"May We Forever Stand True"
Wedding anniversaries have a way of reminding you that the years are adding up. But so do monumental events in your children's lives. In 1970 Cheryl announced that she wasn't going to finish her last year of college; rather she was going to marry Norm Sanders, a find young man who was on the staff of Youth for Christ.
Of course, we'd wanted her to finish college. But she was an adult . . . We accepted their decision and wished them God's best. Too soon, the wedding plans were made and the day was upon us. I had been determined not to ruin Cheryl's day with tears, and I would have accomplished that goal if I hadn't stepped into the dressing room just as she positioned the veil on her head. Suddenly the memory of the little white bonnet with its pink rose buds swept over me. She was marrying a man whose heart was tuned to God, but in one sense she was still my baby. She put her arms around me and whispered, "Oh Mama, please don't cry. I want you to be just as happy as I am."
A few minutes later, as I watched her come down the aisle on Howard's arm, I smiled as broadly as she had wanted. But even as I sincerely smiled, memories were playing leapfrog. As the oldest, Cheryl had always had much responsibility. But instead of resenting the role, she had taken on the personality of
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a loving mother, braiding her sisters' hair while I finished ironing their dresses for a concert, baking birthday cakes for the younger children, and even caring for Lisa just as tenderly as a mother. Even while she was very young I had known that someday she would made a wonderful wife and mother, and I prayed for the little boy who would grow up to be her husband. Now there they stood together, pledging their love for each other and their desire to establish a Christ-centered home. My heart threatened to burst with thankfulness.
Cheryl's marriage slightly complicated life for Gail and Phyllis, as it curtailed the ministry of the Jones Sisters Trio. But they joined up with the Youth for Christ team, Soul Concern, and traveled the country, still singing God's praises. Whenever Soul Concern was in the Cleveland area, they all made our home their base. It was like having a whole bundle of talented children of my own, clustered around the piano and practicing for the next evening's program.
Gail and Phyllis stayed with the group for a year and then decided to go to flight-attendant training — Gail with United and Phyllis with Delta. Suddenly I was aware of every plane that flew over our home. At the distant sound of engines, I wrapped a prayer around each crew.
* * *
The aging process was evident to me in Howard's mother — as well as in my children. During my first years of teaching, she had insisted on preparing dinner each evening.
Always an independent woman, she saw that as her contribution to a busy household, and I was happy to accept her help. Within a few years, however, to her great frustration, her health failed rapidly.
There has been much written by sociologists, ministers, and others about the challenges of caring for what they call "the frail elderly" within our families. All of them have a list of dos and don'ts, but still there are no pat answers; each situation is different.
As Mother Jones's health continued to fail, her strong will
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doubled to the point it was no longer safe to leave her home alone. One afternoon in 1975 I walked into the kitchen just in time to see flames from an overheated skillet shooting toward the ceiling. I quickly reacted, smothering the flames, but the sight prompted a family conference. She couldn't stay alone, yet she refused to have a nurse or companion stay with her. "I could leave my job to stay with her," I offered. And just as Howard and I were seriously considering that possibility, praying for God's direction, the situation worsened dramatically. A series of strokes left her partially paralyzed, and we saw no alternative but to place her in a nearby medical facility. She was beautifully stoic about the situation; Howard and I were the ones who cried. Each day one of us visited her, and someone from the church was always stopping in as well, so she certainly wasn't forgotten. Still, even knowing we had no choice, I fretted over the decision.
One evening when Howard was away on another tour and I had just returned from visiting Mother Jones, the questions haunted me. She had been cheerful enough, asking about the children and giving an engaging account of the budding romance between one of the nurses and a visiting doctor, and yet . . . Had we done the right thing? I opened my Bible to the Psalms, but before I read one word, I put my arms across the pages and wept.
That familiar Presence suddenly stirred within me again. "Wanda," He said, "stop feeling guilty about My provision. Praise Me."
