Aubs.

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