Virgie Bell's View

I am sorry that sometimes I seem so negative and so put out about so many things with my fellow citizens, but I sometimes feel I am one voice crying in the wilderness. And God knows I am not John. I am just me. I am, I will admit, pretty much into the Bible. I am able translate from English to Hebrew and Greek but that is getting on hollowed ground there and I try to keep it to myself. I will tell you what is going on now and that is that it’s looking like the end—of at least our way of life, for a lot of reasons. But when I translate what is revealed to me for that is what God’s word is, it is a revelation of things to come. God’s word is past tense, futuristic. It is the moment of this breath and tomorrow’s headlines.

When I was a freshman in high school, I was asked to stand up in my literature class to receive recognition for some little award. It was a class that I had achieved the highest scores in however many areas this man was over. I don’t remember his name or his title. We all called him Mr. Past Perfect. At any rate, this announcement didn’t mean much to me. I am sure my parents never even knew it. Now, if I had been named football queen, well then, to me that would have been something. Like everyone else in the freshman class, it was what you were to your friends and your school and not some obscure achievement in some achievement test within a time frame that made no sense to start with.

My daughter, De'on, is thrilled with the ability than she sees in me and would milk it for all it is worth. If it helps her in anyway with hers and Steve’s book then I'm glad. I used to think all the time that I might write a book. I know everyone has a story to tell within their life...something they have lived through and how they survived. How they kept their little corner of the world together. How they pulled the load that was their life. I think sometimes I should just quiet this thing within me ...but I haven't yet...After my story yesterday I thought of some incredible facts about the little woman, the gypsy lady that was my Mother. How did I come out of this life in a tiny trailer house or a three room apartment with my autograph book from before I started to school? How is it that my baby book is in my cedar chest along with awards from other little achievements? Mother never had enough room to hold onto an extra envelope in those World War II days, let alone my “saves.” Little nuggets from my childhood...but she did. She pulled it off somehow and she gave me a history, a great sense of belonging.What an incredible woman my mother was. I wish I had thought to tell her.