Praise Him? Well, of course I could be thankful such a clean, caring institution was available in Oberlin. And I could be thankful her good health over the years had allowed us to postpone this situation. And I could be thankful her friends from both the community and the church hadn't forgotten about her. And I could be thankful that in spite of the strokes, her mind had remained clear . . . . My list of praises went on and on, washing away the guilt.
When Mother Jones died a few months later, I could still praise Him, knowing that she was with the Lord and that we had done everything possible for her comfort and well being.
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* * *
With Mother Jones gone, Cheryl married, Gail and Phyllis working, and David finishing college, the house seemed empty. Once again I was thankful for my youngest girl, now in high school. But things livened up when everyone came home — especially at Christmas. One Christmas Eve stands out in my mind — the year Lisa was a sophomore. Howard had just gotten in from another trip and everyone was hurriedly dressing for a candlelight service. As I came down the stairs, my eyes caught the lights of our Christmas tree, and suddenly I just couldn't hurry; I wanted to savor every precious image — the decorated tree, the snow on the branches outside the window, the bright red poinsettias surrounding the fireplace, and Lisa adjusting her red choir robe.
"Oh, Father," my heart whispered, "thank You for Your gifts — and for this special moment." Then wanting to hold onto it somehow, I turned to call back up the stairs for Howard to bring down the camera. Just then the phone rang.
The woman on the other end quickly identified herself, but paused, as though uncomfortable. Finally, the words tumbled out.
"Mrs. Jones, I wonder if you can help me and my family. I've just gotten out of the hospital today after having a baby and my husband's on disability and we have four other children. We have an old car that's running, but we're just desperate . . . "
I gasped at her troubles, yet I was cautious. The holidays are always a good time for conartists. "Have you contacted anyone else? Do you have friends or family in the area?"
Her voice was low, sad. "No, there's nobody else to help us. I hated to bother you but we really are desperate."
The shame in her voice caused my cheeks to burn.
"Of course, we'll help. You come right on over. Do you know where we live?"
She seemed close to tears. "Yes. I just opened the telephone directory and looked for a person with "Rev." after his name. I've got your address right here."
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After I hung up, I hurried back upstairs to relay the conversation to Howard.
"You're right," he immediately replied. "We must help them." We agreed that he'd take Lisa on to the church and wait for us there. Then Gail, the first of the others to finish dressing, and I set to work, making a list of the food items a family of seven would need — meat and potatoes and fresh fruit and milk and of course four Christmas toys for the older children and eggs . . . Right in the midst of my enthusiastic list making, the doorbell rang.
When I opened the door, I saw a brunette woman in threadworn coat and a beautiful little girl, with long blond hair and the biggest blue eyes I'd ever seen.
My heart sent up a plea on their behalf. O Lord, so many needs on tonight of all nights . . .
Over the woman's shoulder I could see an old rusted car.
The woman looked startled for a brief moment when she saw me, maybe surprised at my color. But within a few moments, we were on our way to the only store still open on Christmas Eve.
I never saw that needy family again, even though I asked her to keep in touch and let me know how they were doing. As she said good-bye she expressed her gratitude. In a low and embarrassed voice she said, "Thank you, again."
I clasped her hand. "I'm glad to do this for Jesus' sake. Tomorrow's His birthday, so this is my present to Him."
I could see tears in her eyes, and she nodded as though remembering something from long ago. Then hurriedly, she left.
I stood in the snow, watched the old rusted car chug away, and then turned toward the peaceful scene of our home. The contrast of her pain and my blessings brought tears to my own eyes; I pulled my coat tighter around me as we hurried to join the others at the church.
On nights such as this, racial lines had been set aside as two women had reached toward each other — one needing help,
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the other willing to give it. And that's the way it is supposed to be. A one-line prayer grew out of that Christmas encounter. "O Lord please use me to show Your love!" It stays on my lips — as the desire of my heart.
