Subject: Unusual Things Happen In The Bi-le Belt. Part 2.
June 5, 2006.
This says something about an apple tree.
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Apo-tles Appear On TV
"I was up late one night," says Woody Delp of Bristol,
Tennessee, "And turned on the television. And there was
Mathew, Mark, Luke and John. They was trying to sell, of
all things, one of them amazing all-purpose, all in one
gadgets. A pocket fi****ng
rod-slicer-dicer-barbecue-rotisserie-lawn-mower."
"Well, I had to buy one. It was a great deal. $--.--,
plus postage and handling. I couldn't let them to think
they was failures, could I?"
May 29, 2006
http://evangelicalspectator.typepad.com/the_evangelical_
spectator/2006/05/apostles_on_tv_.html
Hailstorm
Last week hailstones fell on east Tennessee. We received
the following for one of our readers, 10 year-old Tilly
Hawkins of Johnson City, Tennessee.
Lightning's omen,
Thunder's din.
The sky has lost its marbles!
May the tournament begin!
May 29, 2006
http://evangelicalspectator.typepad.com/the_evangelical_
spectator/2006/05/hailstorm.html
New Lincoln Do***ent
A new handwritten account of the aftermath of President
Abraham Lincoln's assa-sination has been discovered. The
do***ent was found in the attic of George W. Forster. "I
didn't even know I had, Mr Forster said. "My grandson
Tommy found it when he was looking for an old baseball
glove."
The Evan-elical Spectator has learned that the do***ent
was written by a servant at the funeral home in which
Lincoln was embalmed. It provides some insight into the
atmosphere surround Lincoln's death. The do***ent
represents the account of how one funeral home servant
reacted.
"I was the diener on duty when they brung him.
Mr Lincoln lie flat on his back and they come round, The
doctors looking upon his corpse. The certificate been writ.
But they come look anyway, And they eyes dark as holes in
the ground, They mouths quivering, sad somebody Shot him and
the terribles come over Them faint. They sad hearts Like a
pack of dogs yapping At the scent of horses. The torn flesh
too much to look upon, And dripping on the floor, The bl-od
and tears. Such savage blows took him And slay the life from
his bones. The b-ood I thought was mine. And sudden burst out
his chest A wind, a storm blew, His so-l sprang up And lifted
the room. Swept out and rang the chu-ch bells, Spun the
weather vanes atop The schools and broke the windows In the
theatre where it all happened.
Startled the dark, rumbled off Through the state of
Virginia, Knocking down fence posts And blowing out candles
for miles. The doctors knowing of such things And not being
surprised none the least,
Stepped back, momentarily courteous In their esteem for
the dead, Closed upon him when the wind died, Not one put
on notice At the phenomenon. There being great mystery Upon
each dead person visited, And why not this one? A horrid
black landscape the sinews, And unusual works of the
int-stines, Turns and twists beneath and around, Spun
through him like any creature Caught by time or hunted. The
quarry of the mad man. I began to ache like a dead man.
There was a fever in me, But when I touched his hand Cold
and frost covered me From head to foot. The coldest fire
ablaze Inside me broke. That world too far for me to know.
The unfolding of his flesh, The pain of it that strange.
Later that night they come And wake me and asked me To stand
him down. He been embalmed, pretty quick. Remove him to the
lower quarters. Lay him in the coffin. He weighed about
three ton. I wrestle him from off the block. I pulled and
shoved him, He pulled and shoved me back like the dead
Always do on account they don't like it.
His limp arms and neck, they fall back. They curl around
me.
He grunt. I carry him down the stairs. He know me. He
opened his eyes. Look at me and say them sad soft words In
my ear that make me feel so lonely. I dress him up. I
pretty up his face. All pink rouge, smidgen of charcoal,
Touch off his cheeks and lilac-scented Sprinkle, daub, rub
him to life. Dress him in that Sunday black suit, Button
it up, straighten his tie, ****ne his shoes, trim his beard,
A little, not too much, Just off the sideburns. His ghostly
stillness In that mule-drawn wagon Moved the country."
http://evangelicalspectator.typepad.com/the_evangelical_
spectator/2006/05/new_ambraham_li.html
Tennessee Man Walks on Water
"I'd expect Evang-lical Ch-istians to do this, not regular
Chri-tians," June Ringley of Mocking Bird, Tennessee says.
"Ev-ngelicals do it all the time. But not Chris-ians."
"It ain't so much a contest as it is an experiment. I've seen
it done." Mrs Ringley turned around in time to see a man
gingerly step on the water and begin to cross the lake.
