Called Home

I took this picture at the funeral of my next door neighbor.

It's now several hours later and I've had time to reflect on Allen's funeral.

First, the church. East Mt. Zion Baptist Church is a glorious testament to God's creation BY His creation. To paraphrase an old hymn: it was Good, Lord, to be there. You know, *just* to be there. The people were friendly, too. There were some who invited me back, too, *after* asking whether I'd ever been there before. It was nice they didn't look at my skin and assume.

The music. If music in heaven is half as sweet as this, we're gonna need more ears. Or bigger hearts for better sound/spirit processing. Moved, was I? You have NO idea.

I was late and almost gave up going. This church is smack in the middle of the Cleveland Clinic and Euclid Corridor construction zones, which are dreadful: notorious for misdirecting cars. There was a small internal voice insistently telling me to try again, it's for good.

It was. Every bit of it.