VIDEO INTERVIEW | Meet Me at the Altar by Tamika Hall | Written Voices Blog
Tamika Hall is the author of Worshipreneur's Guide ( avg rating, 3 ratings, 1 review, published ), Love Meet Me At the Altar (The Altar Series Book 1). the meet me at the altar wedding show will help take some stress off the altar is not your usual christian fiction novel author tamika hall draws you into the lives. See world news photos and videos at avesisland.info Tastes Flavors Of Mochi At Condemned Meet Me At The Altar By Tamika Hall Dear Twitpic Community.
Funeral service will be at 2: Pastor Jason Fortenberry will officiate the service. Visitation will be held on Monday, December 10, from 5: Brother Joe Tolar will officiate the service.
Pallbearers will be family and friends. Carolyn Joy was an avid college and professional sports fan. She loved keeping up with politics on the local, state, and national level.
Carolyn was known for her enjoyment of any newspaper from anywhere and the fact that she read each and every one cover to cover. Visitation will be held on Saturday, December 8, from Funeral service will be at 3: John Wayne Ford, Sr.
John loved the outdoors riding on the 4-wheeler and spending time with the grandchildren. Those left to cherish his memory are his wife, Sally Ford; sons, John W. Visitation and memorial service will be held on Friday, November 30, Eldridge was retired from the Army where he proudly served his country for over 20 years. He was a minister of music, a member of the Christian Motorcyclists Association and loved to ride his Honda Gold Wing. Visitation and Memorial service will be held on Thursday, November 29, from 4: Full funeral and burial service will be held in Lawton, OK.
Visitation will be held on Tuesday, November 27, from 9: Funeral service will follow at Brother Jerry Day will officiate the service.
LeJune, 87, of DeRidder entered the gates of heaven on November 19, Jessie was born in DeRidder and lived in Ragley until he married his wife of over 60 years, Myrtle, in Jessie received a Bronze Star during his deployment in the Korean War.
In he continued his career with the Department of Defense as a civilian, from which he retired in as the Chief of Logistics at Communication Command Headquarters at Fort Polk.
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Jessie was a true spiritual leader of his home, and his faith never wavered, even during his short but courageous battle with cancer. Visitation will be Friday, November 23 from 5 — 7 p.
The family would like to extend their sincere appreciation for the love and care Jessie received from Dr. Max was born July 23, to Lum and Erse Nichols and was the youngest of their children. He retired from the Louisiana Department of Probation and Parole. He enjoyed hunting, gardening and reading. He attended Bethlehem Primitive Baptist Church and loved all of his brethren and sisters in hope.
Nichols, and Bentley Nichols. Visitation will be held on Tuesday, November 20, from 5: Brother Scott Myers will officiate the service. The family wishes to extend a very special thank you to our special care givers from Brighton Bridge Hospice, Carla, Brenda, and Diane. Your love and concern over the past year is very appreciated.
He loved to ride his Harleys and go camping. He was an avid gun and knife collector. Those left to cherish his memory are his son, Michael K. Schabel of Oshkosh, WI; and a host of family and friends. He was preceded in death by his parents, Orville and Nina Radig. A memorial service will be Saturday, December 8, at 2: He was preceded in death by his parents, Willie and Margaret Hargrove. Visitation will be held on Monday, November 12, from 3: Brother Charlie Bailey will officiate the service.
Doyle accepted the Lord as his personal Lord and Savior at 16 and was ordained to serve as deacon 60 years ago. He faithfully served in churches where he was a member.
Doyle married the former Yvonne Jordan on May 8, Together they had four children. Doyle was raised in Simpsonville, Texas. He trained as a weather observer and maintained the teletype machine. Upon retirement, Gerald Johnson, mayor of DeRidder, appointed him to serve as City Electrician Inspector, and he inspected all electrical work at new building sites within the city limits of DeRidder and attended monthly board meetings with electrical contractors. Doyle always credited the Lord for closing and opening doors for his career.
He enjoyed his church, family, friends, fishing, football, playing dominos and working crossword puzzles. Doyle was preceded in death by his parents, five brothers, four sisters, and two sons, Reginald Ray Tucker and Alan Doyle Tucker. The family will receive friends from Visitation and funeral service will be on Saturday, November 10,with visitation starting at 8: Paul, Mahlon St.
Albert Lee Willis, Jr. He met and married Gladys Teen Smith on December 16, and remained so until his death. He is preceded in death his parents and nine siblings.
Tyesha was a fulltime substitute teacher at DeRidder High School. She was planning to graduate from Upper Iowa University in December with a degree in accounting. Her passion was singing and sharing her God given talent with the community. Glendis and Ever Mae Shyne. Visitation will be held on Friday, November 9, from 5: Those left to cherish his memory are his sons, Roger L.
Visitation will be held on Thursday, November 8, from 5: Hoosier will officiate the service. Funeral services will be held Saturday, November 10, at 2: Condolences and Flowers can be sent to the church. She was preceded in death by her parents, Bobby and Kathy Ownby. He was preceded in death by his parents, G. Visitation will be held on Wednesday, November 7, from 5: Brother Robert Bruce Simmonsen will officiate the service. She was preceded in death by her brothers, John Keel and D.
