Notes From A Broken Heart

"Do not neglect to show hospitality, for thereby some have enterained angels unawares" (ESV) Hebrews 13:2ty to strangers " Angels watching over me, my Lord. I believe in angels! Put another way, angels are "for real."  I know angels are alive and walk (fly in or around?)  the earth today. I didn't always.  Younger, I subscribed to the beliefs my parents' religion precribed. "Yes," angels did live in the "old days" of the Old Testament.  Especially in places like Sodom and Gomorrah.  But not in "this Dispensation," whatever that meant to a pre-teen!  There would be no need, their denomination taught, for them 19 centuries later, to be walking (flying?) around.  No matter how they looked or the form they took! Come on, get serious! However, listening to a Richard Smallwood vocal one Saturday morning, "Angels watching over me, my Lord," jolted my memory.   For years, Saturdays have been the designated "chore da

  Grow up! Grow up! I warn you now, dear Reader, to stop reading if you're easily offended.   If criticism riles you up, even if you rarely are flustered, aggravated, or aggrieved, these words are not for you to read.   Here goes: We've become a poached egg, pampered, and a pompous population that has grown used to being handed any and everything on a silver (or at least silver-plated) platter.  Further, we expect it to be served by mute or robotic-like waiters.  Not only do we want our cake and to eat too; we long for sympathy when stomaches come as a consequence.  Back to us "typical" citizens, who for decades have been encouraged to take offense at the slightest (or minimal) affront that (once tough) denizens would shake off.  Like a duck shrugs water from its back!  So many of us cry "foul!" over any and everything.  We know who we are!   We've become so accustomed to diets of pablum, of being coddled from discomfort or a smidgen of uncomfortably tru

The call traveled over invisible-to-the-eye optics, minutes before midnight.  Dreaded expectancy vied with indisputable fact.  He'd been hospitalized for several weeks, but hope springs eternal!  Was this The End? Not necessarily, I'd bargained.   He'd rallied before.  Yet, simultaneously I'd been fearing news that could only be bad.  In a quiet yet clear voice, his wife informed, "He's gone, Dr. Clark.  He got his wings today." Oh, no! No! No, my dear," I reflexively countered in a voice that cracked with the reality, the finality, of a life's ending that penetrated my sleep-fogged brain. Not invincible Vince, I silently protested! Vincent Lionel Smith. The Reverend Vincent Lionel Smith.  Must I put a coda on the loyal friend, musical genius, husband, father, choirmaster, counselor, Bid Whist champion, and chef extraordinaire I've enjoyed over 20-plus years?  Truly, Vince wore those descriptors with grace.  I wondered what nouns, adjectives,

  "Jesus is on the mainline, Tell him what you want. Jesus is on the mainline, Tell Him what you want. Jesus is on the mainline, Tell Him what you want Call Him up and Tell Him what you want. If you need more power, Tell Him what you want. If you need more power, Tell Him what you want. If you need more power, Tell Him what you want. Call Him up and  tell Him what you want." If you need the Holy Ghost, Tell Him what you want. If you need the Holy Ghost, Tell Him what you want. If you need the Holy Ghost, Tell Him what you want Call Him up and Tell Him what you want." I learned the lyrics to that song as a very young girl and paid as much attention to them as I did to most grown-up pronouncements.  Little or none. Fast forward years later to the morning Kai and I took our traditional morning Constitutional. My perspective has markedly changed, probably because now I am an adult, possessed with the propensity to listen  and hear. What has happened? Life.  Life happens.  Du

  I'd been in and out of a fugue state for some time.  Questions abounded as uncertainties finger, much less center my mind on a reason.  I felt out-of-sorts, what Mother would describe as not "feeling so brown-skinned."  I never outright asked her what the description meant because she seemed so certain about her status.  After the declaration, typically the rest of her day involved singing a medley of hymns designed to improve her emotional trajectory. I hadn't felt "brown-skinned"  for too long. Spirit had sent friends who wondered how I was doing.  "I haven't heard from you in a while. Is everything alright? " appeared with a metronomic voice or text messaging frequency.   Others sent  Scriptures or encouraging emojis to " "Look and live," my brother live, Look to Jesus now and live; Tis recorded in His word, Hallelujah! It is only that you "look and love." Still, I walked around in a funk. neither up nor down; sad