His arms extended out, as though he was balancing on a
tightrope. "I know him, I know that fellow. That's George
Humphrey and he ain't no Ev-ngelical. He's a pres-yterian,
which is pretty religious and all. But nothing that would
keep him up like that. I hope that boy don't drown. Look at
him. He's kind of wobbling. But he's doing it. I can't
believe it. He actually walking on water. A pr-sbyterian
walking on water. Ain't that amazing?"
"Ev-angelicals, on the other hand, have been known to dance
across the lake.
They're all big show-offs. They mambo, fox trot, tango,
waltz across the lake every Sunday. Big smiles on their
faces. You ain't seen nobody happier than them Evang-licals
when they being watched by a bunch of Bap-ists. Yes, we
applaud. We jump up and down."
"It's a beautiful sight, don't get me wrong. Water is a
highly ****ous thing.
If you weren't of good faith then you'd sink like a ton
of bricks."
"I've watched Evang-lical children skip across that lake.
Not get wet at all. Not a drop, They don't splash. It's
all the fun in the world. And one of the benefits of being
a Ev-ngelical."
"The only drawback I can see is that it might scare away the
fish."
http://evangelicalspectator.typepad.com/the_evangelical_
spectator/2006/05/tennessee_man_w.html
St Bartholomew's Apples
St Bartholomew's is the oldest church in east Tennessee.
One day a tree appeared in the church garden. No one had
noticed it before. In a few days, the tree yielded fruit.
The tree was filled with apples. The biggest, reddest apples
anyone in east Tennessee had ever eaten. Each branch sagged
from the weight.
It didn't seem like a far-fetched thing to happen. The
congregation picked the apples. They were said to be the
sweetest apples anyone could remember eating. Delicious.
Everyone brought a basket to fill. Children climbed up to
the top branches and dropped apples to the crowd that had
gathered.
Naturally the apples reminded everyone of the garden of
Eden. But it seemed okay to eat the apples as that was long
ago. And Adam and Eve weren't around to discourage any of
the apple-picking. It didn't occur to anyone that eating the
apples would cause any consequence.
The ladies sold apple pies from the ones they picked.
A few ladies made apple-butter and apple jam. They made
apple fritters and apple cider and apple-crumb cake. It
seemed a good thing, as the money went to helping out the
church.
"I was there, Jeff Stone said, " I ate one of the apples.
And I don't know what happened. But that apple went down
inside and me and changed me. I felt happy all at once.
It was magic. I began to smile and laugh. I could enjoy
things I never enjoyed before. My head spun around. I like
everybody I knew.
Folks I really detested I suddenly say them as fine people
doing the best they could with what they had. I forgave
most of the people in my life I knew for doing things
against me. I even forgave the fox that got into my
hen-house and kil-ed my best layer."
"I had a bad cough and sniffles, said Faye Wyatt. "And
after I ate one of them apples my cold went away. I perked
up. I did."
"I ate two apples," said Milt Tampas. "And suddenly I
had energy to do things I haven't done in years. I fixed
my tractor, I painted my barn and I mowed my two acres.
Wasn't tuckered out. I was just starting. Pretty good for a
seventy-one year old man."
"I ate one, said Billy Talbot, "It was exhilarating. The
strangest thing happened. I can see things, hear things I've
never even imagined before. I hear an-els singing when I'm
in the backyard. I hear the crickets at night promising
me the happiest days. I feel a burst of freedom. Because
there's nothing in my way. Nothing interferes with my
desires, my five senses. And I have a sixth sense. It's the
sense that those apples gave me. Innocence."
"Not the innocence of a child. But the innocence of one
who was somehow pure.
Everything changed. Everything seemed so clear. Like a
intense bean of light ****ning down all around me. It
reached out to me. I knew things about myself and others I
didn't know before. I knew I could change. I could hear so
much better.
I could understand them, It's as though I didn't have
ears before. And they could hear me. I could see things. The
most wonderful things."
"When I bit into the apple," Carlotta Jones said, "I
heard a snap, a crunch like something had broken inside me.
A box buried deep within me. A vessel. And from it flowed
upward a joy. The juices of the apple made me light-headed.
I was carefree. Suddenly uninhibited. I sang like bird. I'd
never done that. I was seized by the impulse to let my
sp-rit free. The vessel that had broken inside released me.
And around me everywhere I looked there was a garden. Tall
trees, beautiful wild flowers. Birds were singing. And I
knew that beautiful garden came from inside me. I had
carried it with me all the time and didn't know it."
(JW If anyone knows what town the St. Bartholomew's
church is in East Tennessee please let me know. I have
grafted tree in the past. Some people refer to me as a
sort of Johnny Appleseed.)
John Winston. johfw@[EMAIL PROTECTED]
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