IT'S ONLY TALK

I can think of a no more fitting time than now to use the expression, “It’s Only Talk.” If you are as tired of politics as I am, you understand. In addition, having had the misfortune of being raised in a Pentecostal minister’s family, this phrase became a sub-conscious mantra after so many years. Given the fact that we’re now ‘blessed’ with a Pentecostal VP wanna be, oh yeah…….I’d say the timing is just right!

Having such a long list of don’ts and such a short list of dos, you may think we had little to do while growing up, but such was not the case. We were kept busy role playing; trying to act perfect 24/7 can be exhausting! As a PK, I had the ‘advantage’ of seeing the Pentecostal world from the inside out, and I can testify to the fact that it was, and most likely still is, a hot bed of dysfunction and hypocrisy.

Of course it would be unfair to infer that all hypocrites come only from the Pentecostal movement; all religions have them. It just seems that percentage-wise, the Pentecostals win, hands down. The god I was raised to fear was the Boogie Man, not a loving Father. I somehow survived my over protected childhood, then fell flat on my face in the ‘real world;’ God’s grace found me in the muck and mire and lifted me up. Yet, since it was all I’ve ever known, I returned to the Pentecostal movement where, I’m ashamed to admit, I raised my own children. After my father’s sudden death caused me to face the hypocrisy of the belief system I’d been raised in, my Heavenly Father, in an all-out act of love and mercy, connected my brain to my heart, and life has never been the same for me or my family.

One day while pondering some particular hypocrisies I’d been raised with, I became emotionally frustrated. And since deep emotions tend to engage me poetically and even though I’d never been exposed to what can properly be labeled ‘rap,’ the following work was born. In giving birth to each of our children, I had no idea what they would look like until they were born. Poetry is much the same as childbirth; a thought is conceived and the poet is never sure what that thought will look like until it is finished. Surprisingly, this thought was born with a ‘rap’ rhythm; the first one of its kind in my family of poems. As you read it, please see the black print as statements from up-tight, self-righteous, ‘religious’ adults, (not to be confused with Christian adults); the print with color are statements from our youth who are leaning hypocrisy from us.

IT'S ONLY TALK

"What's the matter with these kids today?
They don't listen to a word we say!

You must be honest, you must be good,
You must follow God's rules, is this understood?"

I went shoppin' with my dad one day,
I was right there when he had to pay.
He counted his change, a smile played with his face,
She gave him back too much, he said, "I like this place!"

"You must be pure, you must be good,
You must follow God's rules, is this understood?"

Dad rented a movie, Mom popped some corn,
He started the flick, I got forlorn.
There was so much skin I was gettin' a chill,
They didn't seem to care that it was makin' me ill.

"You must show love, you must be good,
You must follow God's rules, is this understood?"

We got new neighbors, their color is black,
I thought my folks were gonna have a heart attack.
They put our house up for sale then acted real blue,
I thought to myself, "Is that what Jesus would do?"

It’s only talk, it’s only talk,
We can’t hear what you say, we’re watchin’ you walk.

"You must not lie, you must be good,
You must follow God's rules, is this understood?"

My mom got a call just yesterday,
Her golf pal wondered, did she want to play?
Ma called her boss, and while sounding real hoarse,
She said she was sick, He said, "Stay home, of course!"

"You must be kind, you must be good,
You must follow God's rules, is this understood?"

Monday night there was a knock on the door,
They were collectin’ for a family in our church who is poor.
As soon as they left Mom said with distaste,
"Now we’ll never get rid of ‘em and they’re so out of place!"

"You must not kill, you must be good,
You must follow God's rules, is this understood?"

"Let's talk about the birds, let's talk about the bees,
We know you're a "good girl" but if you please,
You could loose control, get into a fix,
It happens all the time, but there's RU486."

It's only talk, it's only talk,
We can't hear what you say, we're watchin' you walk.

"You mustn’t be deceitful, you must be good,
You must follow God's rules, is this understood?"

Dad just called, said he'll be home late,
He said Mom shouldn't worry 'bout settin’ his plate,
Business was so good it got kinda hairy,
He has to check all the figures with his secretary.

"You must not gossip, you must be good,
You must follow God's rules, is this understood?"

Every Wednesday, in the middle of the day,
Several women from our church get together to pray.
Without "prayer requests" there'd be no “news”,
(No wonder there're some empty spaces in our pews.)

It's only talk, it's only talk,
We can't hear what you say, we're watchin' you walk.

©CAB Hampton

In closing let me be clear about something: Do I expect to see some Pentecostal Christians in Heaven? Absolutely! The scriptures tell us we'll be judged upon our knowledge, and I truly believe this movement is big on emotions while actual knowledge of the scriptures is, sadly, lacking. (Makes it easier to manipulate the flock, too.)

Do I expect to see any of the Pentecostal leaders in Heaven? Hmm, that's a tough one, as I DO believe that so many of them, especially of the Televangelist variety, DO know what they're doing. They live in perverted opulence while many of their followers and supporters live in abject poverty. Since the scriptures tell us to give away one coat if we have two, how can they justify living such luxurious lifestyles? Mother Teresa I expect to see in Heaven. Benny Hinn and some of his cohorts? Not so much. But since I can't understand how God could have mercy on ME, and allow ME the grace He does, ANYTHING is possible.

