He can do no wrong, he is my son, stay in your lane, he
replied.
We live in a new fangled world.
She told me what she did, what God blessed her to do.
She, on visitations days, invited him to come to
church.
They went together, with her missions buddy.
We would knock on doors, and they told us about him, my
son.
He was studying in seminary school, she said. They asked us to invite him.
We talked with him, and he came to he church.
He has to drive by my house each time he goes to
church. He lives by the 231
junction.
They all have to drive by my house to go to church, but they
never stop by, not even just to say hi, or good morning.
They all have to drive by my house. She said she hasn’t seen him in about two
years.
She said, the next time I get to go out is for my Doctor’s
appointment in January. I have not been
to the church.
It is too much work to get loaded into and out of a car.
They life me, they life my legs.
I have no bone in the bottom part of my spine.
She described how she loves her son, the one whom can do no
wrong. She still does not understand why
the church does not have air assist door openers, or no more food pantry, she
said.
She misses Robinwood.
She wants to see Wayne and Yvonne’s new place, the Family Restaurant.
What makes a good man(men) be trampled? A good name ruined. I entered and was told, “Now we know where
the money goes …….. we did not know where it was going when he was here”. A disgrace and shame from an elder. I knew where the money was going. I knew when I saw the hungry being fed. The clothes-less being provided outfits. The homes for the homeless. And the money being given to people. Lawyers were paid to protect Our
Children.
The temple was vacant.
The glory gone, confusion entered and took abode. No choir, but a semblance and remnant thereof.
So too at Robinwood.
They stole over $65.000.00 of equipment.
But I remembered, I remembered the owners saying they started with
nothing and built the business.
I saw the Nursing homes, the Robinwoods. They had cars galore. The one day of the year, where parents and brothers
and sisters are revived again. The one
time they are people and loved ones again. The one time they are visited.
She told me the story.
Your mom does not want to go with me, he insisted on calling her to
ask. Will you go with me daughter. To the center, dress up and eat thanksgiving
there, me and my friend. She said yes,
and cried. That is the last Thanksgiving
Day she remembers. This is the first year
without him, she said. This too is my
first second year without him, but it feels like first because of unfinished
death and cemetery business.
This is our new tradition.
The new tradition is once our old can no longer fend, place them in a
home, place and forget. If they cannot
get to church, so what.
No Church protective services. They elderly abused in their own homes, if
they get that luxury, and they churches do nothing; but drive by the house
every time they need to go to church, she said.
The elderly die from abuse at the center. Abuse and neglect. Building filled with bed bugs, pee, and poor
food.
The scandal, good people called bad. The scandal, pillars of the church
forgotten.
The new age is to curse your parents and elders out. That is the new thing. If you get that opportunity, then you are blessed. If they can not drive, they are to be
forgotten.
God is good. My
prayer is to be able to do something.
God is good.
The Temple is empty, but it has iron clad doors, and new
floors and new ac, but the $50,000.00 piano sits idle on the side. The multi-purpose room, over $300,000 but,
it does not look like a church, no worship.
It has the cameras. It has the TV’s,
but nobody is there to worship. The
chief complain, “I am going to say something ……….. if you come late to church”. But, no glory and prayer at 7:30 AM. A pastor that never dresses up, looks ragged
every Sunday. Put on a shirt and tie every
once in a while. I remember he talked bad
about me, he hated me, but now, in my cripple capacity, walk better than
him. He had a stroke/heart attack here
in the church, they said.
She said, I do not know, I guess it is all about
missions. Maybe that is why they cannot come. It I is a new day. I know he likes to go on missions. Hum?
Small town pastor to become big time glory.
The photos on missions, hum, make me think. They are of lavish hotel rooms and living
quarter abroad. I did not see the huts
and shacks and sleeping on hay. That is
the new form of missions for a week or two.
Paid vacations? Why? When you come home you cannot talk to your
mother. Why? The temple is empty.
All she wanted was a cup of soup. So I went to the Family Restaurant, and paid
to have a cup of soup delivered to her.
She said, “I do want to see the new place”,
I wonder if “your son” will go visit her. I called him while in her home. Then he responded, “she is not my mother, my
mother is Charlene. Stay in your lane. Mind your business. I thought he would respond; yeah, I really
need to see her, and see her soon, thanks.
Nope. Stay in your lane, you don’t
know me. “My son can do no wrong, “she
said.
Paid pastors, paid and hired due to like beliefs. Tell us what we want to here. Hum. He
wasn’t paid. God bless and the people brought offerings.
I hope yall got to visit your loved ones this holiday
season. God Bless.
Disrespect fuels our society. My daughter was, WHERE DO YOU GET THAT FROM? Respect your elders and older brother. She, my daughter, had no clue. So too do the CHURCH TITANS. No clue. We were taught to respect our elders, that included elder family members, brothers and sisters. I recanted to my daughter my experiences. The heartache of making fun of an old man, cripple, blind, and maimed, and mean as heck. And, never being able to undo that, because, the next time I saw him was in a casket. The stories from cousins home were forced to smoke weed and drink by their own grandma. Visiting the mean grandpa in Connecticut. Hiding under the bed when Grandma had to care for us, while the drug fest was in our home. Hephzibah, Universal, Robinwood, etc. The new tradition. Stay in your lane, Say nothing, Mind your business. She is not my mother.
