“Come for tea, my people” and Other Mistaken Christmas Lyrics
An invitation to tea with the Lord sounds, well, heavenly.
An invitation to tea with the Lord sounds, well, heavenly.
I can’t explain, even to myself, why I’ve taken such pains to keep one previous owner’s “Streaky Bay Parish Announcer” bulletin from December ’65 in its proper page.
I can’t very well store it in my office as usual—five weeks into the semester, I have yet to receive a key.
There are several “worst parts” about driving across the country.
But there was Spanish to learn.
One of the things about moving around a lot is that people start to ask you, “Does it feel like home?”
How many other transitions in life are like this: inevitable, beautiful, a blessing, and a pain so deep its aches reverberate through generations.
I’ve derided this genre for too long. I’ve got a lot of catching up to do.
So consider this a love letter from your faraway child.
Next Wednesday is just a Wednesday. No one has written any songs for Wednesday.