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Who has believed what he has heard from us? And to whom has the arm of the Lord been
revealed? Isaiah 53
A mid week service wasn’t something we always went to but for special occasions and this
happened to be one. A traveling preacher, missionary, was going to speak. I don’t
remember his name, I don’t remember his message or passage of scripture he was teaching
on, I don’t even remember what he looked like but I remember being captivated and
engulfed in the word being shared. At that age, about 7, I usually spent service time
drawing on the bulletin stick figure basketball men dunking, only coming in and out of
paying attention to hear a joke. I sat on the edge of my seat the whole time, listening and
more importantly understanding. Afterwards I got a chance to meet and talk with the
speaker. I was so excited about his message instead of going outside to play with the other
kids, the way I usually had after having to bottle my energy for service, I waited around
with the adults to meet and speak with him. I vaguely remember my mother standing
around but I don’t know if I introduced myself or she, but when we met Iremember going
off about his message. We talked for a good while about the scriptures he brought up and
what it meant. For some reason he spent lots of time with me, listening to what I thought
and at the end, I remember saying to him when I grow up, I want to do what you do. As I
thanked him, he told me to hold on and when he came back he reached into his pocket and
pulled out $60, put it in my hand, looked me deep in the eyes and said, "Go and study." I
didn’t know what to say, I looked up at my mother and she not knowing either, just
thanked him. My mom put that money in a safe at our house but it was long gone once
bills got tight. The $60 dollars is gone, I don’t know where he came from, where we went,
or where he is now, but I get pretty emotional just thinking about the impact that small
amount of time he spent with me and the way that man believed in me through his
investment. Little did I know that in less than a year my world would be turned upside
down.
I was born 13th into a biracial family of 14, my father black and my mother Swedish
Caucasian. Up until that point above my life seemed normal to me even with having more
siblings than my whole classmates combined or a mother and father that looked different.
We attended a local church and every Sunday after service my father, the son of a preacher,
would re-teach the sermon given to make sure we understood and he would correct
anything he felt the pastor was off on. I knew that we prayed before we ate and all would
have to around and say a bible verse, a tradition started by my grandfather to feed our
spirit every time before we fed our body; my favorite was “Jesus wept” or “God is love”. I
knew that if I wanted to get out of naptime I had to read a classic or the bible or suffer a
few swats if I was caught, but it wasn’t until that time period when I met that preacher
were things started to click when it came to the work God was doing in my life. Soon after
the encounter I had with the traveling preacher, I found out my brother just above me,
Isaac, was going to be baptized, I wanted to be also. I remember telling my dad and him
talking with me about it. My older brother, Don, was an associate pastor at a church in Los
Angeles that we started attending to support him, so that is where my brother Isaac and I
were be baptized. I remember the day wearing a white shirt, giggling with my brother and
being a little nervous because it was on Sunday before the whole church, wondering if the
water was cold, or if the pastor was going to hold me under for a long time, (I heard how
my grandfather was Baptist and they would practically drowned you at baptism), in all of
it i was happy and believed it was a significant step. I went in the water, answered the
questions and boom was dunked. My father gave me a bible and I starting reading on my
own, no kids’ bible, good ole King James, but I remember reading some psalms, proverbs,
and stories of Jesus with understanding. Even then I had a habit of opening up the bible by
chance to see what i should read for that day. I felt so spiritual reading the "thys, thees, and
thous.
Later that year my mom was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. I remember sitting outside
her room, quietly so she wouldn’t know, listening to her throw up over and over. I was
really close to her and loved giving her hugs and affection but she was sick all the time so I
couldn’t be around her too much. Thinking back it was probably harder for her to be
around us because I think it made her sad too. It was hard for me to pray during this time