* * *
That next year, two more strangers came into our life — but on a more permanent basis. After Howard had spoken at a chapel service for the Cleveland Indians, first baseman Andre Thornton thanked him for his message and then asked a request. "My wife and I have an off-season Bible study, and we'd be honored for you to speak to the group."
Impressed with Andre, Howard wrote his name and number into his Bible, promising to keep in touch — and that he would indeed speak.
That same day, Howard spoke to the opposing team — the Baltimore Orioles. Another young black player, Pat Kelly, punctuated each of Howard's spiritual points with a hearty, "All right, Rev.! Praise the Lord!" Afterward, he too asked if he could keep in touch with Howard, so his name was written down too, right next to Andre Thornton's.
We had no way of knowing it then, but both young men were destined to become important people in our lives.
In October of that year, Andre, his wife and their two children were in an accident that made the headlines of the Cleveland papers. Their van hit a patch of ice and flipped, killing Andre's wife and baby daughter.
Howard was out of town for another crusade, but when I read the news I recognized the name — having seen it in Howard's Bible. As soon as he arrived home a few days later, I greeted him with the sad news.
"I need to see him," Howard said, and at Andre's request the two spent several hours reading Scriptures together, listening to God's comfort and counsel.
In the next several weeks, Howard called Andre several times to encourage him, and suddenly it was Christmas — no time for anyone to be alone, or so I thought. We were having a
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holiday dinner party, and I was compiling the guest list when I said, "Howard, I think we should invite Andre and his son, don't you?"
"Oh, he probably won't want to be bothered with people right now. He won't feel like talking," Howard answered.
"Maybe not, but surely he'll feel like eating. You call him and let him make the decision."
To Howard's surprise, Andre accepted, saying he and little Andy did need to get out of the house.
The day of the party, I hurried home from school to fix dinner and to discover that Gail had arrived unexpectedly due to a flight schedule change. As usual, she was full of stories. I handed her a knife, and asked her to chop vegetables, and listened to her tales.
When Andre arrived, he was very quiet. But other guests soon arrived and chatter soon filled the house. After dinner, Howard showed travel slides. I served chocolate cake, and then gradually the guests left.
By the end of the evening, David and Gail were in the kitchen, playing ball with four-year-old Andy. Andre, Howard, and I quietly sipped our coffee in the living room. As we talked, it was hard to ignore the childish laughter in the kitchen. All three of them were obviously having a good time. When it was time for Andre to go, Andy hung back, clinging to David's and Gail's hands, glad to have some new friends.
A few days later, Andre called to thank us — and to invite us all to dinner at his home. As it so happened, Gail was again home between flights and she went with us. That evening she talked to Andre more than Andy; their casual conversation began to heal his grief. To make a long story short, a year later Howard escorted Gail down the aisle toward a beaming Andre and then officiated at their wedding.
That march down the aisle included a commitment to immediate motherhood. But as I watched Gail, I knew she was prepared for the job. I remembered, too, her special sensitivity to my missing Howard when he had to be away. When I cried, she was the first to put her arms around me. I'd watched her teach Sunday school to Liberian children and seen her play with
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little Andy. I smiled, knowing she'd handle the responsibility well.
I smiled too at bridesmaid Phyllis, knowing she would soon be donning a lovely wedding gown. While Andre and Gail had been dating, Pat Kelly, the other young man whose name was in Howard's Bible, lamented to Andre, "There just aren't any Christian girls around."
Well Andre immediately told him he was wrong. "You ought to meet Phyllis Jones, Gail's sister." Andre didn't let it go at that, but he then planned a cookout for the next Cleveland Indians and Baltimore Orioles game — the Fourth of July. He also started praying that Phyllis's flights would allow her that day off.
Phyllis didn't know about Andre's prayers, but sure enough, she called a few weeks later and said she had just received her schedule. Every year she'd hope she'd be off on the Fourth of July — her birthday. Finally, she'd gotten her wish. I was delighted for her, but also for Andre. I couldn't wait to call him with the good news.
