Big Weepy
Robert Lowes
April 1, 1999
Big Weepy, you're singing your tombstone song again. You're wearing your black turtleneck shirt. You were born to stare at your shoes. You're leading the parade of sad poets, riding your elephant-sized sorrow through the door. You know all the rhymes for sob. You wear your grief like jewels. Don't flash your miserable childhood at me. You spend too much time in the mines. You're a connoisseur of peeling paint, Big Weepy. You perk up when someone's mother dies. You ingratiate yourself at hospices. Your soul smells sour like a shut-in's house. You're a thousand years old, deaf to the squeal of the girl on the swing. They've finally banned you from weddings, Big Weepy. The lepers wonder what's wrong with you. The wrens are snickering at you. Judgment day is a big joke in the right light. The laughter knocks you down to your knees. Did you know it stopped raining? Somebody better start rising from the dead. For Christ's sake, laugh, Big Weepy. Any minute now, you'll be surprised.
Like the preview? To read this complete article
and 18,013 more in the archive—JOIN NOW!
Easily find high-quality, well-researched materials that provide a Christian perspective on topics ranging from headlines to history.
Start using this invaluable tool TODAY for preparing your Bible studies, presentations, class lectures, sermons, meetings, and more.
|
It's easy and quick to join:
Brought to You by Christianity Today Int'l |  |
|
| 
Find similar articles
E-mail this page
