“Crumbs are the soul of the snack.” That’s what Jean said to me when I told her there was not much left in a bag of chips. Food also featured in a song she made up on the piano while snacking. “Mom, which is more beautiful, my song or me putting this mango up my nose?” She about fell off the bench laughing at herself.
I’ve been sifting through old Tambourine diaries; she’s devoted to her new hot pink daily entry before bed. So many notebooks remind me to never resist WRITING IT DOWN, whatever it is. Overheard conversations, playground chit chat and NPR — all of which Jean tracks with eagle ears — life this week prompted not just words but big questions about what religion we are, which prompted some sweet conversations with friends from our car on the way home from school. “Jean, I think it’s mostly about kindness and love and things far, far beyond our understanding.” We’ll call you back when we figure it out.
This song has been in my pocket for a while, seemed like it needed to be sung this week. Love tift
LAST DITCH ULTIMATUM
A lot of people missed it, but it was on the news today. Heaven’s gone on hiatus, all the rules have changed.
It’s a last ditch ultimatum, now you’re stuck with all your sins. Until everyone is going, nobody’s getting in.
The gates are locked, the choir is quiet, there’s no more back door sneaking in. Jesus got so tired of begging, he’s not coming back again.
It's a last ditch ultimatum, now we’re stuck with all our sins. Until everyone is going, nobody’s getting in.
With the drag queens and orphans and sweet Mary Magdalene, pack it up and go to Paris, that’s what I’d do if I were him.
While all us squares sit round here fighting about how there’s no room in the inn, and just how many second chances our better angels have to give.
This is his last ditch ultimatum, now you’re stuck with all your sin. Until everyone is going, nobody’s getting in. He left a note right on the front gate, it read, “This is what I meant.” Unless everybody’s going, not one more person is getting in.
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