It was difficult to get all my family together, but that day almost everyone was there. David was home from seminary and even my brother Alden and my sister, Ruth, and her husband, Tom, were able to be with us. The air was full of reminiscing and friendly teasing over childhood pranks, but I noticed that even in the midst of the chaos, Pat and Phyllis had found each other.
By 4:30 Andre and Pat had to leave for the stadium to get ready for that evening's game. Pat spoke loudly enough for all of us to hear, but he looked directly at Phyllis. "This was a wonderful Fourth of July. I hope we can have many more."
David quickly spoke up. "Before you go, let's have a word of prayer. Pat would you lead us?"
Just as I bowed my head, I looked over at David and caught his quick grin. He was checking Pat's theology!
Apparently whatever David was looking for was included in that prayer, because he readily approved when Phyllis and Pat set a wedding date: four months after Gail and Andre's.
When Phyllis's big day arrived, I told myself that I, a
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veteran mother of the bride, wouldn't give in to tears. But when she came down the aisle I suddenly flashed back to the sight of her as a sleepy four-year-old, dressed in a white nightgown and rubbing her eyes, wandering down the center aisle of the church. Awakened by the evening service music, she had left her bed in our over-the-church apartment and come downstairs looking for me. Now here was that same girl, all grown up and walking down the aisle to be married. Of course I cried. But they were tears of joy.
* * *
Several months after Phyllis and Pat's wedding, Howard and I attended the National Religious Broadcasters convention in Washington, D.C. The Jones Sisters Trio had been invited to sing, as they still did occasionally, and the baseball season hadn't opened yet, so we enjoyed a family reunion of sorts. We sat through meeting after meeting, and while we were thankful for all the Lord was doing in broadcasting, it was apparent that the programming was white-oriented. That was understandable, but we still yearned for more of our own race to know the reality of Jesus Christ.
After one meeting, several of our family went to the coffee shop and took over one of the large tables in the back. Andre and Pat were amazed at what they were learning about the variety of communication methods available to reach out to a hurting world. They seemed to be doing all the talking at first, but soon everyone joined in and the conversation became more personal, in that we started to dream about how we as a family could work together to reach our race. Of course we wished we could organize a black TV station, but we had neither the expertise nor the funds. Gradually our wishing became more practical. What did we know how to do? Well, Howard and I knew about running a summer camp. And Andre and Pat knew about baseball.
The waitress brought us refill after refill, and before the night was over we had decided to form our own nonprofit
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corporation: Christian Family Outreach Inc., or CFO, as we began to call it.
In the summer of 1982, our first camp program was launched. We had to start small, and since Pat and Andre were located in Cleveland and Baltimore, we made the program available to young people in those cities.
The planning was simple: "Keep 'Em Busy!" We pack as much as possible into a few days. One of the unique aspects of the program is giving the kids the opportunity to meet many of their sports heroes — and to hear those heroes tell what the Lord means to them. Pat Kelly is in charge of the sports program, but Andre and many of their friends contribute their talent and time. Howard and I had a little influence in introducing a study called "Black Heroes: Past and Present," to provide the young people with positive role models and a reminder of their own rich heritage.
Since CFO is still new and funds are limited, the camp program runs for just two weeks a summer — at this point during the first week the campers are inner-city youngsters sponsored by friends of CFO. Each year many of Andre's Cleveland Indians teammates sponsor youngsters from all over Ohio.
The second week is designed for young people from a variety of churches. Their families send them because we have a well-rounded program, including Bible study and music, rap sessions, and the ever-popular skits in which they act out a problem and then suggest the ways in which Christ makes a difference in how it is solved.
On one particular skit night the Lord's special presence lingered after the five teams presented the scripts they had written. We sang a quiet devotional chorus and then Howard spoke, "Is there anyone who wants to say anything about what's happened to them this week?" The response surprised even us. Numerous young people confessed that they'd been carrying bitterness. And more than one youngster shared their drug problems, asking the Lord's forgiveness and deliverance.
