"I always thought if they didn't like the prayer, they could step outside."

Apparently Jesus is the sixth Chatham County Commissioner. He wasn't democratically elected, but if you have a problem with that, you can just stop participating in your local political process, no biggie. Here's a simple form you can use if you should care to communicate with Chatham County's Commissioners.

Comments

is this the appropriate place

to complain about the dem party prayers? I don't have a problem with prayer but some of them are frightening. I'm not sure what religion it is when people ask Jesus to destroy our enemies.

That would be the lunatic fringe

of the Southern Baptist Church. You know, Christian soldiers and all ...

From my soon to be finished novel . . .

This sweet Jesus tumbled into life nineteen years ago in a doublewide outside Conway, South Carolina. A week after his premature birthday, his mother abandoned him on the steps of a ramshackle country church, whose minister took less than twenty-four hours to push the kid straight into the harsh hands of Joe Earl Gray and his wife Mary Kay.

A part-time snake-handler and full-time drunk, Joe Earl mostly wanted another slave to go along with the one he was married to, and that’s exactly what he got in the boy he named Gary. Young Mr. Gray went from crying to crawling in their four-room shack, and soon became his daddy’s second personal servant, shining his shoes, cooking his meals, and taking his belt without complaint. Kay welcomed the boy’s interference and steered clear of her hot-headed husband by working in the Airstream trailer out back, where she handcrafted brooms to support their simple lifestyle.

Gary was five when his mother got swept up in the gentle craft of broom-making on a visit to the South Carolina state fair. Over the next ten years, her own rare talent emerged as she married gnarled wisteria branches to handsome cornstraw heads. Twisted Kays, she called them. Collectible country kitsch.

But then Kay went and got god involved, and her business went to hell. She’d been in church, listening to a reading from the Gospel of John, chapter eleven, verse thirty-five. The deacon said ‘Jesus wept,’ but Kay heard ‘Jesus swept,’ and a marketing plan was born. Within a few months, she had created a dozen magnificent brooms with polished dogwood handles and fancy hang tags, each named after a dead apostle.

I want more

-- are you serious? about it being part of a book? It's funny as hell. If you're joking, I'm afraid I have to insist you make good on your words and write the whole thing.

I have 379 other pages

and about 100 more to go. It's called Jesus Swept . . . and I doubt my long passed mama and daddy would approve. But a writer's gotta do what a writer's gotta do . . .

I'll make sure you get a personally autographed original when I'm all rich and famous!

I want it

I'm gonna hold you to it.

Deal.

Now I have my first good reason to actually finish the darn thing!

If you ever need readers comments

(or copy editing???) You know where I am.

If you need some Conway, SC ideas

I had the .... pleasure of working there for a year.

Jesus Swept ticked me off. Too short. I loved the characters and then POOF it was over.
-me