Granny's Bible

My first defining moment with racism occurred in the living room of my grandparents’ home in Lexington, Kentucky.  As a young black man became visible walking down the street, my granny yelled out to my mom, “Helen, shut the front door, there’s a nigger coming down the street!”

I was shocked.  My Bible-believing Christian grandparents were racists!  Here in Springfield, Ohio, I would never, ever dare to use the n-word; and to hear it coming out of a prim and proper Southern Belle’s mouth made it seem even more profane.

I began watching her.  In public, when she was near people who weren’t white, she would cross the street, move to the other side of the store, and generally cower away from them.  She wouldn’t sit near them in restaurants.  She feared them.

I developed a great deal of contempt for her.  I judged her.

I was young and I did not yet have the maturity to challenge her perceptions.  I had not been raised to question the beliefs of adults, anyway.  The very thought of asking my grandmother why she behaved in a certain manner never occurred to me.

She is gone now, and I do not know why.  What was in her past that caused this belief to be nurtured in her life?  Had she been hurt, and developed an irrational fear from it?  Was it something her family, her church, her community had indoctrinated into her; and she had never broken through those chains?

I was judging her through the lens of my past, not hers.

 I recall hearing one—just one—racial slur come from the mouths of one of my parents in the forty years of my life.  It was meant to be a joke between the two of them, and I didn’t understand it at the time.  But suffice it to say that my father was teasing my mom about her new curly perm, and she didn’t think he was funny.

My parents—particularly my father—taught through example that people were to be valued by what was inside them, and not what was visible on the outside.  Skin color, clothing, cleanliness, behavior issues…all the children he dealt with as an educator were always unique and special individuals who deserved compassion and love.  And the ones who seem especially unlovable are the ones that need the most love.

So I had an advantage over my granny.  I don’t think she received that kind of example.

Once Granny and Papaw died, my parents wrapped their Bibles up in identical wrapping and gave them to my sister and me— thus reducing the question as to who should receive which Bible.  I got Granny’s.  I wanted Papaw’s.  Who wouldn’t?  So many memories of him relaxing in his chair, his silver hair glistening, with his Bible open before him. 

But I see now that God had a bigger plan.  This morning, I took Granny’s Bible out from the high, dusty shelf where I had placed it.  It’s the Bible that belonged to an imperfect, fallible, human being who carried baggage around from her past.  Just like me.  There is one bookmark in her Bible, and I assume it was she who placed it in the book of Romans, where she has made little check marks and ticks on certain verses.

Romans is my favorite book of the Bible.

We all journey together.  I cannot judge others for flaws in their lives; I cannot understand their walk without having lived it myself.  God sees my flaws and responds with Grace.  How dare I respond in any other way?

Thursday Night Smackdown in the Wal-Mart Parking Lot

Last week, I witnessed a woman beating a small child in a parking lot.

I did not do anything.  Neither did any of the other half dozen or so witnesses, including a male employee of the store who was in the parking lot.

There was another person with the woman, and the woman, quite frankly, scared me.  She was screaming loudly; using profane language pointedly at the child.  I have never seen such a public display in all my life, and I felt useless and frozen.

I am telling you this, because if I could go back, there are certain things I would do, and I plan on doing, to prepare myself just in case I am ever in a similar situation.  Perhaps these ideas will also help you prepare.

1.      Carry paper and a pen in your car within easy reach all the time.  DO NOT rely on your phone to input all your data.  You may need your phone at the same time as you are writing.  In my case, once I kicked into gear, I found myself frantically grabbing a pen and writing the license number on my arm as I was driving, following the car, and calling the police.

2.       Remember that most large stores have security guards.  I think that if I had acted, I could have gotten a guard there on time.  Or at least asked the employee to go get the guard.

3.       Be a detective.  Save the emotions for later.  The best thing I can do to help the child—and the adult (who obviously needs help, too)—is to remain calm and to notice things.  When I called the police and child protective services, they asked questions.  It was embarrassing how many simple questions I could not answer simply because I had been too emotional to observe them.

4.       Of all the things I regret, I do not know why I did not surreptitiously video this interaction with my phone.  It may sound horrible, but in this society, evidence is KING.  If I want to help a child, the best thing I can do is SHOW PROOF of abuse.

5.       A bunch of individuals are much less likely to intervene than a unit.  Go to others near you and solicit their help.  In group dynamics, someone has to start the chain.  That “someone” may as well be me.  Not too long ago, I had a seizure in a crowded parking lot.  I was half-hanging out of my car door, and I could see people getting in and out of their cars in the spots near me.  I was paralyzed, and nobody helped.  I was “someone else’s problem”.

If I could do it over, I would like to think that I would have the bravery and sneakiness to first video enough to prove what was going on, then put my phone safely in the trunk of my car before going over and trying to keep that little girl safe—not by being confrontational, but by trying to help the woman calm down.

I probably would have gotten my butt kicked, because even though I have started to lift weights, it has only reinforced the truth that I have the upper-body strength of an infant.  Although I do appear to have freakishly strong thighs, I cannot fathom the usefulness of this strength unless I could possibly get someone’s head in some sort of anaconda-grip with my thighs…

But I digress…

I have created these tables of items that seem to be important to those I have communicated with.  It doesn’t matter if you can’t fill them out all the way, or even be specific.  If you know a person’s height compared to the vehicle or a nearby object; that can still be useful.  

I plan on printing them out and keeping them in my car just in case…

The vehicle information would also be useful for accidents or other motor vehicle incidents, I think.

I just know that if I’d had a plan and a paper, I could have been filling out useful information instead of standing next to my car and crying while all this happened.

