WAILING FOR DARFUR. Wednesday, May 6 2009

For the mountains will I take up a weeping and wailing, and for the pastures of the wilderness a lamentation, because they are burned up, so that none passes through; neither can men hear the voice of the livestock; both the birds of the sky and the animals are fled, they are gone. -Jeremiah 9:10

 

We have no tears for you, Darfur!

We have only frozen assets and falling 401Ks.

We have no tears for you, Darfur!

We must concentrate on readjusting our ARMS,
Our horror is contained in a faling stock market and loan modifications.

We have no tears for you, Darfur!

The price of our foie gras has risen!

No tears! No Hot tubs! No More Taxes!

We have no tears for you Darfur!

But do not think your cries fall on deaf ears.

The dusty path your feet tread will not always be lost in bipartisanship and bickering.

We cannot sit back and no longer care for you, Darfur!

HDTV is on the horizon. We must prepare ourselves for transitioning.

No tears for you, Darfur!

We are too busy.

We twitter, we iphone, we blog, we surf, we chat, have we not time for starving, beaten, raped, punished, thirsty people in some far away desert somewhere?

People of Darfur! We do not know your names. You are not listed in our facebooks, you have no banners on Myspace.com.

We have not tears for you, Darfur!

But we have feet, and we will STAND WITH YOU, we will join the fight against those who deny you your humanity.

We have hands, and we will reach out to you.

With our hearts we SEE you.

WE have no tears for you, Darfur!

We have HOPE. WE ARE HERE. WE SEE YOU. WE SEE YOU. WE SEE YOU.

HELP SAVE DARFUR! NOW!

How we can help:
Blog About Darfur!

Educate About Darfur!

Raise Money for Darfur! Make a Video!

 

Terror in the Sky!

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Welcome to Red Hill Baptist Church Sunday, Apr 26 2009

On this Sunday, I felt like posting about my church. I attend Red Hill Missionary Baptist Church in Pelham, NC. My Pastor is Reverand Gregory Hopkins.

http://www.redhillbaptistchurch.com/

I have been to a lot of churches and I like this little “Church By the Side of The Road”.

If you are like me, I need Jesus, I like going to church and enjoying the “corporate worship” with others. That’s what church is for, right? After all, you can pop in a video, like Bishop T.D.Jakes, Pastor Eddie Long and numerous wonderful ministers of any flavor you want. However, having a local church is important because you have other people that are supposed to feel your needs and fullfil them with prayer and ministry.

Your local church strengthens the community. Without our local churches, our faith based initiatives would be a monumental task to undertake in regards to logistics alone.

Your local church is the Conerstone of every community. Children grow and learn when in Sunday School they learn early, discipline, love and respect.
Got a local church? Attend today. Contact your local pastor and when you connect, help, tithe, teach, be a friend to somebody. Pick a family in need and do what you can. Mow their lawn, deliver groceries, do what you can and God will ALWAYS Bless You.

Help Develop ways to help feed the community. Local churches can do so much to end hunger and save many children from the effects of the inability to obtain fresh fruits, vegetables and farm produce such as fresh eggs, milk and cheese.

Most of all, God put us all on this earth to take care of one another. Right? So the local church is a great way to reach out to others in our own perspective communities and as I’ve said on my blogs before,

when we get up off our knees…do something.

Happy Sunday!

Thanks for Reading!

God Bless~

-”poppishirley”

If you don’t have a church to go to this Sunday, you are welcome to visit here: tell’em “poppishirley” sent ya!

http://www.redhillbaptistchurch.com

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How My Mother Began Her Very Own Civil Rights Movement (with a crab apple) Friday, Jul 11 2008

When momma was born in 1925

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3MCHI23FTP8&NR=1

Negros/blacks/AfricanAmericans were not allowed to go to school with white people.  Please read:  “The Reign of Walter Plecker” at http://www.melungeons.com/articles/blueridge.htm

 

and the “The Virginia Act to Preserve Racial Integrity of 1924” (an era in which my bff, best friend forever, Alexander Cambias, Sr. would like ALL of America to return).  Here at

 

  http://www.eugenicsarchive.org/html/eugenics/index2.html?tag=1239

 

Although black or (mullato) as described in Plecker’s Census, momma’s family lived rather well.  Even regarding today’s standards her family consisting of twelve, not including their parents, OWNED a 200 plus acre farm in Pittsylvania County, Virginia.  Today the Land belongs to great-great-great Grandfather’s “heirs forever” and in use by the KKK.

