Deep Roots

Have you ever heard of the saying "Give them roots and wings?" I was blessed to be given both. Today I'm going back to my roots! I have learned when life is hard and dry and I'm thirsty I need only to tap into the deep bedrock and flowing underground river of life, It refreshes me, grounds me and puts my life in perspective.

The name of Jesus, It's more than just a name to me. It's the sweetest most powerful word I've ever learned. I can't remember the first time ever I heard it. I'm sure it was whispered over my crib and sang to me in lullabies. I'd heard of his kindness and love and how he called the little children to him so I loved him, completely and innocently. I didn't ever even think to doubt him, he was as real to me as my own parents. At Every meal we bowed our heads and thanked him, we started every morning with prayers to him and asked him to watch over us before we slept at night. When I was sick or fevered my mothers cool hands touched my forehead and she'd breathe his name over me. What was to doubt? We were never hungry, We were happy, healthy and loved and I was more than secure in the fact that he loved me. Our lives were spent in happy service to him.

Sunday, Wednesday and Friday were church days, And Fridays were extra special because that's the night that after service "The Prayer Band" (Mom and Dad's closest friends and prayer warriors) spent the entire night, until daylight praying in the church. So myself and my little group of church friends would bring our sleeping bags and place them carefully behind the alter and be very quite. We would hear the sweet hymns being sung and heartfelt prayers prayed from broken hearts and cries to God for souls and revival in our city.

As a very little girl I experienced the supernatural presence of God. I remember hearing someone weep he's here and the hairs would stand up on the back of my neck as I would burrow under the covers in a kind of holy awe. I remember hot tears coursing down my cheek as they would sing the beautiful hymns of the church and I would fall asleep in bliss only to awaken to my fathers strong arms carrying me back across the street to the smell of hot coffee, biscuits gravy and bacon. Everyone would be talking about how God had moved in the all night prayer meeting and would be so excited for Sunday.

Sunday mornings I would awaken to the beautiful stirring sounds of lovely old spirituals coming from the black choir of the little church behind our house. I remember my soul being lifted and to this day I still know most of those historic old songs by heart. I was raised in a multicultural church in the mid 60's in Akron Ohio. We were located in an all black area and were right smack in the middle of those historic racial riots. Our church was somehow protected through it all because my parents were known to be called Mom and Dad by most of the neighborhood. I believe we were a thing of confusion for many in the community. Looking back now I realize it was such a mission field. Although to us it was just life. While all of America was up in arms regarding school segregation and the busing experiment was taking place in the country, my brave parents enrolled my brother and I in Robinson P.S. The worst school district in the city. I was the only little blue eyed white girl I saw and was either celebrated or hated. I grew up with absolutely no prejudice I was in all-actually the minority but my young heart was broken when I saw the hatred in the streets. It wasn't like that in my little church world where my best friends and teachers were of color. My favorite people other than my parents were a beautiful black couple Brother and Sister Richmond. He was tall and strong with a beautiful booming voice. she was so beautiful, gentle and kind and wore beautiful clothes and they would sing my favorite song "There will be peace in the valley for me" Tears would fill his eyes as he would talk about his love for his Lord and his wife, He curiously called her his companion which I thought gave her such importance. I hoped one day a great man might call me companion.

Sundays were beautiful and I can still see the sunshine streaming in the windows and smell the musty sweet smell of the little churches, basement Sunday school rooms where I would happily learn songs and stories from my artistic, funny and character of a teacher Clevie, not Miss Clevie and as far as I knew she had no last name just Clevie but she was fun and dramatic and stories came alive in her class.

After church We would get to either have Moms amazing meals or Dad and I would go and get huge buckets of Churches fried chicken. I really believed that it was called Churches because we got it on Sundays between services. Our big green house next to the church was a flurry of activity and filled to the rafters with people and music, my brother on the piano and his friends with guitars and everyone crowding around singing. I wanted to sit on Bro Richmond's lap he was funny, lovable and always had candy in his suit pockets. Some afternoons we all went downstairs to our basement. There right next to the washer, dryer and freezer my parents had built a baptismal tank! Now it sounds unusual but I thought it was quite normal. People would wade into the water to songs like "I'm going down to the River, my Lord" My parents would then pray and say according to your declaration of faith, I baptise you in the name of Jesus Christ for remission of your sins. They would then exit the baptistery to the clapping, shouting and rejoicing of the crowd. It was quite exciting everyone laughing and hugging and crying. I loved Sundays!