Keel; parents, Dempsey and Marie Keel. Visitation will be held on Tuesday, November 6, from 5: Reverend George Lee Glass will officiate the service. Barnhill McInnis Nelwyn J. McInnis was a real estate agent for more than 25 years in the New Orleans Metro area. She was an avid golfer and piano player. She was preceded in death by her parents, A. Visitation and funeral will be held on Sunday, November 4, Visitation will be at Brother Jerry Key will officiate the service. She was once so happy, on her way to college she steered a blinding gold Mustang through the heart of Baghdad and courted bright ambitions, but after the invasion she has nothing, finds herself so far from the centre.
American soldiers liked the woman from Iraq and Americans ran over her gold Mustang with a tank while she was trapped at the steering wheel and then I meet her in her new life in Rome, in her exile. Birds and countries flying through the air like scalding shrapnel, all these wax nations, all these melting borders and homes. Loaded down by buckets of dirt and rocks, men trudge out of the earth carrying rocks by hand through the hotel atrium, lugging buckets to a tiny truck the size of a scooter.
In a silent prayer I call upon the backhoes of the nation to help them. I want to chat up the soft-eyed Spanish woman who inhales cigarettes in the atrium. In her white sundress blood speaks in her skin and she reminds me of Natasha, a similar face and hair, as if I know this person, a sister-messenger, though Natasha is too health-conscious to smoke, Natasha is more green tea than Pall Malls.
Angelo moves slowly to a long table, his grey hair slicked back, a beaked nose like a hawk; he is generous to us, he is regal. We also carve up a spicy sausage the size of a small pig and an amazing cake filled with light custard. Am I saying it right? Basta, Angelo says modestly. Angelo is ambitious, owns many buildings, and I find myself wondering how much real estate he has. Or how he owes.
The crew has no jackhammer or bobcat. Excavators and dump-trucks are too wide for the narrow lane. So the work is done by hand and back and legs, like labour scratched out thousands of years ago. Will our hotel collapse? Every time they dig in Rome they find something, the Spanish woman says, reading my mind. It is impossible to do anything. If they try to expand the subway, the new line they can dig, a tunnel is narrow, that is okay, but a new station means excavating a much broader space and then they find a temple to Saturn, to Venus, they find a villa, they find rude frescoes, and work is halted.
A stray cat crawls into lost catacombs and they must bring in specialists in archeology and incest. So apologies to the world, but Rome will have no new subway lines. Bottles of champagne arrive, like the hand-cut prosciutto, courtesy of generous Angelo, and the champagne thrills Tamika, she scrambles for her camera to snap photos of the large dark bottles.
I find this endearing, and wonder if Tamika wants the photos to show her parents or grandparents that she moves in champagne circles.
I feel guilty lounging around with Eve and Tamika and the Spanish woman while the men work in this heat, passing by us with buckets of rocks and earth. They must think me a rich tourist, that I am lazy, that I am lucky. Am I lucky, I wonder. They dig under the hotel and I hope the undermined foundation will be all right.
I am not staying at this hotel, I am staying by Termini. Do you know my friend? Do you know Madrid? Perhaps the Spanish woman loves the heat, like Natasha. The Madrid hotel was shelled during the Spanish civil war. And I remember St. Sebastien and the threat of bombs in Basque country. Does Natasha still keep her hair long, light striking her like a saint? Eve wears a fichu cape and a cute Oriental coolie hat to fend off the sun.
He speaks to her breasts in heavily accented English. That is a very nice shirt. I chat with the Spanish woman several times in the atrium, but find I cannot ask her out because I am sure she is waiting for me to ask her out and I hate the moves and the knowledge and the lack of knowledge.
Her name is Elena. How do you say dinner and drinks in Spanish the dream of a common language? How do you say that you are so very tired of zombies? I wish I had my old phrase book from years ago in Spain. We went to Australia, one woman says.
We went camping, it was fun. They offered me all kinds of seafood and I said no. Well, we had some. Those are positive memories! Mary, you still have memories to come. A set of problems is just a new chapter. I make noise with a chair on my side of the terrace so they know I am there, but it has no effect, the two women keep talking, so I abandon my comfy terrace to zigzag bridges crossing the Tiber.
I step inside out of habit and curiosity; every church has a relic, fragments of the true cross, bones, thorns, nails. What chance that they are real? Now I hold back. What if he knew you were looking for someone new.
What do Italian women like, what should I say? My apologies, but you must be Italian to seduce. So what team does the Pope pull for? South Africa is killing Italy in the Euro Cup; Angelo and the girls with beehive hair grimace as one. The goalie moves the wrong way with his ski gloves out-stretched.
Italy has a gifted team, but they seem jinxed, they lose every match. For the locals this is heart-breaking and suspicious: Angelo holds one hand up high: Then a hand low: I try to imagine him in a blazer.
