink hot chocolate on National Egg Nog Day. Besides, it's already made.) 

I could just reminisce about Mommy.

If I have some egg nog today, store-bought it will be--but not the liquor store. That year was funny. Mommy had been so naive and sweet.
I'd come to visit, and recognized the aroma, but there was something different about it-- not the usual McCormick vanilla extract smell, but more pungent. She was at the stove, slowly and steadily stirring.
I picked up the empty, fancy, quart carton that was on the counter.
"What's this?"

"Eggnog. We wanted some, but didn't feel like making any.", she said.

"Who gave this to you, Mommy?"

 "Well, the Giant didn't have any, and neither did 7-Eleven. I looked everywhere, so, I went to the liquor store down the street, and they had some. I just thought...I mean… they sell milk, and orange juice, and sodas, don't they? It doesn't taste too good cold, though."

"Mommy, did you look at the carton before you decided to heat it up?"

"No. Why? I just put it in the pot. We had a little bit. I figured I'd heat up the rest of it. You should try it."

"You might want to look at the carton, Mommy."

"What are you talking about? Where?"

"Look right here Mommy."

"Lord, have mercy! Thirty proof? No wonder it's so warm in here!"

"Well, Mommy, what did you expect from liquor store eggnog?"

"I just thought eggnog was eggnog!"

We laughed a long time about it--a really long time. I could just see my prissy mother, walking her Easy Spirits into the liquor store, articulately asking the clerk where he kept his eggnog, and not being worried one bit if anyone saw her, because of course, she didn't drink, and her mission was quite innocent. She just wanted eggnog.

Mommy poured the rest down the drain, as if it was poison, and decided she wasn't too tired to make her own eggnog after all. 

She'd know for sure what was in it. It was worth it. Hers was frothier, creamier; prettier. It smelled wonderful, and wouldn't put everyone to sleep.

MONDAY THOUGHTS: OH, WHAT A NIGHT

I was (and still am) an avid fan of The Richard Smallwood Singers, so of course I was geeked, one day back in the late 90's, to find out Vision would be recording a Christmas album, and I'd be singing a duet with the incomparable Darlene Simmons. 

(For a long time, I was sure she was Chaka Khan's little sister-- or clone--or something.)

I wasn't feeling my best that day at the studio, but I didn't dare say anything. My throat was a little sore, and I could swear I'd developed a strange lisp...lol

I loved “Oh What A Night”  the first time I heard it. Once we were both comfortable with our parts, the session seemed to fly by. 

I wasn't sure if I'd done my best, but Richard said that he was okay with it, so I figured, what did I know? 

Maybe it was just nerves.

Not long after I’d arrived home from the studio, my phone rang. “Hey Baby. Whatchu doin’ tomorrow?”

Richard said that he and his manager were listening back to the instrumental and choir tracks. 

He'd asked Roger to let him hear what Darlene and I had done. 

He said that music could be heard just fine on the track, but there were no lead vocals. 

He said he told him to turn up the volume, and waited as Roger was pushing buttons, turning, and shifting knobs on the board, but our tracks had mysteriously vanished.

 

We would have to go back and re-record. 

I was actually happy to get a do-over. 

The following day Darlene and I were back at the studio.

Darlene's brought her adorable kids with her, this time. 

Richard had ordered food for everyone, and we could see him through the glass of the booth. 

It was like a scene from “Daddy Daycare”.

He was dividing up french fries, opening ketchup packets, and directing us at the same time. 

It looked like he had 8 arms. 

There was the great maestro— searching bags, unwrapping straws, wiping spills, and making sure the kids were sitting close enough to the table. 

The sight was hilarious, but he was multitasking very well. 

He had his hands full, but that didn’t stop those bionic ears of his from hearing every little thing we did. 

We thought we were done, when he suddenly looked up from pouring juice, and said, "Hey! You know what?” 

Darlene and I shook our heads. “Oh, Lord! He’s thinking!” 

We’d seen that face before, and it was always accompanied by, “Ya’ll can do it! It’s easy”, or “It’s not that high!”

“I want you all to sing this: "Oh, oh whaaaat a niiiii--i--ight, okay?"