Then back across the street to the little church where there would be singing and listening to testimonies. Mom would usually preach from her big Bible at the large wooden pulpit with the big, black words printed on it"GOD IS LOVE" and service would end with people praying "through" at the old wooden alter. After church everyone came back to our house where Mom would make huge pans of steaming biscuits and gravy for all. I would usually fall asleep to the soft clinking of dishes and the muffled laughter of Mom and Dad cleaning the kitchen together. All was safe and perfect in my world and I hated to see the weekends go. Little did my childish mind know that a storm was brewing that would threaten everything and shatter my innocence.

The Tapestry

On my daughters bed is an old family heirloom, a handmade, patchwork quilt.
It is faded from use and tattered and torn.
I remember it being on my parents bed almost as far back as I can remember.
The other day I noticed that there were patches that had almost disintegrated.
They were threadbare and showing through was the old batting.
I looked closer in concern and could see that other patches were as strong as ever.
Their stitches still tight and secure. I noticed the patches which were worn down,
were made of a thinner, lighter, summer fabric.
The heavier stronger fabric. had stayed strong and resilient.
Now I wonder why my wise, usually practical Mother did not foresee this end,
to her precious quilt.
I mentioned to my daughter that we should try and replace those patches.
She looked at me in horror and reminded me that this was part of it charm.
It's vintage she exclaimed that's why I love it.

Well I took a lesson from the old quilt,
It has covered our family in sickness and in health.
It was made with wise, loving and artistic hands.
I wonder now, As my mother choose the little fabric squares,
Why she threw caution to the wind and used such a poor choice.
It must have been the lively colors or patterns that tickled her fancy.
I guess I must admit it was a mistake on her part, BUT
It's still here 40 some years later still covering her granddaughter at night.

I wonder how many prayers were whispered at the bedside of the old quilt?
How many tears were shed and how many dreams were dreamed under it's cocoon?
I know of the many hours I spent under it's cozy warmth listening to stories.
Hearing lullabyes, Tales of honor and courage, read from the big gold book
Of Bible Stories for Children and my favorite Uncle Arthurs Bedtime Stories.
It's where I first heard of Aslan the great Lion of C.S. Lewis's Imagination.
There I met The Little Women and learned about the Five Little Peppers and How They Grew.
I'd listen to my Mother recite poetry and sing me such sweet, sad, ballads,
That tears would run down my face. It is a special, special quilt yet it is so very flawed.

It reminds me of my life, she made the quilt and as wonderful as she was, she made some mistakes, by using poor materials part of the quilt has not stood the test of time.
My Story is like a tapestry, there are parts of it which are strong and resilient and still brilliant.
I can still see the beauty and be proud of the beautiful fabric of my life. There are also places in the tapestry I am ashamed of and I wish were not so disappointing and threadbare. They are so open exposed and broken that I fear it's value has been diminished. I am painfully aware that those areas will not and have not stood the test of time. I am also sad to say I am to blame for building those parts of my life on a flighty fancy of a passing, pleasing color or whimsy. Poor, careless choices that can never be mended. The love of this world and it's flash and instant gratification, Then There are portions I did not choose to weave into my life but they were cruelly handed to me by the enemy and I was powerless to stop the stitching. Yet it is all these parts that make up the whole and make me who I am. Gods word tells me "I am fearfully and wonderfully made", so I must take him at his word and trust that I am still a work in progress and the tapestry is still being constructed and
One day I'll see what he made of me...........

My story

I have been thinking about new years resolutions and goals today and I'm going to attempt something I've planned to do all my life. I'm going to write my story! It's intimidating and a little scary because I'm going to start at the beginning and tell it all, the good and happy parts and the sad and troubling parts. The things I'm proud of and the things I wish were not a part of my history. I've been told by so many people, "You should write a book." Well I'm not really that accomplished and trust me I know I'm not very important but for some unknown reason I've seen and experienced enough for more than one lifetime. I can write a blog for myself and possibly my three beautiful daughters who strive to understand their heritage, so here goes.........Oh and by the way don't feel you have to read it, It's my story and like me it will certainly be imperfect and flawed.


My Life, My Journey.

My story starts one bright autumn morning in the city of Akron Ohio.
Born September 20, 1967. I was a welcome addition born late in life to two of the most humble, holy and giving human beings on the planet, I was the fourth child born to J.B. and Arlis Mae Murrell. She was 40 and he was 53, brought into a busy, happy family with an older sister Sherry Lee Murrell 16 and a big brother Jerry Jay Murrell 8, and an older sister Darlene Murrell in heaven who would have been 19 had she not died 7 years earlier on October 26,1960. I was given a form of her name Darla Mae Murrell and I was joyously welcomed as a child of restoration they hoped would complete their family and dull the pain of the loss they had suffered seven years earlier. Their oldest daughter, Darlene had died of a obscure and litttle known disease called Scleroderma. It had been an earth shattering and dark time for my parents who were at the time followers and lovers of Jesus. My parents had come to know the lord in the healing movements and tent meetings of the 1940's, they had then forsaken everything to follow blindly without reservation their Savior, healer and lover. Soon after her death they accepted the call to plant and pastor a small interracial store front church in the worst neighborhood of the city of Akron during the racial unrest of the 1960's.

