What Color is Your Heaven?

I teach the 4-5 year old primary class at my church. They are a fun and lively group and occasionally something I say actually sinks in. I’m used to getting random comments to questions and really having to coach them to say something that even remotely resembles the answer I am looking for. The more common response is “I had chicken wings for dinner” or maybe something that happened at home that I’m sure their parents don’t want me to know about. If you have ever been around a small child you have an idea what I’m talking about.

Today I was talking to them about Heaven and what they think it is like. I asked them if they think we we all have wings and just fly around like angels. They laughed at that and then informed me what Heaven is really like.

C: “I bet it is all blue.”

F: “I bet it is peach. Even though my favorite color is pink.”

Whatever the color, I hope they all make it there. And I hope they serve chicken wings.

Worshipping with Hillbillies

I grew up in a small town so I know what that is like. In a small town everybody knows everybody, a new retail store that doesn’t end in “Mart” is a big deal, and big hair is always in. Just for the record, I stopped participating in the big hair phenom when the eighties ended. Others have not been as fortunate. But I digress.

Mr. S and I were visiting some friends over the weekend who happen to live in a small town such as the one I just described. We attended church on Sunday morning and much to my relief I didn’t see as much big hair as I had planned. Perhaps Bumpits haven’t reached the masses. But the things we did see (and hear) gave us plenty to talk about. A boy named Kanut gave us our first laugh. Kanut? Really? It was explained to us by our friends that Kanut’s grandma is Swedish. Okay, fine. Guess I won’t make fun of the poor kid. But his mom’s oversized breasts hanging down to her knees is still free game. Then there was the 93 year-old woman who wore a cowboy hat that I am pretty sure had been bedazzled. Pair that with her Willie Nelson-like braids and you have small town hillbilly. Once again our friends came to the rescue of our latest victim and forced me to feel bad about my rash judgment. But only a little. And last but not least was the music chorister, looking very dapper in his suit and…wait for it…here it comes…leather vest!

Can’t wait for the next visit.