she sees the flag of the south as a symbol of her heritage;
i see it as a symbol of racism and slavery.
she sees freedom of religion as a Christian ideal;
i see it as freedom for everyone, excepting none.
she sees life in blacks and whites;
i see it in colors of the rainbow.
we are friends, but occasionally our words grow heated, our beliefs clash.
i despise conflict, but i refuse to run from it.
Peace, people.
I was raised listening to and singing this song. Sometimes I wonder if anyone ever really heard the message of love and acceptance.
Jesus loves the little children,
All the children of the world.
Red and yellow, black and white,
They are precious in his sight,
Jesus loves the little children of the world.
Are these songs still sung by innocent little children? Did those who sang them perhaps think that Jesus only loved those little children of different colors when they were actually children? Should the line “all the children of the world” be amended to read, “all the children who look like MY children?”
Or maybe the songwriter got the color part wrong. Maybe he meant, “white and white and white and white.”
Peace, People.
Ever since I first heard “Take Me to Church” by Hozier the lyrics and the sexy, haunting melody have been stuck in my head. According to Pinterest, I’m not the only one. Many people are loving the song and its handsome messenger.
Seldom do I look up musicians on Google, but after watching a clip of Annie Lennox performing with Hozier on the recent Grammy broadcast I googled him. According to Wikipedia,
Andrew Hozier-Byrne (born 17 March 1990),[1] known mononymously as Hozier, is an Irish musician and singer-songwriter from Bray, County Wicklow.[2] In 2013, he released his debut EP, featuring the hit single “Take Me to Church”, and his second EP From Eden in 2014. His debut studio album, Hozier, was released in Ireland in September 2014 and globally in October 2014.
I hope he is more than a one-hit wonder. Only time will tell, but I’d sure appreciate it if I could get this song out of its continual loop through my mind. In the meantime, take me to church. Please.
Around the time I was four my family lived in Lubbock, Texas, in a two-bedroom rental house with wood floors. I remember the floors clearly because I spent a lot of time planted on my butt in front of the television set on Sunday mornings watching a) Tarzan, b) televangelists, or c) both of the above.
To say my choices in TV viewing were limited is an understatement. We only had access to three stations at the time and two of the three featured oily preachers eager to snatch pennies from a gullible preschooler’s piggy bank. I remember begging my mom to allow me to send all of my money to these showmen who seemingly worked miracles of Biblical proportions, and who would gladly work more if they just had more funding. My mom was nobody’s fool, though, and she gave me a lesson in ‘con men for Christ,’ one I’ve never forgotten: the slicker the hair, the sicker the con.
The other available station ran a Tarzan movie every Sunday morning. I loved Tarzan, Cheetah, and Jane (in that order). I could emulate the ape man’s famous yell even better than Carol Burnett in her prime. For much of my childhood my pretend play revolved around living in a treehouse high up within the canopy of the African jungle with a chimpanzee while avoiding evil hunters and rallying the wildlife to save the day, always just in the nick of time. Like Tarzan I could communicate with elephants and lions and wrestle crocodiles and snakes. I was pretty amazing for a four year old.
While Mom and Dad had the opportunity to sleep in on Sunday I rabidly flipped between Oral Roberts and Tarzan, alternately observing faked miracles and faked animal footage. Thank goodness I never got Tarzan and Oral Roberts mixed up! Of course Mom probably would have let me send money to Tarzan, and Reverend Roberts might have been quite compelling in a loincloth.
Peace, People!
In just a week my “full time/part time” job will be at an end. Yea! I will continue administering assessments to 2, 3, and 4-year-olds at various preschools in the area, but I’m stepping away from the intervention arena.
My new gig won’t pay as much, but it will truly be a flexible, part time role. Studly is fine with me making less money, as long as, (drumroll) I take on all of the cooking duties.
I don’t cook. It’s basically against my religion. Twice a year, on Thanksgiving and Christmas, I ignore the basic tenet (thou shalt not cook) of The No Cook Cathedral of the Coast and prepare a meal. This might not seem like a big deal to some, but in my religion it’s basically the same as ignoring the commandments against infidelity and idol worship.
My culinary skills are pretty basic. I can boil water. I am qualified to operate a can opener. I’m surprisingly adept at microwaving. But, the stove is off limits unless I have adult supervision. And knives are a no-no. No–a NO-NO-NO!! If I had a dollar for every time I’d sliced into some portion of my hand I’d be able to retire comfortably to a remote Caribbean island, and perhaps purchase a prosthetic appendage.
But I’m going to take Studly up on his offer. I’m going to refute my no cooking religion and embark on a new adventure: Cooking for Studly. Heaven help us both. Speaking of which I’ll probably need to find a new religion, too.
Peace, People!
Praying for Eyebrowz 