I was home for 10 hours after returning from Israel, before I had to board a flight to Nashville, Tennessee. My feet were still swollen, and my eyes had huge bags. Somehow Mike had made these travel arrangements without double-checking the dates.  I had never been to Tennessee, and so I was looking forward to exploring this part of our country, with our son Mikos and his family.

By the time I arrived in Nashville my family was two days ahead of me. They had walked miles visiting the Johnny Cash Museum, eating at Martin’s Bar-B-Que, and touring the Belmont Mansion. I was still acclimating to the time change, and all I wanted to do was sleep. What I did find interesting about Nashville was the restaurants, as they were not only cooking up some good grub, but the live music was the personality of this beautiful, clean city.

Graceland

The following day we visited the Country Western Museum, and from there we drove Graceland. On the way to Graceland we listened while Mikos read about the historical battles that took place. As we got closer we listened to Paul Simon’s “Graceland.” I am very glad that Mikos and Jenny engaged Maddie and Will in the tangible history lessons. Maddie and Will are the “Selfie Generation” (I coined that phrase). They were mostly on their devices, with the exception of the tours, and they have proven to be great travelers.

Elvis’s Graceland was opulent, and it displayed his personal touches. Throughout the tour Elvis’s soundtrack could be heard. He was a simple man with a big heart and a lot of toys, including his private airplane and jet.  No man will ever reach his fame or fill his blue suede shoes; there will always be just one Elvis, and  I will forever remain an Elvis fan. He had everything with the exception of peace, may God rest his soul.

National Civil Rights Museum

The museum was commemorating the 50th anniversary of Martin Luther Jr.’s  death while we were there. I was 15 years old when this great man was gunned down. I got this eerie sensation as we looked up to the Lorraine Hotel, and the room where Martin Luther King Jr. last stood. I remembered seeing it on the news. My respect for this powerful, godly man grew deeper as we walked through the maze of of the heartbreaking events that changed the course of our fellow man forever. I love Martin Luther King Jr., because he never took his eyes off the mission that God gave him.  His spirit was filled with love, and he knew that he was chosen by God to lead the way,as  he was the modern day Moses. Martin Luther King Jr. and Moses both led their people out of slavery. Though he witnessed hate at many levels, he never delivered a hate message. His words were articulate, and moving, and never putting another human being down. His speeches were inspired by the still small voice of God. If only politicians could follow this great man’s example, our country would be a much better place. The National Civil Rights Museum was a reminder and eye-opening place that every American should experience.

Memphis Food

Memphis food was ribs and more ribs, dry or with sauce; either way it is pleasing to the palate. My preference is still up in the air. The fried chicken was exceptional, having  golden brown crust with a hint of some secret flavor that did a Mexican hat dance in my mouth. There was no conversation during this meal because it left us speechless.

We did, however, encounter an interesting food experience. After a late lunch we decided to have a light dinner at Friday’s. Our waitress’s accent was so thick that we needed an interpreter. When it was time to take our order, she sat at the table next to us and pulled out her pad. She lethargically took our order. She was so far from where I was sitting that I almost had to yell out my order. The photo of the French Onion Soup looked enticing so I ordered it. Jenny ordered a house salad. When Jenny’s salad arrived it was just a plate of lettuce. Jenny’s eyes widened as she asked for the rest of the salad. The slothful waitress looked surprised that Jenny would question her service. The picture showed tomatoes, red onions, cheese and cucumbers. I carefully watched as the conversation went sour. I knew then that my soup would  suffer the same consequences. Sadly, this dreadful service was just the beginning. Our poor grandson Will ordered sliders, and when they arrived the waitress lifted up one of the buns with her bare fingers and announced that there was indeed cheese on the burger. Will’s mini burgers were cremated to the point that if left on just another minute they would have turned to ash. After witnessing his mother’s ordeal, Will kept quiet. By that time my soup (which looked nothing like the picture) was set before me. As I suspected, it was room temperature. Will’s meal was sent back and my soup was taken off the bill. I shared one of Maddie’s chicken nuggets.  With such bad service, all we did was laugh in disbelief. We never complained, I guess because it was after all entertaining.

Traveling with my family was a joy and getting closer to Maddie and Will was an added blessing. I love the diversity of our nation, and learning more about the history was an education for my soul.  We have come a long way and still we have not arrived.

Colossians 3:13-14 New International Version (NIV)

¹³ Bear with each other and forgive one another if any of you has a grievance against someone. Forgive as the Lord forgave you. ¹⁴ And over all these virtues put on love, which binds them all together in perfect unity.

I received a phone call one recent Sunday, asking me to participate in a focus group. In the conversation, which  was brief I disclosed my cell phone number and my email address. The caller also informed me that the topics to be discussed were hot political issues. I was told that an email or text would follow with more details. The focus group was going to pay for dinner at a trendy Irvine restaurant, and also pay participants $150.

My head got really big after this phone call, as I was thinking, maybe they are reading my Blog and found it so interesting that they wanted my opinion. It did not take long for my hairdresser Misty to burst my bubble when she said, “You should be careful, it sounds like a scam.” I wanted to share with others about how “special” I was in being selected, but now a dark cloud of doubt filled my deflated mind.

I checked for any information via email or text from this group, but received no communication. I called the restaurant, and they too confirmed that nothing was scheduled. I was a little disappointed because the money would have come in handy for the upcoming trip to Israel.

I was busy cleaning the house when the phone rang the day of the scheduled meeting.  It was the focus group people calling to confirm my participation. My response was, “You mean the scam!” The lady was nervously trying to convince me that it was not a scam, and then proceeded to contact her supervisor. He told me to call the restaurant again to clear things up. I did, and it was legit.

