“Love, actual love, is action. It’s a choice… it’s continual choosing. It doesn’t end after the picture is snapped and saved and even shared and, funnily, “loved” by others. It’s sweeping your beloved off her feet- and lifting her incoherent, babbling self off the floor.”
As Advent began a week ago, I knew I was and am still lost in Lent. So I wait. My very soul waits. And I hope, hope that God will see us through.
As someone who grew up watching, The E! True Hollywood Story, I know there’s a ridiculously long history of tragic child stars. Ever see what happened with the cute tots of The Little Rascals? I mean that messiness went down in the 1930s. But I can’t recall hearing about the sad tale of Bobby Driscoll until rather recently.
“King of the Hill”, which ran from 1997 through 2010, is remembered for a number of things: propane and propane accessories; the fictional but somehow seemingly real Texas city of Arlen; just how “not right” Hank felt his son Bobby was; Peggy’s feet, Cotton’s shins, and Hank’s behind; and how refreshing a cool Alamo was, preferably sipped while standing in the back alley with a group friends and saying “yup” or “I’ll tell you what” as a sign of mutual satisfaction with life.
One thing that has long stood out to me, however, is Hank’s inherent and strong Christian faith.
Flashback to that time when Mexican artist Frida Kahlo traveled to San Fran and painted a portrait of a Black woman… as a woman… not a caricature.
It doesn’t quite feel like Easter, but I know it’s coming.
Just sing the song, Mother Hattie Mae.
With that, he bowed his head and gave up his spirit.
“We all try to accept with some sort of submission our afflictions when they actually arrive. But the prayer in Gethsemane shows that the preceding anxiety is equally God’s will and equally part of our human destiny. The perfect Man experienced it. And the servant is not greater than the master. We are Christians, not Stoics.”
Remember, we ALL are made in God’s image- even those of us who perform renditions of “Stomp!” in cement tap shoes.
To borrow some words from Drake, “I’m more than just a number.” But if I WERE a number, it would be 7. Since it’s God’s number, the 7th day is one to rest, and… well, I think it rocks. But if life were a scale of 1-10, then me being a 7 fits too, because I’m not perfect. I’m in my 30s, a Christ-follower, slightly off kilter (but aren’t all “ar-teeests”?), and happily married to K, my solidly strong rock. And Techie-extraordinaire. We are the proud parents of a smart and funny girl, Z. Hope you enjoy my rantings, don’t take my sarcasm too seriously and know that comments are welcome. Very welcome… ahem, HINT, HINT, HINT! But enough about me, time for this 7 to give it a rest. xoxox
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