How Great Thou Art

BudLiteGood morning, y’all. Well, I’m still keeping a close watch on the half-fallen pine tree. I’ve got my vantage point here in front of the big screen in the Rec room at TackyToo. In a rare moment of conformity and tolerance, the other hangers on have allowed me to watch this week’s service of The Full Gospel Original Church of God on the big screen. It must be a sign of the season, or maybe some folks just wanted to satisfy their curiosity. My only promise was to turn the channel when the Fox NFL Sunday pregame show came on. It seemed like a good compromise, since it was probably what I wanted to do anyway.

Now, I do say that with some reservation. If the Reverend Helen Handbasket was wrapped in a twelve foot boa constrictor and couldn’t get loose, or if the Right Reverend Dale E. Bread was being called in front of the congregation for a public shaming, I’d have to invoke my rights to DVR “Terry and Howie” for later viewing. There are some things that happen on live TV that you want to be a part of, and there’s no way I could explain to Mulva that I had missed the Reverend Helen Handbasket being choked out by a giant snake. I mean, I am supposed to be taking a much bigger interest in the day to day operation of the church now that I am officially the webmaster.

That sounds completely crazy, right? Learn a  little HTML, and modify your behavior to be a little less anti-social, and the next thing you know you’re part of the mission. If you had mentioned to me a year ago, that before 2015 was up that I’d be involved in carrying the dogma of The Full Gospel Original Church of God to the masses, I’d have asked for a cup of whatever you were drinking. And now, here I am, watching the Reverend Helen Handbasket in full high def glory capturing the serpents and the souls all at the same time. Some would call it a miracle, Mulva for example. I prefer to call it a sequence of events with an improbable outcome. As an improbable an outcome as this is, it’s no raising up of Lazarus.

Speaking of the raising up of Lazarus, Hugh Morris was so spirit filled this week that he was moved to leave his pew in the amen section and began to dance in the area reserved for the altar call. I may have mentioned before that Mr. Morris is older than dirt, and his movements in church to this point have been confined to entering and exiting. I don’t know what struck his inner Chi, but something got him up on his toes. His dance took on elements of the Charleston and the Lindy Hop with overtures of the Watusi. Mr. Morris spun like a dervish all the way through all five choruses of “The Battle Hymn of the Republic”. He didn’t stop dancing until the last “hallelujah!”, whereupon he dropped in a heap to sit cross legged in front of the altar. Based off of the reaction of my tenants watching in the Rec room with me, the live show must have been electric. If we’d changed the channel to Fox we would have missed the “Mr. Morris marvel” for a guy with bad hair, and a guy with no hair. I tell you, you just can’t beat live TV.

Anyway, I’m keeping a close eye on Mr. Morris from my safe spot here in the Rec room, in case Old Ben hadn’t snuck back in to his old hangout and given Mr. Morris a little nip. Fortunately, the spaces are so confined in the little church that about any camera shot of the altar from any angle is going to include Mr. Morris. He seems to be ok, catching his breath, but grinning like he just walked into the girl’s shower by accident. Oddly, there is also somewhat of a beatific look on the face of the Reverend Helen Handbasket. I feel for the folks that aren’t watching this in high def.

With events as spectacular as this, I better double my efforts towards finishing up the webpage. At this rate we’re liable to have some ascensions in the coming year. I sure want to chronicle that.

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