Permanent Records

I’m not so very young anymore, but I still remember the nuns in grade school instilling the fear of God within all uniformed boys and girls; this, in the form of ‘THE permanent record'.

If the young'uns exhibited non-compliance of any type, this record (which followed our every step) would be marked-up with indelible ink (perhaps using a sharpie if the offense was quite severe) for all to see. This ‘crime’ would then become permanent, as in forever. The threat states that,

• Someday, our parents will read it.
• Someday, job interviewers will read it.
• Someday, the government will read it.
• Yes, God will read it – even though I was told that He has His own time-honored workflow for record-keeping.

As a grade schooler, I remember being terrified.  So then, I suppose the intended behavior modification was, in most ways, successful. 

All grown up now.

Collecting Eggs

These pictures came to me as part of a church gathering for kids celebrating an egg hunt. What would we do without kids, right?

Anyway, the images caught my attention for two reasons.

1. I question the word, “hunt”.
2. I found a way to apply this event to my life.

Snooze Button Eye-Opener

I admit to using the invention of the snooze button and often postpone my daily initiatives by nine minutes. It hardly seems worth the effort when I re-read that sentence. Anyway, I have noticed an interesting quirk.

There are some mornings when I just can’t get my head around the fact that I’m already hearing the second reminder. I question whether I truly used the snooze or just dreamed it. My investigation reveals that apparently, these nine minutes have somehow taken only as much time as the nine seconds it took to check. Groggily I fall out of bed, not happy and completely disorientated.

Spoken Word

I am not a poet.

Mostly, I do not understand poetry - never did.

Truthfully, I do not like most poetry - never did.

Now you know. I like writing and I have even tried (with disastrous results) to write poetry. Can't be done. It's just not in me. 

But something happened when I first heard Amena Brown as she performed her "Spoken Word". At the time, I didn't know the meaning of this phrase, but I knew it buried itself deep in my heart and soul when heard.

With Easter fast approaching, a friend introduced me to another artist, Shawndra Lucas.