*NOTE* Below I have listed a few 'favorites.' If you read nothing else, please read Monte E. Wilson, at least once! This man has SO much to say and says it in such an interesting way. Enjoy!

WHO ARE WE?

Blogging is an interesting pastime, and for some of us, it’s a way of communicating with others while enjoying anonymity. There are those of us who use this avenue to brush up on our writing skills. Some, who may be handicapped and/or housebound, may use this as an outlet to create a life they would otherwise not have. As an older, once popular song said, some just wanna have fun. With this outlet for expression we can be ‘real,’ or pretend to be whoever we wish; who’s going to know?

Even though I have some favorites whom I regularly read and appreciate, on occasion I’ve cruised various blogs and stopped to read them, wondering, ‘who is this person and what do they have to say?’ There are the ‘Martha Stewart’ types who seem to perform magic for their families with cooked from scratch meals and home decorating skills that rival the best of the best, while finding time to home school their children and still have energy left over to welcome their spouse upon his return from work, looking beautiful and un-frazzled. But is this woman ‘real’ or ‘contrived?’

Next may be the blog of a seemingly eloquent and intelligent man, possibly accompanied by a profile picture of a sophisticated and studious looking gentleman complete with a barely approachable expression and holding the prop of a pipe that he may or may not actually smoke. But in ‘real’ life, who is he? Does he fill an otherwise empty and impotent existence with this alter-ego he has created or is he, indeed, an educated and interesting person who would be worth getting to know a little better?

The blogs I find most gripping are those written by young people; many still trying to find themselves. Some are incredibly sad, with pictures of mutilated, tattooed, multiple pierced bodies, looking out at me from empty, soulless eyes. These sad young people often reinforce their lost spirit by adding dark, hopeless poetry, as if begging to be rescued. They don’t know who they really are; they just want to be anyone and anywhere else than who and where they are.

The blogs of the bright, savvy young people, whose enthusiasm can’t be faked, are a delight. Some seem to be a tad air-headed, but most are using this venue to communicate with old friends and potential, new friends. Sometimes I shudder at their openness and how freely they offer personal information that could invite danger and evil into their fresh, happy lives; they are so trusting it makes them vulnerable.

But I always come away wondering who these people really are. If I could be a fly on a wall of their home, what would I find? There are some who seem so unlovable; could I obey God’s commandment to love them anyway? Some seem so ‘perfect,’ could I be ‘real’ in their presence? Those who appear to be Teflon coated; would I be tempted to simply ignore them?

AND, you many wonder, WHO AM I? My profile is vague, as I intend it to be, so from that you’ll not learn much about me. In fact, in this virtual community, it is impossible to know who I really am. Yet, there is ONE who knows everything about me, right down to how many hairs I have on my head and what my next thought will be. He knows my profile from the day I was conceived until the day my earthly body will wear out and my spirit goes to Him. WHO ARE YOU? I don’t know, and probably never will; but there is ONE who knows everything thing about you, and loves you anyway.

Who Will We Be?

You can see my body, but my body is not me,
I am the psyche, mind or soul that will forever be.
My body is temporal and it will pass away;
But I, the person who’s inside, will always stay.

I can see your body, but your body is not you,
Your psyche, mind or soul will be forever, too.
Your body is temporal and it will pass away;
But you, the person who’s inside, will always stay.

Our bodies were all made by God, and will return to dust;
But what we do with what’s inside, He’s left that up to us.
He gave us choices, His only Son, and a will that is free,
What we choose to do with our inside is up to you and me.

Our looks; clothes, shoes, nails, our lovely (or not) hair,
On the image of our outside, we spend much time and care.
Owning the right car; a lovely house with a manicured lawn;
Chasing our tails, trying to keep up; working ‘til dusk from dawn.

But who will we really be, when all is said and done?
When our outside world betrays us, to whom will we run?
Will we be able to count on us, the person who’s inside?
Whom we’ve either starved or fed; from whom we cannot hide?

Our one true person who’s inside will live on and on and on,
While the earthly body in which we’ve dwelt, will be long gone.
Will we have spent our time and efforts on the lasting, eternal thing,
When our psyche, mind or soul stands before our Heavenly King?

Then it will make no difference how we look or where we live,
He’ll want to know; from what He gave us, what did we give?
While here on earth, did we put ourselves last and others first?
Did we offer the Eternal Drink to those who were in thirst?

Did we often judge others by a unit of strictest measure;
In pointing fingers at other’s faults, finding some sick pleasure?
Weighing others’ sins on our own scale of right and wrong;
Did our self-righteous act, steal someone else’s song?

Did we measure ourselves first; did we keep our soul clean?
Was our spirit sweet and humble, or was our spirit mean?
So what we do with our inside is up to you and me;
Our psyche, soul or mind lives on; who will we be?

© CAB Hampton