It rips me apart knowing that there is a little girl out there who needs love and affection, and I may have missed out on the opportunity of a lifetime to turn her world around.  I am doing my best to be better prepared so that if I am ever in this situation again, I can do whatever I can to care for a little child in need.

Description of Adult 1: Male/Female Name_______________________ Age_________________________ Height______________________ Weight______________________ Skin Color____________________ Hair Color____________________ Hair Length/Style______________ Eye Color____________________ Wearing glasses/hat/jewelry?___ ____________________________ Voice(accent?)________________ Clothing:  Dress/Casual/Athletic Shirt Type/Color______________ Pants Type/Color______________ Shoes_______________________ Other identifying markers (scars, tattoos, birthmarks, facial hair?) ____________________________ ____________________________

Description of Adult 2: Male/Female Name_______________________ Age_________________________ Height______________________ Weight______________________ Skin Color____________________ Hair Color____________________ Hair Length/Style______________ Eye Color____________________ Wearing glasses/hat/jewelry?____ ____________________________ Voice(accent?)________________ Clothing:  Dress/Casual/Athletic Shirt Type/Color______________ Pants Type/Color______________ Shoes_______________________ Other identifying markers (scars, tattoos, birthmarks, facial hair?) ____________________________ ____________________________

Description of Child 1: Boy/Girl Name_______________________ Age_________________________ Height_______________________ Weight______________________ Skin Color____________________ Hair Color____________________ Hair Length/Style______________ Eye Color____________________ Wearing glasses/hat/jewelry?____ ____________________________ Clothing:  Dress/Casual/Athletic/Pajamas Shirt Type/Color_______________ Pants Type/Color______________ Shoes_______________________ Other identifying markers (pacifiers, toys, etc.) ____________________________

Description of Child 2: Boy/Girl Name_______________________ Age_________________________ Height_______________________ Weight______________________ Skin Color____________________ Hair Color____________________ Hair Length/Style______________ Eye Color____________________ Wearing glasses/hat/jewelry?____ ____________________________ Clothing:  Dress/Casual/Athletic/Pajamas Shirt Type/Color_______________ Pants Type/Color______________ Shoes_______________________ Other identifying markers (pacifiers, toys, etc.) ____________________________

VEHICLE Van        SUV       Sedan       Truck       Other___________ Brand and Model_______________________________ License Number________________________________ License State and County, any other identifiers on plate_____________ __________________________________________________________ Color_________________________ Special Markings or Dents_____________________________________ Tinted Windows?       Yes       No Bumper Stickers?____________________________________________

VEHICLE Van        SUV       Sedan       Truck       Other___________ Brand and Model_______________________________ License Number________________________________ License State and County, any other identifiers on plate_____________ __________________________________________________________ Color_________________________ Special Markings or Dents_____________________________________ Tinted Windows?       Yes       No Bumper Stickers?____________________________________________

VEHICLE Van        SUV       Sedan       Truck       Other___________ Brand and Model_______________________________ License Number________________________________ License State and County, any other identifiers on plate_____________ __________________________________________________________ Color_________________________ Special Markings or Dents_____________________________________ Tinted Windows?       Yes       No Bumper Stickers?____________________________________________

John A. Wilson

 

I turned seven the summer my family moved to Springfield.  We immediately began church-hunting.  We stumbled across this rather large church; First Christian Church.  Mom wasn’t sure about it.  She didn’t think a large church could make you feel welcomed or “at-home”.

But my sister and I begged to differ.  Because the phenomenal children’s department cuddled us right in.  We were “at home” immediately.

Every Sunday became a battle.  We would visit a different church, then return to FCC the following Sunday.  Our parents were eventually won over too, mostly by a certain gregarious white-haired man with a contagious smile.

I was absolutely starry-eyed over Mr. Wilson.  He looked so old, but he acted so young.  He took my sister and me out to lunch, all by ourselves—without our parents! And he talked to us the whole time, just like we were real people who counted.  He marveled over my dimples, taking every opportunity to stick his fingers in my cheek-holes.

I knew that when I got baptized, he would wear his white overalls, and I would wear a white robe, and we would walk out into the baptismal, and he would pray over me, and I would become a full Christian just like him.  And when I was ten, it happened.  I stood in the doorway, and he was there, in the water, smiling at me, holding out his hand.

Mr. Wilson ushered me into my new life, as he did for countless others, yet I was no number for him.  I was a very special little girl to him.  But I don’t know of any little girl, or little boy for that matter, that wasn’t special to him.

And one day, I stopped him and told him unequivocally, that when I was old enough, I wanted him to be the preacher to marry me and my husband.  I was still just a kid.  And he took my hand, patted it, and told me he didn’t think he’d be around for such an event.

So, after Chris and I got engaged, before we set the date for our wedding, we called Mr. Wilson.  I wanted to make sure he’d “be around” for my wedding.  Not only did he officiate my wedding, but he hung around for nearly nineteen more years.

My children had the privilege of knowing Mr. Wilson, of having lunch with him, and laughing with him.

My husband also grew up knowing Mr. Wilson, but instead of the cute little dimple poke, Mr. Wilson would give him a punch in the ribs!  Ah, well, Chris loved it!

Mr. Wilson passed away yesterday.  He was 100 years old; and eagerly awaiting his arrival to his Father’s house.  He was a singular individual, loved by many.

Thank you, Mr. Wilson, for your life and your legacy.  I will miss you.  You were my first taste of Jesus.  Not just the words of the Bible, but the attitude of the heart and the actions flowing from it.