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Interactions

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  "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...
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Hush, hush. Somebody's calling my name

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Listen .  In order to hear anything, one has to learn how to listen (which may be problematic since "listening skills" rarely are taught in K-12 curriculum, whether in language arts, English, or speech classes).  I remember teachers reminding students, especially rambunctious ones, "You have two ears and one mouth for a reason!"  They rarely followed up with "listening skills development" techniques.  Adults admonished us to save our "outdoor voices" for the playground or basket ball courts.  Nowadays, noise bombards  us, so much so that its opposite typically brings pause.  What's wrong? It's too  quiet.  Put on some music; turn on the television; even, "whistle while you work!" We rarely implore students (or adults for that matter) to put on their "listening ears."  In truth, do we know who  or what or  when,   where,  or why  to listen? Especially, do we know how  to listen?  Probably...
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I Know I Been Changed

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"I know I been changed" Growing up, I remember hearing converts who had “graduated” from the Mourner’s Bench being led in the singing of an old Negro spiritual that went, “I know I been changed,  O I know I been changed. Yes, I know I been changed because the angels in heaven done signed my name!” It was a song of conviction and triumph, I had no doubt. The mourners ranged in age from early teens, many forced by a parent or grandparent to that Bench at the  front of the Church, to “This may be my last time” older people, who had been flirting with “Giving their hearts to God” for years. Pastor had presented a Palm Sunday message of love that centered on Jesus’ triumphant entry into Jerusalem on a colt “on which no one has yet sat” (Luke 19: 28-40).  A teaching Pastor, her exegesis instructed, challenged, and inspired. As is the custom that closes a Sunday service, Pastor invites all who choose, to come forward for prayer.  She explains...
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