  Oyez! Oyez! Oyez! sounds more entrancing than a mere "hear ye, hear ye, hear ye," which used to be the alert.  At least it does to me.  An attention-getter, "Oyez" simply asks a person to pay attention to what is about to be shared. Here goes.   A theorist may offer thoughts on life that teach. uplift, defer, or deter. "It's a free country!" has been a citizen's refrain for decades.  Certainly, "pie in the sky" responses may constitute acceptable behaviors and reactions.  Religious leaders often admonish us to "eat the meat and spit out the bones," intimating a smidgen of truth resides in just about everything spoken or written. People of my mother's generation (a mere four generations "freed" from slavery), with lives firmly rooted in the apartheid of racial separation, heard oratory that caused them to smile sardonically.  The truth of their present and future sounded a trumpet: "Life ain't fair, never

  I remember waking up to the sound of Mother's plaintive voice requesting, Lord Jesus, can I have a talk with you Lord Jesus, it won't be  long before I'm through Lord Jesus, I got to tell You 'bout my cares Lord Jesus, all the burdens that I bear Lord Jesus, although the storm and billows roll Lord Jesus, You've been a comfort to my soul Lord Jesus, I just come to have this talk with You My Lordy, this talk with You." Decades later, those lyrics arose from their crypt, dusted themselves off, and erupted in my spirit.  Just like that.  Barely out of my teenage years, I began singing the song when times would've become exquisitely painful.  The lyrics soothed, but also spawned an emotional numbness that lingered.  Still, it took decades more before I "woke up and smelled the coffee."   Its aroma brought awareness, enough to understand that while I made my request known unto God,  my attempts to do it failed. I didn't "treat" (pray) a

If asked to help in the healing process of stressed or distressed people of all ages and persuasions, I'd demur only for a minute.  I truly  believe my life entails service to sisters and brothers, whether or not we've ever met.  So it is that I humbly submit unsolicited advice, just in case nobody ever asks! Seriously, though, I grew up in what Daddy called "perilous times," which prompted these insights on"current events," as they used to be called.  Dad would just state, "Ominous times require fearless responses. If three or four decades again a placid era my father sensed danger, I shudder to imagine how he would evaluate the first two decades of the 21st century! Probably, he'd harmonize his voice with Archie Bunker's, of All in the Family television fame, and sing, "Those were the days, my friend We thought they'd never end We'd sing forever and a day We'd live the life we choose We'd fight and never lose Those were th

  "Why in the world would she do that? How could he? I'd NEVER think to do what they did..."    Thus begins my ego-centered monologue about the efficacy of other people's decisions, choices, or boundaries.   Admittedly, I base my determinations solely on my belief system.  Truth be told, I rarely evaluate the quality of my conclusions.  Even as I ask, I reconcile a probable answer, whether as simple as "Why do I have brown eyes?" or "Why does an antiquated law remain enforceable?" It's one thing to wonder why people launch unprovoked attacks on others; it's quite another, however, when I attack myself as if I were distinct "Other."  Nevertheless, I'll ask.  Why do I accuse, then indict myself for a misstep or infraction; convene and conduct a trial in which I serve as prosecutor and jury; then declare myself guilty as charged? Not surprisingly, I expect and get the harshest punishment the law allows. Why? Even as I ask, I redu

October 4th.  Fully a month-and-a-half has passed since last I put pencil to paper (or fingertips to keyboard) and wrote about Jim, my fearless friend, now in Heaven.  "I'm back!" has become too much of a refrain for the seeming on-again off-again announcements I make when I return to blogging.   Admittedly, writing blogs accounts for my current sanity and remaining sensibilities.  Four years ago, blogging saved my life.  It held back the oblivion toward which my life was careening  (yes, oblivion is absolute), and bequeathed peace, uneasy though it was, in its stead.   "When peace, like a river, attendeth my way, When sorrows like sea-billows roll; Whatever my lot, Thou hast taught me to say, It is well, it is well with my soul." That kind of peace. Though I believed peace was not to be expected and possibly was unreachable,  the Holy Spirit intervened and taught me a "need-to-know" truth. He knew.   The Comforter came and brought   what I'd need