So I was lovingly brought home to a little inner city church, a small community outreach. they actually lived in a little store front church in Akron, 641 South Arlington Street. It was more than a church it was a mission and they gave their every waking moment to it. So it was there my life began it was humble and holy. Days started with prayer and God's word and the hungry were fed at our very table, the sick were prayed for, Demons were cast out and lives were restored. Unwanted youth and lost children were welcomed in and became family. It was a hospital for the hurting, a lighthouse for the searching and a home for the homeless.

Meanwhile I learned to talk, Jesus one of my first words. My baby lips learned prayer as quickly as speaking and hymns became my first songs. I really did take my first steps in church and cut my teeth on the old wooden pews. Everyday ended on our knees as a family listening to God's word and my parents crying out to God for souls.

I am amazed at their tenacity, faith and strength even now. I have heard the stories of their fight for my sisters life. Of fasting and all night prayer meetings, taking her to the great healing revivals. Then their ability to let go that night she told them she had seen Jesus and he was coming to take her home. She went home to be with Jesus that next morning. They were so amazingly pure that they never questioned or blamed God but were somehow so eternally minded they could accept it as a blessing. Their theology is clear in my Mother's writings at the time. I am in awe as I remember their suffering and see their hope in eternity, It was more than theology, they had more than an experience they walked with God! They knew him and he knew them!

One treasure I have been left with besides a Godly, living heritage, is the written words of my dear mother. She was a writer like no other and everything in our life was chronicled and preserved so I leave you now with her words. Notice the phrase "infinite mercy" She uses the word MERCY to describe her loss.I'm afraid had it been me in that situation I would have most likely questioned God and I'm afraid I would have angrily blamed him for taking my child. Not my Mother, somehow she saw this traumatic event as his mercy and blessing and whats more she could be thankful to him for holding her sweet baby safely in his arms.


Safe in the Arms of Jesus

Several years ago, With heads bowed low,
On a hill side so grassy and green,
We laid her to rest where none could molest
Our jewel, Our Precious Darlene.

Safe in the arms of Jesus,
Cradled in Gods great love,
She'll sleep through the long night of darkness,
Till twilight breaks through from above.

And when deaths dark night has ended,
When Jesus returns in all power,
Darlene shall arise and awaken,
transformed as a beautiful flower.


She's at peace now with Him

Her frail little body lies cold in the grave,
But that's just the house where she lived.
Her soul was washed white! Praise the Lord she was saved!
Her spirit returned unto him!

Her soul was too pure and too precious,
To dwell in this temple of clay.
So God in his Infinite mercy,
So graciously called her away.

Away from disease and suffering,
Away from this world of sin.
Her heartaches and sorrows are over,
For she is at peace now with him.

Some beautiful glorious morning,
When Jesus appears in the skies,
The trumpet shall sound without warning,
And those who are sleeping shall rise.

All glory in heaven shall open,
And time on this earth shall cease,
Darlene shall awaken that morning,
when kissed by the great king of peace.


Asleep in the Arms Of Jesus
Just beyond this veil of sorrow,
Is a beautiful priceless pearl.
Asleep in the arms of Jesus
Is a dear little precious girl.

Amber Denae - So She's all grown up now......

She can't remember that first day I met her...
but I will never forget.
When I heard her little voice, I cried.
All the months of dreaming, planning and wondering,
And here she was, tiny, perfect, naked and loud.
Angrily protesting her birth and curiously alert.

Screaming for all she was worth,
then they placed her in my arms and she looked at me
then settled down and sighed a tiny perfect sigh.
She was perfect, beautiful and so alive!
We counted her toes and fingers, marveled at her beauty.
And I fell hopelessly in love and was forever changed.

No one had prepared me for the torrent of emotions
fierce, protective, overwhelming love for this tiny demanding little creature.
who cared only for her own needs of comfort and hunger.
She captured me so completely with one sigh,
I knew I would move heaven and earth for her happiness.
I would give up sleep and life as I had known it.
Her wish was my command and her every move and sound was celebrated.

I was so proud, as if I had created a masterpiece.
I dressed her like a princess and beamed when anyone stopped to look at her.
I spent hours watching her sleep, and lived for holding her.
When she first smiled at me I melted, I hung onto her every coo and interaction.

And she grew, into an independent and brilliant toddler,
inquisitive and imaginative, full of joy and wonder....
We were amazed at her vocabulary and ability to communicate with anyone.
she was precocious and lovable, our home was filled with love and laughter.