With contrite hearts, the campers turned to one another, asking forgiveness for wrong attitudes. As I watched, I prayed silently,
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"O Lord God, let us see your healing multiplied!" As much as we are thrilled about the programs CFO offers, we know that it is only through the Lord that lives are touched and souls saved. As I think back to that spontaneous family meeting in the Washington, D.C., restaurant in 1980, I am amazed at what God can do through those who are willing to be used by Him.
* * *
The following year, 1981, included another milestone event; David graduated from Gordon Conwell Seminary and agreed to commit two years to work with college students for Inter-Varsity Christian Fellowship. David took a lot of teasing from his sisters: "When you going to get married, kid, huh?" He'd just smile and say, "You wait and see. I'll get married when I'm good and ready." And that day arrived about halfway through his Inter-Varsity stint; he married Cora Green, a lovely woman he had met at a youth meeting.
The weddings of my children always brought to mind sharp images of their childhood, and David's was certainly no different. As I watched him take Cora's hand at the altar, I thought of his "passing the Word" to the villagers back in Liberia. The Lord had used those early experiences to give David a minister's heart. And now the Lord was giving him a dedicated wife to share in that ministry. Neither his sisters nor I could have been more pleased with David's choice.
Cora rapidly became like a daughter to Howard and me. And often it has been she who has been a role model for me, especially in the face of racial remarks. One August, after our camp was over, David and Cora invited us to spend a day with them at a Christian resort in northern Ohio. David had just completed his first year in a pastorate in Brooklyn, New York, after three years in Detroit, so we were eager to hear their experiences and compare them with Bethany Church. I loved to hear them laugh together as they reported the antics of some of the Sunday school children. David didn't realize how familiar it
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all sounded to me. He had been the little one who'd always kept us on our toes!
After lunch, the four of us strolled over the hill and down to the beach, marveling at the rich blue of both the sky and water. The day could not have been more perfect. Eventually Howard and David lingered behind, discussing some point of church doctrine. Cora and I headed back to their cabin, passing by a group of young teens and their counselor. One of the youngsters pointed toward us and called out, "Hey look at the monkeys climbing the hill." His friends roared with laughter while the counselor gave a wimpy half-smile.
Immediately my pace quickened and I headed right toward the group.
Quietly Cora said, "Mom, where are you going?"
Surely fire was in my eyes as I turned back to her. I wanted to confront them but didn't want to lose my composure, either. She continued. "Let's go find Dave and Dad and talk it over with them first."
"Now look, Cora, all I'm going to do is ask them why they equated us with monkeys. And why didn't their counselor speak up? Why would he let something like that pass?
"Let's go find Dave and Dad and talk it over with them. Let's not let this spoil a beautiful day."
For the sake of peace I followed Cora back down the hill, silently praying the Lord would help me to keep a calm spirit. But on the way I replayed back to her every black history lesson she'd ever taken. The counselor had a perfect teaching moment handed to him and he had chosen to ignore it. Howard and David both felt we should approach the camp director and counselor. As a result, both men apologized and promised to talk with the campers who had spoken in such an unChristian manner.
* * *
Shortly after this event, our children informed us they had planned a party for our fortieth wedding anniversary. I was astounded.
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Didn't we just have a big party at the Oberlin Inn? Why, that was fifteen years ago. Where were the years going?
Howard and I had always said we'd like to renew our marriage vows at our fortieth anniversary, so we gave in, sat back, and enjoyed our children's plans for another big party. Of course our anniversary is in June. But for several years our family's schedule has revolved around, you guessed it, the baseball season, so we all agreed to postpone the party until early November.
That night Cheryl's husband, Norm Sanders, shared a favorite portion of Scripture with our many guests before each of our children spoke. Lisa was first, grinning at the opportunity to publicly tease us. But first, she expressed her love and her appreciation that she had never heard either of us utter a cuss word, she paused, as though treasuring particular scenes. "Mother was always sensitive to our needs. And Dad . . . I'll always remember coming home from school and seeing him on his knees praying for all of us."
