Somewhere I read that
“The problem with today’s youth is that no one peels peas at grandma’s house”
Summers spent in Mississippi were my training grounds
When belt to bottom could no longer make my body budge
Mom would ship us to Grenada as first priority
Where we would address grandma and great as “ma’am”
Whose bleach white hairs correlated with wisdom
Discernment that’d be drawn out of discipline
When young mouths got hostile, rope would hostage body to chair
And nose would rub with corners we were sent too
Before our descendants could make us
They’d be tasked with the hard work and break us
In the middle of those days our discipleship lessons took place
With no Bible in sight, but a bowl of snow peas
Whose outer layer was thick as bamboo branches
Scratching, scarring fingers when fiddled with
Making the goal of actually breaking into one sweeter than any heist
As green wads were freed from their bank
Eyes and hands were too busy to notice ears, and the scripture spoken into them
As grandma riddled off proverbs and parables as we leaned over pair of bowls
In hand made wooden chairs, skin darkening under sun
In front of a house neighboring two churches in the wild plant withered region we were in
Though heat was hot, and work was wicked hard
Those snow peas showed me solace
Great grandma’s house was a sanctuary
A place so far from the city’s frenzies and gun fire
The holy of holies to the outer courts
I realize now what those snow peas were telling me
That family matters
The take away shouldn’t be ship your knuckleheads to ma’ams
You and I are the ma’ams
When fathers don’t father less, so the fatherless don’t grow up to father less
We are the ma’ams
When mothers value shorties over being called one by deadbeat daddy downgrades
We are the ma’ams
And dropping kids off at pastor’s house to be set right isn’t an option
You and I are the church
When mothers make prayer priority for pained peep squeaks
We are the church
When fathers don’t equate manliness with moving weight
Fighting great, puffing out chest giving no weakness to rest
But with courage in heart and humility in speech
Lay down strength at alters, drawing from Eloheim’s blood like a leech
We are the church
You don’t need to have wisdom of the scholarly
You don’t even need to have your own blood born family, you just need to be
Speak Godly wisdom from scripture diligently
Watch steps of community’s children vigilantly
Inviting empty stomachs over for dinner
Learning their stories of survival
Love their dying souls to revival
My descendents in that Mississippi home did the hard work
Praying for their labor not to return void
Trusting God’s Spirit to be one I couldn’t avoid
We all need the elderly discipleship over a bowl of snow peas
That young boy with a corona
And the black smoking green in a blue corolla
We all need that elderly discipleship over a bowl of snow peas
As whisper’s of His words bring bodies to humble knees
Breaking us before making us
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