He taught us the parts, then said, "Darlene, you take the top". 

We laughed about that, too, as if there was any question about which of the two of us would be tackling the high notes.

When we were done, we joined Richard, Roger, and the kids. 

Just as we were about to listen, Darlene's daughter Cyera said, "Uncle Richard, I know a song!" 

He said, "You do baby? Are you gonna sing it?" 

We all expected her to sing her version of  "Oh, What a Night", or another Smallwood song. 

A serious look came over her little face. 

She closed her eyes, bobbed her head, began tapping one foot really hard on the floor, to give herself a beat, and commenced singing ALL of the lyrics to Kirk Franklin's "Stomp". 

We laughed and clapped for little Cyera, and then listened to the tracks to see if there was anything we needed to fix.

Once again, Richard said he was pleased.

This time, our vocals didn't disappear. 

Take a listen...: )

https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=j5mODDTxTak

#christmasmusic

#RichardSmallwoodRejoice

MONDAY THOUGHTS: ANGRY BLACK WOMAN?

"Something's wrong with her...

She's something else!...

She needs to chill...

She's just bitter...

She's mean...

She's insecure...

She's jealous...

She doesn't listen...

She talks too much...

She's loud...

She should smile more..."

No. That's not it at all.

THIS is it:
She refuses to accept your crap as warranted or deserving.

 
She does not abide, or make excuses for abuse of any kind. 

She discerns your disregard and disrespect, but doesn't allow it to define or hinder her. 

She knows what belongs to her, and will not allow you to usurp it. 

She doesn't cosign your untruthful, manipulative narrative. 

She has a long memory, and is adept at documenting everything. 

She will not dumb down.

She cannot be silenced by those who benefit from schemes and secrets at her expense. 

She will not allow you to be condescending. 

She will not allow herself to be put upon. 

She is not a wimp. 

She works hard. 

She won't let your lies about her diminish her value.

 
She doesn't answer to the dreadful names you want to call her. 

She speaks up for herself when those in authority are too cowardly or entangled to do so.

She refuses to smile when there's nothing to smile about. 

She's not laughing if it's not funny.

She asks pertinent questions and expects answers and results.

She takes care of her children--alone if necessary--and, without complaint, sacrifices for their success.

 
She expects people to do what they say they will do.

She will not allow you to explain away or excuse your irresponsibility, ignorance, or inappropriate behavior. 

She speaks truth to power. 

Just because she may not say much at times, doesn't mean she doesn't see. 

She loves justice. 

She takes the high road.

She knows who she is.

If that's being angry, so be it. 

We should ALL be so angry.

 #AngryBlackWoman

FRIDAY THOUGHTS: INSPIRED

I went out to get the newspaper. 

It's very cold out. 

I'd only grabbed a shawl, so I was moving more quickly than usual.

On the way back from the box, something compelled me to look up. 

It's gray out. 

The sky is dreary this morning, and the Sun is there, but it just seems to be laying back. 

The scene has all of the characteristics of depression and blah. 

The trees are bare, and nothing looks bright.

What encouraged me, and made me forget the scene and the cold, was a lone bird, perched atop the highest branch of one of the trees in the back yard. There it was. Just sitting there, surveying; not afraid; not shivering; just being.

That bird made me smile. I wanted to applaud it. The kind of screaming I would be doing at that height, without the comfort of some kind of vehicle would have been tremendous. 
The bird was confident, proud, content, and where it belonged. It didn't settle for the lower branches. It chose the tip top, where the best view could be appreciated. It was high up, AND looking up. 

I was glad I had my phone. I wanted to remember that bird with it's bad self. It didn't care if I was looking, and didn't need my approval. 

I loved it.

I came into the house and thought I could catch a glimpse of it again from the back windows. I looked out and up. The bird was gone. 

I don't know what caused it to fly away. Maybe it was done doing what it was supposed to, or wanted to do. Maybe it got the rest it needed. Maybe it was just loving being itself; capable of being perched that high, feeling no pain, and in no danger.

I sure hope it saw what it needed to see--and finds a warmer place to be.