Watching Whitney Houston's funeral, I realize there's an old black preacher in me trying to get out.
I like that good ol' gospel music.
I like how folks just let go and shout and cry or whatever.
I like the laughter even through tears.
I like the simplicity of it.
I like the hope presented.
I like the picture that is painted of heaven.
I like the ebb and flow and use of language and the full vocal range.
I like the gentleness that the preacher can pull out when needed...when some are about to break.
I like the absolute confidence of a Higher Power in charge and in love with us all.
I feel like I can go to heaven now cause the angel that I've always thought needed to be in MY choir is now there.
I try to imagine how Charlie Dennis explained Whitney Houston to "The Bear" and finally giving up and just telling her to sing The National Anthem.for him.
I bet my MawMaw grabbed her up hugged her and made her some biscuits and gravy so she'd feel comforted...cause that's what she really wanted.
I'd like to be an old black preacher.
Stir it up, bring it home, and sit it down.
Strange fruit, isn't it?
No comments:
Post a Comment