See me, hear me
I grew up listening to Petra.
Not grew up, exactly, because in our house Christian rock was still rock and since rock was the devil’s music and originated from the rhythms of Satan worshiping African tribes it had no place on the family hi-fi, which was not at all racist but a Very Biblical Worldview.
But then in high school my parents mellowed, slightly, and while I couldn’t crank the Def Leppard within earshot of Mom and Dad, I could be seen toting around cassettes of bands like Petra, or Mylon Lefevre and Broken Heart, and Whiteheart.
The Walkman is gone, but I still crank those now and then out of a sense of nostalgia, because even with all the associated religious trauma, these guys could play, and let’s not go full baby and bathwater with our music.
Today’s Petra-related earworm:
Seen and not heard, seen and not heard
Sometimes God’s children should be seen and not heard
There’s too much talk and not enough walk
Sometimes God’s children should be seen and not heard
True whether you’re Christian, Muslim, or something some other -ish/-ist/-ism.
Walk the walk, whatever it may be.
Except.
Don’t forget that part of walking that walk as we’re all trying to get home to see and hear each other.
As a neurodivergent autistic person who’s somewhere on the spectrum that makes me a high functioning asshole much of the time, that gift of being seen/heard is one of the most precious things anyone has ever given me.
And I haven’t had it often.
That scarcity has taught me to do what I can when I can to give that gift to others.
See them. Hear them.
Doesn’t mean I always get it right.
Some days I just want to crank up the Walkman and walk right by.