The Realm of Possibility
“I will live and die by the gospel.
I look around me and I see all the problems.I know people aren't living the gospel.I know they are too busy.The world is too loud.The sounds you hear in the hall are notthe substance of love and kindness.I hear gossip, I hear spite, I hear fear.I do not hear the gospel.I do not feel the gospel.Except inside me. I can feel it there.
And my friends.There are not many of us, Lord knows.But we are there for each other.The Lord loves things in three, and we are thr...ee.Lanie with her blue-covered Bible, Tracy with her red-covered Bible,and me with what I call the Original Black.It's not that we walk around all buttoned up,not a part of the world. Don't think that.We know what's happening, and what's what.But we also know which end is up.
I have never heard a more beautiful word thanHallelujah!When I was a little girl, I looked forward to Sunday.I would have my dress out by Friday,my shoes lined up underneath like my legs were already in them.I would count the ladies in the choir and feel like I was waitingmy turn, practicing my voice for their kind of calling.As I grew older, I got worried-I learned that, at least in my church,choir ladies never die.MoreLess
I look around me and I see all the problems.I know people aren't living the gospel.I know they are too busy.The world is too loud.The sounds you hear in the hall are notthe substance of love and kindness.I hear gossip, I hear spite, I hear fear.I do not hear the gospel.I do not feel the gospel.Except inside me. I can feel it there.
And my friends.There are not many of us, Lord knows.But we are there for each other.The Lord loves things in three, and we are thr...ee.Lanie with her blue-covered Bible, Tracy with her red-covered Bible,and me with what I call the Original Black.It's not that we walk around all buttoned up,not a part of the world. Don't think that.We know what's happening, and what's what.But we also know which end is up.
I have never heard a more beautiful word thanHallelujah!When I was a little girl, I looked forward to Sunday.I would have my dress out by Friday,my shoes lined up underneath like my legs were already in them.I would count the ladies in the choir and feel like I was waitingmy turn, practicing my voice for their kind of calling.As I grew older, I got worried-I learned that, at least in my church,choir ladies never die.MoreLess
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