 

Momma and her siblings often told stories of their life in the rural south.  Lives of pleasure & pain, pride & prejudice and a lot of hard work captured them there at the foot of the Blue Ridge Mountains.  We give a “glimpse” into the history in “My People Were Fishermen” and “Ten Things My Mother Taught Me and Other Myths of the Black Community” archived  here, at  www.PoppiShirley’s Weblog.

 

 Our Family were big story tellers,  they taught us basically, how to think, act and react to life through their stories, rhymes, fables and “jus plain lies” .They would sit and talk hours upon hours reminiscing over their younger days on Mobley Creek Farm.  To us, a living room full of wide-eyed kids, they were larger than life itself, they WERE our Life Surrounded by this great big family circle during our many gatherings while they ate, laughed, sang songs, told tales and secrets and gave us, as children, the essence of our heritage, through story and song.

 

Did I mention here that included in this circle were my Great Aunties and Uncles, there were 12 of them, my cousins, last count around 150 and, my own siblings, numbering in the thousands at supper time.

 

 When we were young, and still had a sense of humor, our lives, to me, were great.  I never felt “black” or “ignorant” untill I went to school and “learned” of all my “inadequacies” concerning the brilliant shine of my skin.

 

There, within the love and warmth of this great family, there was “perfection”.

 

They tell the story of long ago (sorry mom) of how a large group of them (not including their many friends of the community) were WALKING to school one day, talking laughing, being themselves (entertaining) and eating newly plucked crab apples from one of their MANY fruit trees, when the white children came RIDING by on (they) schoolbus.

 

 As the bus blew dustily past them, a white kid rolls down his window, sticks his head out and spits at them.(!)

 

Moma (being My Moma and not even knowing it yet) IMMEDIATELY flings a crab apple into the bus.  The many baseball games played in their yard on Sundays as kids had given my momma an arm the MBL would be envious of today because the crab apple whizzed right through the open window, straight up the aisle, and splat! exploded into a green mess beside the window (and head) of the startled bus driver. 

You go MA!

Confused as to the effect and not the cause of the crime, the bus driver slams on his breaks bringing now a cloud of Virginia red clay to dance in the air and smack the faces of  the, now stopped in their tracks children, on their way to school. 

 

A Big, (white) now red faced man swung open the bus doors stepping  down, hands on hips, bellows loudly,

 

WHO THREW THAT CRAB APPLE IN THE BUS! He demanded, holding ample hips.

 

At once {frightened, still to this day, one crab in the barrel in the crowd} offered up my mother’s name.

 

Behind her {her brother}, proclaimed,

 

THEY SPAT ON US.

 

Given this –piece of forensic evidence-, the bus driver spoke, (dropping hands from heavy hips)

 

Well, I tell you what, -THE NEXT TIME ONE OF THEM SPITS ON YOU I’M GONNA STOP THE BUS AND MAKE’EM walk, AND DON’T YOU THROW NO MORE APPLES IN THAT BUS!

 

Well, as the story goes, weeks passed without further incidence, however, Time and Attention were not fully paid, when one day, again, a window rolls up and a wad of spit lands, again, at the feet of children, on their way to school.

 

Immediately, a big heavy foot slams rubber to metal and the bus comes to a screeching halt of iron, flying white folks and dust.  The doors swing open and a crest-fallen young white boy emerges hands- in- pockets and walks drudgingly, alone, down the road. 

 

Never molested again by spit on their way to school, most went on to gain their prospective (and much coveted) sixth grade education. 

 

“Ignorant” by standards my mother -didn’t raise no fools-. 

 

I can see my mother, standing there in her laced up boots of the 1920’s, clean dress with ribbons in her hair, teeth clenched, fist balled and working up a “black sweat”.

 

  All the while knowing her rightful “place”, at the Table of Kings and Queens. That day, she has taught us, too, she REFUSED to give an inch to the “Study of Stupidity”. 

Surrounded (supported) by her family my mother drew a line in the proverbial Virginia sand, eh, ur, red clay that day.

 

Proud, beautiful and strong, still, at the age of 83, my mother has been the greatest influence in my life and in the lives of many others.

 

This past year my mother had the opportunity to meet Nelson Mandela just before he celebrated his 90^th birthday.  She spoke to him of her own “private battles regarding racism in America” –“America Denied Me an Education”, she told him.  I am sure, as sure as I am black that  HE came away “enlightened” by my mother.

So, the next time you see a (“green”) apple in the grocery store, think of

 

How My Mother Began Her Own Civil Rights Movement

(with a crab apple).

 

And start one of your own.

 

Stop Complaining!  Start A Revolution!!!!

 

A Group Project-

http://burlingtonaa.wetpaint.com/?t=anon

 

contact:

hattiestrange092@gmail.com

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