Then when I thought I could never love another soul with such passion....
Along came her little sister,
So tiny, perfection in 5 pounds, sweet and silent, so beautiful and lovable.
And my heart was captured once again.
and then we watched her become the perfect big sister.
watching over, loving and playing with the new baby.
Four years later came sister number three and we all were stretched beyond belief
as we fought and prayed for our little angels life, she was born too soon and was so fragile and sickly, it was weeks before we could even hold her, One of our happiest moments was the day we brought her home and only then did we know we were complete with our three beautiful treasures.

That's when she started becoming so independent, "I can do it myself became her battle cry."
She didn't need me as much and sometimes that hurt.....
Soon she was reading on her own and making her own bed without my assistance.
She was so excited to start school, so small but so brave and excited,
and so in love with school supplies. She didn't even cry that first day,
She had been so excited she had barely slept the night before.
When we left the school she didn't cry like the other children.She wanted us to leave so she could get on with it, learning and reading and making new friends.

She loved school and she thrived and grew, smarter and more confident.

And I suspected she loved having this world that was hers alone without my assistance.
wisdom and intelligence beyond her years always marked her,
This often led to frustrations and power struggles.
She was strong and stubborn and sometimes unmanageable.
But always a joy and a marvel as I wondered what she was becoming.

Then the tumultuous teen years, headstrong, questioning everything
yet in a crazy unexplainable way so obedient and pure in her questioning.
So committed to excellence and perfection it scared me. So responsible, so young.
And sadly so hard on herself with standards so high no one could reach.
Yet she tried and was so disappointed when there was any failure.
I realized then that I could love her perfectly but would never attain her standard.
That was my most painful realization that I had failed this prodigy child, I could not catch up with her she had outgrown me......

The day she turned 15 she already had made her own appointment, determined to drive.
determined to be independent, to grow, soar and leave the nest.
She had a job from the day she was old enough to and resented us trying to help her.
She insisted on paying her own cell phone bill and buying her own gas. Some parents said we were lucky but I felt a little cheated, I wanted to be needed, to keep taking care of my baby.

Collage and internships and now a real career,
Today she's looking for her first place alone, she's determined to grow up completely
and I'm proud, I really am but I feel sad, lonely and so empty,
I go into her empty room and look at all the pictures of her with her friends, I hold her pillow and I
cry.......I don't know how to let go of my precious baby girl yet I know it's not my decision it's hers
and I remember the day this relationship started and she started warning me then,
not to hold on so tightly.....................

UPDATE 3/16/14

Since I wrote this  Amber married the love of her life in a gorgeous wedding, every  beautiful detail carried out  in true Amber fashion.

In January 2012 after many prayers ( and even more hints by me ) our family was complete as Amber and Ben joined us in Charlotte. God already knew what I needed before I did. In a short time Amber was working with her dad and I. There are no words to describe what a blessing she has been, being our daughter she knows what we need before we ask,  she is a natural recruiter and her department flourishes under her hand, she so kind, loving and pastoral that I hear her ministering to every prospective student she speaks with on the phone. We are so blessed, having her with us has taken innumerable pressures off of us. Het strength, character, work ethic, professionalism and kindness shine. I'm amazed that I somehow raised this brilliant creature who organizes, is articulate and an amazing proofreader and grammar queen with a high commitment to excellence!  I love having her there in my everyday work life  to work with, to laugh with, to eat our morning oatmeal together and  lunch together. I'm beyond blessed!

This past October I returned home after a dinner date to find Amber and Ben waiting on the back porch  holding carved pumpkins with the most beautiful words a mama can read "We're having a baby!"  Joy does not begin to describe our feelings.

So now I watch as once more she grows and transforms into the most beautiful role she will ever fill, she glows as she carries this beautiful new life. And once again her strength shines through as she plans every detail of this birth knowing exactly what she wants the experience to be and I hear the
same battle cry; just more womanly and subdued but it's the same " I can do this myself, I've got this mom,  don't worry; I'm strong!" And I sigh and I know she's right, it's who she is... strong,  independent and sure of herself and deep down inside I'm proud, even though it's another tearing of the apron strings.

The past few weeks our family has faced a challenge and a battle and our sweet, strong Amber couldn't sit and do nothing so she mounted a social media campaign to support her sister and our family and bring hundreds together to pray for the life of her precious unborn nephew. I have watched as she has stood steadfast in faith and hope and has been tenacious as she has fought for her sister. NOTHING warms a mothers heart more...so now today on her 27th birthday I call her, my beautiful daughter, Amber Denae Rhodes; a woman of excellence, a woman of Valor! I love you my dear with all of my heart!