If she'd stopped right then, I know she would have started to cry, but she went on to relate a few not-so-spiritual things: how Howard used to hide candy, so he, not they, could eat it. Then she described a scene I'd hoped she'd forgotten — the time I ate a whole plateful of cut-out Christmas cookies she had baked and carefully decorated! And there were still four more children to tell family secrets!
David was next. "Mom and Dad aren't perfect but they have been good examples to me, people I've wanted to emulate — Dad especially." He remembered standing on the kitchen stool, preaching his four-year-old heart out, just like his dad. But he also remembered the more serious days. "Mom and Dad would have all-night prayer meetings," he said. "Sometimes we did our best to stay up with them, spread out on our quilts on the living room floor." Wanting to end on a light note, he told about the "expert" hair cuts Howard used to give him in Africa. Suddenly I longed for those days again.
Our shy Phyllis also remembered how important prayer was to us. "One of my earliest memories," she said, "is of getting up in the morning, walking into Mom and Dad's room,
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and hearing them praying for us. Even as I grew up and was out on my own I gained strength from knowing my parents loved me and were home praying for me."
I started to think I wouldn't get through this program without giving in to a few tears.
Gail was next and to hear her say, "We're fortunate to have had parents like ours who disciplined us," was enough to keep me going for the rest of my life. As she talked, I thought of that little girl who used to say, "Mother!" in the most exasperating way.
Cheryl's comments added a nice wrap-up to all that had been said. "Something I've always valued is my parents' ability to communicate. They've shared their good times and their bad. I've also admired their ability to reflect each other's worth. They make each other feel as though there is no one else in the world. How important that is — especially today. And," she added with a smile, "I've admired their ability to have a good constructive disagreement!"
To the delight of our guests, she told about some of our memorable disagreements, including the time Howard was so irritated at me that he polished the same shoe three times! But she stressed the oneness we have because our focal point is Jesus Christ.
Finally came the moment I'd been waiting for. David officiated over the renewal of our wedding vows. Four decades certainly puts a different perspective on phrases that had little reality to us when we were so young. But I was just as ready now as I had been then to tell my man that I am his — as long as we both shall live.
* * *
In 1985, the year Lisa finished her degree in music from Ohio State, took a job at a bank in Columbus, and started a master's degree in communications, she had to make several serious decisions about her future. With two brothers-in-law in sports, she inevitably met professional athletes who took an interest in her. Occasionally some of their attentions were
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overwhelming; they'd send flowers and coo over the phone, as self-confident young men will do.
As I watched her, I often thanked the Lord for the spiritual struggles I'd faced in my early relationship with Howard. Our children had often heard the story of my tearful, "Howard, I love you, but I love Jesus more." Now my example served to encourage Lisa.
One young man tried to get her attention by sending six dozen roses to her office and by reminding her he could buy her anything she wanted. By the world's standards, he was a great catch, but Lisa had long ago decided she would have God's man or no man. That decision hadn't come easily, but she had told the Lord she was content to remain single if that's what He wanted for her.
In May 1986, however, the Lord brought back into her life Michael, the son of Irene and Henry Granderson — two members of that special young people's group in Bethany Church, back in New York.
We four parents couldn't have planned this match as beautifully as our Lord did. Through the years, we'd only occasionally kept in contact with the Grandersons, but our friendship always picked up right where we'd left off, as though little time had passed between visits.
Just before Christmas 1985, Howard and I had visited New York, spending one evening with Irene and Henry. Most of their family was home. My own children were grown, so I shouldn't have been surprised to see that the Granderson children were adults, but time has a way of . . . That night Wanda, their oldest daughter and my namesake, and I laughed together over the antics she and Lisa had pulled in Sunday school, and Michael was there, more subdued and in the background.
