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Shouting for joy
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On occasion when I was child, we traveled up into the mountains to visit what Mama called her “home church,” meaning it was the church in which she had grown up. It was mainly summer revivals that took us there because Sundays were devoted to the church where Daddy pastored. I had heard tell, usually as I sat in the back seat of the car as we drove somewhere and Mama and Daddy talked, that congregants at my grandmother’s church would get “happy with the Spirit” and shout.

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