Later he may try to kill himself in the Don Valley, but how can our group know that? Ray-Ray keeps saying that he was a celebrity in China, the girls on campus loved him, flocked to him, thinking he must be an NBA star because he was so tall. But he is not so well loved in Italy. In the hotel Ray-Ray doggedly pursues the chambermaids room to room, his big wolf teeth in a grin.
Let them do their work! But what of my gaze, and my crush on Irena, our Croatian chambermaid? Am I so different than Ray-Ray? Every day I speak to Irena on the stairs or when she knocks on the door of my room to ask if I need my room cleaned.
Irena gently scolds me in the hall: You might step on broken glass! You are a free spirit. And what chance of stepping on glass when Irena guards our sparkling halls?
Being scolded by Irena is enjoyable. She first showed me the long route to my rooftop room.
Why do I feel my pursuit of her is not base, but is high minded, a noble romantic quest? Three women were washing a floor and Marco had to get in the room for inventory, so he took off his shoes to tiptoe past. They were incensed; the clean wet floor should be made dirty rather than Marco take off his shoes.
A man should just walk through. They are still very old world. On my way out of my room one fine morning I see Irena making up the beds next door, in what I think of as the sex room, as this room is used by so many mysterious couples. Irena pauses by the bed, looks over. My room is fine. I have everything I need. You are lucky, she may say. That is the usual extent of our talk. But today she stops her work, today she wants to chat. What is life like there? Here in Italy it is all business. You need a friend, a connection.
And if you have no friends? Nothing can be done for you. With Italy I think of art and culture. Clearly it is the other way around. Irena tells me of her home in Croatia, the hills of white stone above the sea, she says in Croatia there are mountains, but not too high, they are just perfect.
Her town once a Roman colony and now she is drawn to Rome, her town once a key port in the salt trade, but now its beaches are covered with roasting Germans, the Germans are everywhere, the EU accomplishing what Hitler could not.
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London a magnet for her, but London is so expensive and school in England is so dear, thousands and thousands of pounds Sterling. She worries, she worries about the crash of the Euro and the terrible economy and the backlash in Rome and Athens and Madrid and she sees the TV news of arson and riots and jobless males battling police and attacking foreigners do we have that in common, Irena, we are both foreign?
She is an immigrant, as were my parents, but her hill town is close to Italy, she did not need to step in a sinking boat, she rode to Italy by fast train. Irena says she worries that what is happening elsewhere is sure to spread here and become far worse. Though Napoli has the best food. It is the best city. Irena has three languages and I have none.
I heard her speaking Croatian and the language sounded like jagged Russian colliding with musical Italian. How long must Irena clean tile floors in Rome, work in a hotel and save a few Euro to put herself through school? She has no iPhone or tablet, no college student pub-crawls, no fast Bimmer or fake and bake tan, no Mom and Dad paying the credit card for a trip to the capitals of Europe.
The hotel was over-booked, desperate for a room, so for a few days he was farmed out to the apartment shared by several Croatian chambermaids. The young chambermaids treated him like a lord. The woman stares, suspicious of a shirker, suspicious of what I am after.
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Sometimes I feel like an exact saint of restraint, sometime I worry I possess the virtues of a dog running loose. But I am happy Irena wanted to chat with me about her future life in the U. A sickle moon hangs over the curved brick portal arch, moon and brick permanent fixtures both. And statues everywhere in Rome, long lines of anemic statues peopling rooftops, huge armies of silhouettes and future suicides crowding ledges, arms spread as if losing their balance or to leap from the ledge and get air in their beards, fly off and shudder like shaky kites around the white columns and spires and tourist piazzas.
They are not shy about staring wide-eyed, as if Tamika is some amazing piece of furniture perched beside me on a subway seat. In Philly she fits in fine; in Rome her dark skin draws unwelcome attention, eyes on her. Tamika tells me that she ate something that disagreed with her and warning she became sick on a moving public bus.
The driver stopped the bus and he called the police. No one seemed to be paying any attention, so after three or four hours I slowly stood up and walked out the door with some other people and came back and hid at the hotel. I get nervous when I see any police or a uniform. Italy has an uneasy relationship with colour, with Africa, Africa once part of its old Roman Empire and still so close, a slow boat-ride away from Sicily or the Italian island of Lampedusa far to the south where refugees swim to shore at this exact moment or they fail to swim to shore.
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Some citizens in northern Italy prefer the north, would like to be part of Switzerland or Austria or Friuli, Venice wants to be an independent serene republic. Italian cousins in the south are seen as uncouth, un-north, they are Terroni, of the earth, swarthy peasants, lazy, corrupt, brutish, violent, invaded and tainted by Arabs and Moors and Algerians, by heated kingdoms of darker blood, by invasion after invasion.
Men ask Tamika, Are you Africano or Americano? They want to be sure. To hear this is depressing. But now those years are different to my wife, now tainted, though not to me. Damaged people gravitate to someone like, to damaged people. I can empower my two children by standing on my own two feet. I make noises on my terrace to alert them, but they are like oblivious shoppers who block the whole aisle with their carts, no one else exists.
Is that flame too high?