Tuesday, January 15, 2013

This Lil' Light of Mine

I remember as a child going to church with my family.  It was a bit silly, I thought, as our family is going to a sacred spot for an hour to "get all holy" was screwed up, as we would act as-if for an hour, inside this 4 brick walls with stained glass angels watching over us little fakers.  When we got home, instead of feel refreshed and anew, took our usual places in the Punch & Judy show, and who the hell is Judy?!    Even though I have these cray-cray memories of life as a kid, I also have the pictures that float in my mind; the sweetest melodies in that bliss-filled hour  I still hum randomly.  The best thoughts of Church weren't the damnation or tarnation people often link with the traditional Church Lady stereotypes.  The best memories were those songs - songs that we there for me unconditionally every week.  The liturgies, the Sanctus, the Offertoryhymns that gave me comfort, even though I didn't know what it meant.  As my life at home was unpredictable and protected, this red brick building we went to every week to "Act Saved" was there for me, giving me these rote songs that didn't judge me or make me eat brussel sprouts or the dreaded liver and onions.  It gave me the peace of my understanding - exactly what it said it would do.
The thing I craved most as a child was peace.  As a family, whether at the dinner table or the church pew, each member would play their part in the game of Deactivating Peace.  Usually my brother would start the marble down the slope by saying something rude to my sister.  That would send her into a tizzy, which caused me to delightfully kick my brother under the table to stop being such a tool.  That would make him complain to his mommy, which made my dad yell at her for being his cheerleader.  On and on, no matter where we were, this pinball game would go off, sending the ball this way and that, going no where while going everywhere.  This constant state of unrest seemed a bit of a cheat, as even in a legit pinball game racks up points; feel that momentary rush when the lights and bells go off at the end.  The sad point of our game was there Was no end. All I learned is how groovy flowers and fuzzy neon pink footprint stickers would cover the holes in the wall that were made by my father.

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