Thursday, January 1, 2026
When I was very young, I did something naughty and was punished by my aunt Pat. I don’t have a recollection of these events, but aunt Pat loves this story. After I was punished, I went into the bathroom and sobbed the words, “I’m gonna tell my mama all about it.”
Tell God your plans, tell her all about it. Tell her how wronged you were and, and she’ll laugh at your plans for vengeance, just like my family laughed at me 45 years ago. A line that lives in infamy and has been fodder for repeated comedic relief.
Tell God your plans, tell yo’ “mama” all about them. Tell her how scared you are and how unfair life is. Tell her all about all the injustices, and you’ll wake up to the fact that you are talking to yourself. Tell her, “Nobody’s seen the trouble I’ve seen.” You must be nobody, then.
They say if everybody put their troubles in a pile, you’d take yours back when you saw the hell people faced. How do we face heaven?
We don’t tell our mama’s all about it. We shut up, buck up, and accept. No vengeance belongs to you. Like Job, there is no god to shake your fist at. There is no god to confess to. If God is omniscient, you’re just telling your mama all about it as if she don’t know, already. You’re talking to yourself with your so-called comeback story and plans. How about no story?
I don’t like to interrupt myself with stories. I like to run the plan. I like to drop plans and simply see how it plays out, magical.
Tellin’ your mama all about it won’t help your plight nor protect you from fate. She’s heard and seen it all.
Now, let it go, you’re not in trouble. Besides, mama has no power over aunt Pat. They’re strangely synonymous.