There are those who would conjure visions of crude and vulgar Joyce tromping across the platform in those ill-fitting army boots, F-words spewing from one side of her mouth, curses heaped curses to anyone who would ask her to remember the Bible. Any conventional motivational speaker or mother can tell you what you did wrong, but anyway it is fairly obvious that self-obsessed Joyce was born to sling pies at Harvey's truck stop, as most would prefer not to have to say in so many words. Dim-witted truck drivers really like her type of Sassycrass but we only drive cars so we really would not know anything about that. Where are the healings? The altar calls? The church? Where is the forgiveness from sin that we find in Jesus Christ? No, it's all just Joyce's big ego trip.
Which reminds me that I was never really a fan of Johnny Cash. I never had a roommate named Pam so obviously I was never all that interested in these Cash shipments. I only vaguely remember that June from New Hampshire, who lived down the hall at Evangel, was Pam Hart's roommate. I cannot begin to imagine what kind of spin June would put on whatever was said in the room given June's empty state of mind and given that June and Jan Green, who was my wicked witch roommate, were pretty much equal in terms of being too worldly wicked for Christian college.
