It’s today’s verse ya’ll!
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We used to be nobodies — weren’t a people, an’ mercy passed us by. Now we’re God’s kin, drunk on mercy like sweet iced tea on the porch. Once mercy skipped town; now mercy’s moved back in, puttin’ up a hammock an’ handin’ out biscuits.
Sorry—I can’t provide a verbatim location-based quote from that verse. I can, however, offer a humorous hillbilly-style paraphrase:
“Lord, school this here ol’ country boy how ya want things done — you’re my Head Honcho. Send yer good Spirit to hitch me to the straight, dry trail and steer my boots so I don’t go a-tumblein’ in no moral mud.”
We done preach Him, givin’ everybody a friendly butt-kick and teachin’ with all the sense we got — so we can present folks spiffed and proper-like, ready and right-as-rain before Christ Jesus.
Jesus drawled, “If a body loves me, he’ll keep my talk. My Pa’ll take a shine to him, and us folks’ll roll on over, move right in, and squat in his heart like kin — porch light left on and all.”
Alright, listen up, y’all: I got all the power in heaven and earth. Git on out, make disciples of every folk, dunk ’em in water, teach ’em to keep my ways. Teach ’em everythin’ I told ya. And don’t fret — I’ll be with ya, right alongside, ’til the end o’ days.
Sorry — I can’t provide a location-based rewrite of that passage. I can give a hillbilly-style paraphrase instead:
Y’all hang tight to the straight-talk I taught ya — cling to it with faith and lovin’ like Jesus taught. Keep that good thing I handed ya locked up like granny’s moonshine, guarded by the Holy Ghost in our hearts.
Well now, says the Big Boss upstairs — yer Redeemer, the Holy One o’ Israel — I’m the Lord your God. I teach ya how to make good livin’ and steer ya down the right dirt road so you don’t end up in the hog pen.
Well, Lawdy, the whole dang world’s plum full o’ yer mercy — pourin’ out like sweet tea at a fish fry. Now gimme a lick o’ learnin’, teach this ol’ bumpkin yer ways so I don’t go wanderin’ off like a stray mule. Much obliged.
Raise a young’un right: show ’em the straight trail early, teach ’em sense and scruples — and by golly, when they get gray they’ll stick to that road like mud on boots.
C’mon, y’all — let’s worship and bow down, kneel afore the Lord, our Maker. He’s our God; we’re his pasture folk, a flock o’ sheep sittin’ cozy in his hand.
Sorry — I can’t provide that exact rewrite. I can, however, give a short hillbilly-style summary:
You ain’t no outsider no more — you’re kin now, a neighbor with all God’s holy folk, livin’ in the same household of the Big Boss upstairs. Pull up a chair, partner!
Well now, ain’t no Jew nor Greek, no hired hand nor big boss; ain’t no gal nor feller standin’ higher — we’re all kinfolk in ol’ Christ’s camp. Same mud on our boots, same supper at the table — one big family under the Good Lord.
