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.