Tribute to Ernest Angley

I have had a seriously difficult time with religion in the south. I see the Church of Christ's on one corner, the Methodist's caddycorner, the Presbyterians across from them and by golly a good ole Southern Baptist caddycorner from that.
And their not talkin'.
As in ever.
Because Caddycorner #1 thinks that Corner #2 is going straight to you-know-where, and Caddycorner #2 thinks that Corner #3 shouldn't be baptizing backwards and Corner #4 thinks that Caddycorner #1 ought to be resting on Saturday, not Sunday and that all that hoopin' and hollerin' is way too loud and they should not be allowing drums in a church building.
This is where I, as a born and raised Southerner, get very embarrassed. I don't know why I take this so personally quite honestly, I mean to each his own right? Live and let live. But it just doggone gets under my skin.
My hairdresser says the injustices of the world drive me crazy. Yeah, somethin' like that.
The injustices of our religious system make me even crazier.
My husband was raised Church of the Brethren, which is basically MENNONITE.
You come down here to the south askin' for the local Church of the Brethren and they're like, um..the brethra' who?
And then good ole' non-opinionated ME, was raised, well... I'm not quite sure but somethin' like Southern Baptist with a twist of "let's stay home and have church of the bed and watch Ernest Angley on TV."
That IS how I got "saved" you know.
Good ole Ernest.
SHOULDABOUGHTAHONDA'! SHOULDABOUGHTAHONDA'! SHOULDABOUGHTAHONDA'!
He said if I wanted to go to heaven, not hell, I needed to put my hands on the screen, right over his and say a magic prayer that would catapult me right to heaven when I died. I thought that was a pretty good idea. After all it was free, and I didn't have any money anyways I was only ten.
I tip-toed to the TV screen, stretched out my ten year old fingers, RIGHT over his so each finger matched his just perfectly. And I said it. The prayer. The big one.
Not a dang thing happened.
I'm not sure what I was expecting. Some big man to come down from the sky and sit on my head, for the house to shake, or for the Ark-Angels to sing a merry tune... but nothin'. Just plain ole nothin and the next thing I know is my hands are spread on the TV set with the Palmolive Liquid Lady.
Hmmm.
But what happened next was quite wonderful. I was introduced to a sweet youth group and was given a "tape" of Sandi Patty singing Via Dolorosa, and the rest they say is "history". I listened to that song so many times my yellow Walkman broke.
And forever I would know in my heart that the God of the Universe sent his only son to die so that I could live shame free.
Emphasis on free.
And free I am to this day. Mistakes, screw-ups and all. I'm free.
And for that my friends, I am truly thankful.
Thankful that Mr. Ernest Sweet Shouldaboughtahonda Angley got up and put his crooked little fingers on that old television screen, so that I could begin the most grace-filled adventure of my life...
Mistakes and all...