In the spring, we met Wanda and Michael again at the Washington Graham crusade. Pat Kelly gave his testimony one night and later we had dinner with Wanda and Michael. I was impressed at how easily Michael shared his love for the Lord. Before the evening was over, I proudly pulled out the most recent pictures of our family. Michael's gentle comment about
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remembering Lisa as a little girl made me pause — and dare to hope. As we made plans to visit them in New York for Memorial Day, I made mental plans to be sure Lisa went with us.
As she and Michael renewed their childhood friendship, they discovered how much they had in common: their Christian faith, their love of music, and their work with computers. It seemed a Fourth of July picnic was in order — back at our place.
That June, Lisa spent a great deal of time in prayer. Over a year before, she had told the Lord she was content to remain single. Now there was Michael. Lisa found out later he had been praying a lot during June too.
Both families had a wonderful time at the picnic, and I kept an eye on Michael and Lisa. Sure enough, they spent all afternoon talking, just as Pat and Phyllis had done a few years before. Whatever the Lord had said to Lisa, she certainly had a sparkle in her eyes! The following week, Michael called several times, so I wasn't really surprised when he asked to come back and talk to us about their getting married in 1987. We couldn't be more thrilled for them. Besides, by Lisa's marrying the son of a couple we had discipled years before, we felt as though our ministry had come full circle.
The year flew by, full of enjoying grandchildren, speaking and writing — and helping Lisa plan the wedding. Often as I looked at Howard, I thought of our anticipation of our own wedding. Now there we were — preparing for our last child to leave home. Suddenly June 20, 1987, arrived.
It rained that morning, but by the time Lisa was in her beautiful white gown, the sun was shining brightly. In those moments before she came down the aisle on Howard's arm, I thought of all those things mothers think about — wanting to hug that little girl in my memory just a little tighter . . .
The sight of grandson Andy, fourteen, looking so handsome in his black tuxedo, turned my thoughts to all my grandchildren. His brother Jonathan, six, and cousin Timmy, six-and-a-half, would serve as ringbearers. The other three grandchildren — Dean, four; Ryan, four-and-a-half, and April, one, would join us at the reception.
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I smiled. Lisa's wedding wasn't an end to what we had as a family. It was another beginning.
* * *
As Howard and I are getting older, we see more and more clearly that most all of life's decisions come full circle. Those who make decisions with eternity in mind are blessed with eternal rewards.
Especially now that our children are starting families of their own, I'm discovering for myself a truth that is repeated throughout the Old Testament: The decisions — good or bad — of parents ripple down through the generations.
Some people look at our family and wonder what our secret was. How did we raise five responsible children who are faithfully serving their Lord? Then, if they know anything about Howard's work schedule, they might tag a comment on to the end of the question: and with Howard out of town so much of the time?
When I stop to think of the hows and whys of the answer, I come up with several reasons, most of which are rooted in memories of my own mother. Although I wasn't allowed to have her for long, her godly presence profoundly influenced my life. She knew who was Lord of her life, and daily she drew her strength from the perfect, sovereign God with whom she had a personal relationship. But she never kept that strength to herself, she constantly shared the Good News — as she spoke and as she reached out to ease the hurts of anyone she met. Mother may not have known how much of her example was soaking into my young mind, but her special courage and personal faith is a rich heritage from which my own children benefitted.
But of course my mother's relatively brief influence in my life did not ultimately give me the strength and guidance I needed as I made decision upon decision that has ultimately brought me where I am today. There had to come a day when I personally asked Jesus Christ to become my Savior and Lord.
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A secondhand faith never grants us salvation or personal guidance. The Apostle Paul summed it up when he said:
That if you confess with your mouth, "Jesus is Lord," and believe in your heart that God raised him from the dead, you will be saved. For it is with your heart that you believe and are justified, and it is with your mouth that you confess unto salvation ..... for everyone who calls on the name of the Lord will be saved. (Romans 10:9-10, 13)
That's what I did as a teen in Miss Gatherer's church, and what Howard did a few months later. I clearly remember the day eight-year-old David gave his heart to Jesus. For several years he'd been playing church, even "passing the Word" in Liberia, but he hadn't personally asked Jesus into his life.
