Mom and Dad were busy raising my brother David who cried a lot ... and conceiving my sister Angie whenever David fell asleep ... so they were happy to let me stay with my Grandparents.
My "formative" years were with Granddaddy and Grandma.
Ira and Edith were good, country people who ... late in life ... developed a love for Jesus boarding on Monastic.
On Wednesday nights in those days there would be "Gospel Sings."
Granddaddy, Grandma and me faithfully attended.
A piano, a guitar, a bass and a drummer accompanied a quartet of singers washing everyone in nothing but the Blood of Jesus ... making us all whole again.
In a half-filled room of believers in Pooler, Georgia with my Granddaddy and Grandma who showed every bit as much love as Jesus did, I came to believe.
I can still feel what it felt to be there ... can still recapture the moment ... raising them from the dead to live again.
It's been a frustrating week!
Misunderstandings, miscommunication, misfires and missed opportunities ... coupled with really crappy weather ... leaves us sullen and sour.
The bills are a bit out of hand, cash flow isn't coming close to projections and dinner at our house pretty much sucked last night.
I'm struggling to start today.
Then Granddaddy, Grandma and Jesus too I suppose, reach down from Heaven and make my fingers hit keys I don't mean to and ... someone's singing "Nothing But the Blood of Jesus" and stopping dead in my tracks ... I'm suddenly a little boy again at a Gospel Sing sitting between them.
I laugh to myself.
Then I print out the chords, pick up the guitar and start practicing for Bar Church.
I haven't thought of that song in decades.
But my Grandparents and Jesus too I suppose thought I needed a pick-me-up ... so they threw some blood on me.
I'm feeling pretty righteous right now.
"Oh come on world," I say out loud, "throw me some more of what you got!"
Then I'm throwing nothing but the blood back at you.