When I arrived, I was directed to the bar to join the other participants. Yeah, I was not going to do that, I stepped outside and started to pray the Rosary. I asked God to humble me, and for Jesus to be seen through me, I also witnessed to the parking attendant. I walked back in and met some of the people. The only thing that I could find in common with some of them was that we were part of the human race. Republicans, Democrats, all mixed together, with ages ranging from a ninety year-old man, to a petite twenty-year-old young lady.

The mediator mentioned that he had an MBA from some Ivy League college, and is earning his living by collecting information, and selling it. The gathering was impressive, with video cameras and microphones set up. For some reason part of the group, myself included, thought that it was going to be a discussion on Dreamers, President Trump’s Tweets, or the great political divide. What we talked about was more community issues, like the homeless encampment along the Santa Ana River bed. One gentleman, a retired sheriff, informed us that the homeless are now referred to as displaced people. Since I have been working with the “Displaced” people for years I did have some knowledge to offer. I gleaned some information from a recent radio commentary that a priest was giving. He talked about all state hospitals being forced to close due to government cutbacks. Persons with mental disorders are now in the streets, and I know first hand that a large population of displaced are chronic addicts. The 90 year-old man added that he was employed by this type of insitutuion,  and he explained that the mental patients had a home and that their medication was monitored and controlled. Others in the group thought that it would be a huge financial burden to go back to opening mental hospitals. The sad reality is that the prisons are now housing many mentally ill persons, the population has increased from 5% to 20% within the last 25 years. The rest of the mentally ill are displaced and roaming the streets According to 2016 statistics put out by Social Solution, there are 564,708 displaced people in the U.S. Of these, according to Fact Sheet: Homelessness in California, 115,738 are living in California. We need a better solution to help displaced people, or the problem will continue to grow.

Another topic was our prison system, and the lack of rehabilitation. All but one person agreed that rehabilitation is the only avenue for parolees.

We were allowed to give an opinion on the matters discussed, we all listened and I was presently surprised as to how respectful we all were of our differences. The mediator explained that this type of forum produces the best information because people are honest in person.

The man sitting to my left  asked how we were picked for the survey.  To add to my humility, we were randomly selected because we are registered voters, not because they read my Blog.

1 Peter 5:6  

Therefore humble yourselves under the mighty hand of God, that He may exalt you at the proper time,

A few years ago, as I was driving home from Bible study, the Lord gave me a rap song. I kept repeating the lyrics so as to not forget. I got home and ran to write out the lyrics. The following morning I got up and shared with Mike about the rap song; he laughed in disbelief and continued with his workout on the treadmill.

I shared the song with several close friends and family members, and for the most part the responses were positive. My godson Marcus suggested that I submit the lyrics to a popular Christian Hip Hop group. The task of reaching this group was nearly impossible, and for months I left messages with Gotee Records, but to no avail. I prayed about it often, but but I still got no response.

I was checking my LinkedIn account, and out of the blue was the face and name of the lead singer. I immediately contacted him, and to my amazement he quickly responded with instructions as to how to get the information to him through We Transfer & Dropbox. He was kind and humble, but of course I had no clue about what he was talking about. I followed up and explained that I only had the lyrics.

At that point the few songs that I had written were not copyrighted, so I quickly did a poor man’s copyright. The poor man’s copyright is done by mailing the songs to yourself with a postmark date from the U.S.Postal service. This copy must always remain sealed because if the lyrics becomes a legal matter or a copyright infringement the poor man’s copyright will hold up in court. When the poor man’s copyright arrived a few days later, addressed to me, Mike opened it, so I had to do it all over again.

After Mike opened the poor man’s copyright, I did not feel comfortable and determined that I needed to take the proper measures and do a government issued copyright. I contacted several copyright services online, but did not want to pay $150. Again, I prayed and was lead to the government website for copyright. The charge was $33. It took over five hours of perseverance and prayer before I could breathe a sigh of relief. After I sent the information electronically, I felt comfortable to forward two of the songs to famous Hip Hop group.

Months later I received a warning dream from the Lord. Yes, God talks to me, and guess what? I listen. This was the dream:

I was in my backyard patio with one of my sisters when Mike came in with two white envelopes  from Federal Express, with blue writing. Mike handed them to me, but I told him that I would open them in private. I stepped inside and when I opened the first envelope, it was one of my songs. As I took a closer look at the song I saw that some of the words in my original lyrics were whited out, and other words added. I opened the second envelope, and saw the same thing, with some words whited out and new words added in. This was a clear message that I could no longer have the Christian Hip Hop group continue with my creation. I contacted the lead singer and shared the dream, telling him that because of the warning dream I had to pull the project. The leader of the group was gracious and thanked me.

I am not a starving songwriter, so I’m just waiting to hear from the Lord on how to promote my new venture.

This song is about a good girl who is serving the Lord, and being pursued by a worldly bad boy, as follows:

The Odd One

She doesn’t like the limelight doesn’t like the flair

She sings a cappella while waving her hand in the air

She is the odd one, the God one

The odd one, the God one

She is despised by the others because they gave it up

She operates in love not on any luck

She moves to the soft sound of the beat inside her head

Don’t think that you can get into your bed

She is sold out

She is the Odd one the God one

The odd one the God one

She has a shield about her

She knows her way around

But when she passes me all my heart does is pound

She is the odd one, the God one

The odd one, the God one

She combs her hair but once, all I do is stare

She never bothers to look in the mirror

Her beauty well defined

She calls me by a name that is not even mine

Doesn’t matter to me to hear her voice divine

She is the odd one the God one

The odd one the God one

Her life in one direction

My heart all up in her affection

She is the odd one the God one

The odd one the God one

© Lynda Ciriza