One day he came running into the kitchen after listening to the "Back to the Bible" radio broadcast.
"Mama! The man said 'angels rejoice when a person comes to Jesus.' Have I made them rejoice?" he asked.
I leaned down to put my arms around his shoulders. "Have you ever asked Jesus to come live in your heart and help you do what He wants you to?"
David slowly shook his head no.
I gave him an encouraging squeeze and said, "Well, you haven't made the angels rejoice yet. But you can do that right now if you want."
He grabbed my hand and led me to his room where he knelt, confessing every naughtiness his little eight-year-old life had produced. then he thanked Jesus for loving him enough to die on the Cross and asked Him to be the leader of his life. When he looked up, there were tears in his eyes.
"Mama! The angels are rejoicing over me now, aren't they?"
With a joyful hug, I assured him they were.
Just as my mother's faith would not carry me through life, so mine, or Howard's is not sufficient for the needs of our children or grandchildren.
But yet I see any stability in our family as being the result of a third factor: the priority Howard and I always placed on
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Bible reading and prayer. From the day we married, we kept a daily appointment with God. And as the family grew, each new member was gathered into the circle of prayer. We shared our dreams as well as our fears with each other as we shared them with God. And when we heard from God, we determined to obey His call, even if the task He required was unpleasant. Without a constant appeal to God for His help, we found it was impossible to "walk the talk," and of course our children were the first to notice when we didn't.
And what other stabilizing force was a constant in our lives? The fellowship of believers, the church of Jesus Christ. Once a week and more we gathered in God's house to praise Him. But as much as that, we went there to be encouraged by our friends and to encourage them. Since the days of slavery, the church has been the foundation of black life in America. It was — and still is — the place where people gather to receive strength for their often difficult journeys. It's the place from which the civil rights movement spread across the country.
* * *
Daily I thank God for the heritage He gave me and for the heritage I can pass on to my children. But I also know that I've been fortunate. Many people do not grow up in godly homes. The steely strength of the American family is weakening; Howard and I are increasingly burdened for black families especially.
There seems to be a whole artillery shooting at our children. On television, marriage is devalued by dramas casually depicting live-in lovers. This only compounds the overwhelming wave of illegitimacy that has trapped thousands of women and children in hopelessness and poverty. Divorce is portrayed as the best solution to the loveless marriage — no matter how it affects the children involved. Divorce takes an enormous emotional toll on a person; how much better it would be if that same energy were directed toward working through those problems. Our youth look to today's rock culture, which emphasizes and glorifies illicit and even violent
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sex and drugs, which are available now even in elementary schools.
But despair has never been the answer to the problems that face any family, especially any black family. As a race, we have a tremendous American heritage — from slavery to the present. It's never been easy, but our strength and our faith in God has made survivors of us. The strongest people in our history — Harriet Tubman, Sojourner Truth, Mary McCloud Bethune, Martin Luther King, Jr., and others — have had great faith in God as well as in their own abilities.
They knew that the choice is always ours. We can choose to allow our spirits to be enslaved — by hate, drugs, violence, or apathy and self-pity — or we can choose to take hold of the life and freedom God wants us to have.
The words of Solomon, "Where there is no vision, the people perish" (Proverbs 29:18) are often on my heart. And now more than ever God is calling every one of us to pass our visions on to our young people. We are the generation they are going to remember. And no matter what our yesterday was, we can start today to change their world.
In his song, known as the Negro national hymn, the late James Weldon Johnson, an outstanding black author and poet, clearly presents my plea to God on behalf of my people:
God of our weary years,God of our silent tears,
Thou who hast brought us thus far on the way,
Thou who hast by thy might
Led us into the light,
Keep us forever in the path, we pray.
Lest our feet stray from the places,
our God where we met thee,
Lest hearts drunk with wine of the world forget thee,
Shadowed beneath thy hand,
May we forever stand.
True to our God,
True to our native land.
