My heart sometimes aches for the good qualities of living on the edge of heaven and eternal hell. In our church near Joplin, it seemed like such a relief to head to the tables and eat the best to offer of hillbilly cuisine! I live casseroles to this day. And, the music, of course! I wa little, so I played the mandolin. My Midwest accent turned New Mexican was dropped when I moved to NOLA in the early 70s! I lived in the projects (9th ward) and attended the local AME church! You wanna talk food and singing! Hallelujah! Swords up! ⚔️
Oh, the singing I've heard at a church up on Barbour St. in Hartford. Puts ours to shame and I always thought we were pretty good. (Without musical instrument accompaniment, we really kind of had to be). And yes, there's something about table fellowship that just melts my heart.
Thanks for this beautiful community portrait. It takes me back to Southern Illinois, though I was born and raised leftie-Christian in the UCC, and while I went to VBS extremely promiscuously, children's programming in even very rocking/austere churches, uh, left out the follicles.
You know, though, I never passed where I was a native. Nor much of anywhere else. Partly my tutored please-be-audible accent. But in fact what's native to me is being a friendly outsider.
Come sit by me. I felt the same way growing up, like a visitor. (And my accent is strictly Joplin.) I think moments like these mean the most to me precisely because of that.
It's confusing to grow up being unable to just accept things without thinking about them, and not realizing that (apparently? I still have trouble believing this) one is surrounded by quite a few people who wouldn't dream of thinking about those tenets.
My heart lifts and I feel a sense of oneness from sceneries I've loved in the places I've lived, from an accent I don't get to hear much any more, from local animal sounds or that of the wind. I can feel warmed by a characteristic human social event, but I now understand that, to me, it feels like a beloved snow globe.
Good point. Without it, the rest is as plain as water. A mountain can't be majestic without the valleys. The sun isn't warm & bright, without the cold & dark night. Personally, I'm in a period of life extremes, and my reaction has been to strongly reject the dark & prickly parts. I won't embrace them, but maybe there is peace with some level of acceptance (if I can do that). So, thanks for your story that got me on a path of thinking about my own situation.
Like a good sermon or book, it's cool how readers take this and find personal meaning in it. I also really like the example of not judging too harshly when an someone opens up imperfectly but with good intentions. Harsh judgment can push some people further toward defensiveness, inability to admit to wrongs, and hypocrisy.
My heart sometimes aches for the good qualities of living on the edge of heaven and eternal hell. In our church near Joplin, it seemed like such a relief to head to the tables and eat the best to offer of hillbilly cuisine! I live casseroles to this day. And, the music, of course! I wa little, so I played the mandolin. My Midwest accent turned New Mexican was dropped when I moved to NOLA in the early 70s! I lived in the projects (9th ward) and attended the local AME church! You wanna talk food and singing! Hallelujah! Swords up! ⚔️
Thanks for this post! Made my morning!
Oh, the singing I've heard at a church up on Barbour St. in Hartford. Puts ours to shame and I always thought we were pretty good. (Without musical instrument accompaniment, we really kind of had to be). And yes, there's something about table fellowship that just melts my heart.
Thanks for this beautiful community portrait. It takes me back to Southern Illinois, though I was born and raised leftie-Christian in the UCC, and while I went to VBS extremely promiscuously, children's programming in even very rocking/austere churches, uh, left out the follicles.
You know, though, I never passed where I was a native. Nor much of anywhere else. Partly my tutored please-be-audible accent. But in fact what's native to me is being a friendly outsider.
Come sit by me. I felt the same way growing up, like a visitor. (And my accent is strictly Joplin.) I think moments like these mean the most to me precisely because of that.
It's confusing to grow up being unable to just accept things without thinking about them, and not realizing that (apparently? I still have trouble believing this) one is surrounded by quite a few people who wouldn't dream of thinking about those tenets.
My heart lifts and I feel a sense of oneness from sceneries I've loved in the places I've lived, from an accent I don't get to hear much any more, from local animal sounds or that of the wind. I can feel warmed by a characteristic human social event, but I now understand that, to me, it feels like a beloved snow globe.
This is absolutely beautiful, Mary Ann. Stark and real and beautiful.
And here I thought the first paragraph would resonate for you. :D
MWAH. One day, I'm gonna hug you around your neck.
I still owe you a Dr. Pepper. I was too chicken to try, the last time I was in New Haven.
Even with the prickly parts, overall it seems the evening was like a healing balm for you. I love the way you tell a story.
What is a story without prickly parts?
Good point. Without it, the rest is as plain as water. A mountain can't be majestic without the valleys. The sun isn't warm & bright, without the cold & dark night. Personally, I'm in a period of life extremes, and my reaction has been to strongly reject the dark & prickly parts. I won't embrace them, but maybe there is peace with some level of acceptance (if I can do that). So, thanks for your story that got me on a path of thinking about my own situation.
That’s beautiful.
Like a good sermon or book, it's cool how readers take this and find personal meaning in it. I also really like the example of not judging too harshly when an someone opens up imperfectly but with good intentions. Harsh judgment can push some people further toward defensiveness, inability to admit to wrongs, and hypocrisy.