Having children was always part of my life’s plan, my original number starting at twelve. By the time I got married God, in His mercy, had whittled that number down considerably.
With assumed control of my life, I got pregnant right on schedule. What I hadn’t scheduled was being sick all day, every day. They have a name for it now—it’s called Hyperemesis Gravidarum. I just called it puking out my guts. For the record, despite it all, I did keep eating, nibbling and sipping. When my weight reached 89 pounds, my doctor hospitalized me and had a psychiatrist come to see me.
Like I said, they didn’t have a name for this back then. The cure was to ‘stop being a baby’ when in reality, it was the baby that was causing the situation. It was a blessing to make it through nine months of pregnancy and end up having my first daughter two days early.
Thanks for that, Allison.
For the record, she was 7 lbs. 2 oz. And was more than worth any physical challenge she led me through.
Our next pregnancy did not make it full-term, but I do have another child waiting in heaven.
Then, when Allison was almost six, we found out another child was on their way. Even with the overwhelming nausea, I was thrilled! Every morning, as I breathed slowly in and out trying to contain the sickness, I would rub my belly and say, “I love you, baby.”
Eventually, we found out that my thyroid had decided to stop working. I was put on medicine, and a particular test would be run at birth to make sure our child had no resulting neural problems resulting from my deficiency. Every day I would pray, “Lord, I don’t care what this baby is like as long as he or she is happy.”
Having lived for several years with two individuals who were decidedly not morning people, I ranked the ability to wake up happy as pretty much necessary for my survival.
I say all of this to lay the groundwork that children, even if very much wanted, take thought, care, and sacrifice. Building a family is neither comfortable nor pain-free.
Secondly, I am happy to report that our precious baby Christi-An, was happy. Well, after three months of colic, she was a joy. Seriously. As soon as she could pull herself up in the crib, that girl was bouncing away and grinning from ear to ear when I would come into her room each morning.
Which is why I found it so hard to believe when, a few years later, my oldest told me that her younger sister would scream and pitch temper tantrums when I left.
What?! Not my sunny child.
Not the only easy-going member of our family.
One night my husband and I prepared to go out. Allison was around ten and, though thoroughly capable, not quite old enough to be left legally in charge of her sister. After asking an older girl to come over and “babysit,” we prepared to go and, finally, walked out the door.
Then, stepping into the car, I realized that I forgot something in the house and jumped out to go get it. I stepped through the door and was met by a tirade of screams coming out of a certain four-year-old’s mouth. Our entryway was two steps down and to the left of the kitchen where the commotion was coming from. Amid the mayhem, no one had seen or heard me come in.
I stepped quietly to the stairs and watched as Christi-An gave her sister a what-to-for the like I had never heard. I just stood there motionless—and waited.
Finally, that little now not-so-angelic head turned my way, her eyes widening.
Silence settled as we stood and looked at each other. Then I calmly directed, “Go to your room.” Walking through the kitchen, I did my best to ignore Allison’s fist pump and “Yes!”
And so, the reign of tyranny ended.
But I had to see it to believe it. Then, I had to choose to act on what I saw.
I was born in 1958, which is getting to be longer and longer down the line on those scrolling “choose your birth year” computer fill-ins. My parents were not prejudiced in any way, shape, or form, yet we were all affected to a certain degree by the society in which we grew up.
At nine years of age, I sat at a friend’s house, 30 miles outside of Detroit, and watched the riots that burned a great deal of the city. My child’s mind was befuddled, and I wondered why “they” hated us so, not knowing or understanding that we were the ones who had perpetuated the hate.
One day in the large Junior High school I attended, I was accosted by a group of kids. I knew these kids—they were a group of white wannabe tough kids who would look for smaller students to pick on and torment. As they began knocking me around, my heart pounded with fear, and I looked for a place to escape. There was only a wall of students gathering around for the show.
Suddenly, a tall black girl named Debbie stepped out of the crowd. We weren’t “friends,” not even acquaintances, really, but I had seen her at Sunday school a couple of times.
“You leave her alone,” she spoke authoritatively, “that’s my preacher’s daughter.”
The bullies cleared away, Debbie and my eyes met, and I was saved.
And forever, indebted.
One year later, Gloria and Gene came to live with us. They had come to know the Lord in New York City, and needing to get away from her old life, Gloria’s pastor had asked if my dad would help them relocate. Before finding their own place, they stayed with us for six months, and we had a blast!
They were my first up-close and personal experience with any people of color and what a precious groundwork they laid. Our memories are sweet.
I suppose my favorite memory centers around one night when my parents were out on a pastoral call. Going to the piano, I began to play “Winter Wonderland.” Before I knew it, Gloria, Gene, and my sister Susan were dancing around the living room. Gloria had been a dancer in New York City. That night I received my first and last dancing lesson, but I do look forward to heaven cause this Baptist is going to dance!
More importantly, Gloria and Gene taught me that there really wasn’t any difference between them and us.
And yet, whenever I would go through the black section of town, I would automatically lock all of my doors. One day, I was sitting there waiting at the stoplight when, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a black man approach. In a panic, I reached to lock the doors. A man’s laughter could be heard and then a rapping at my window. I kept my eyes on the traffic light, praying it would quickly turn green.
That’s when I heard a familiar voice, “Melissa, it’s Gene.”
And immediately, I was ashamed.
The truth was, I didn’t know one person of color that I was personally afraid of, and every African-American of my acquaintance was kind, decent, brave, and hardworking. But somewhere along the line, I had picked up society’s dividing line of them and us.
Like the old slave-trader John Newton, God’s amazing grace opened my eyes little by little. Raising my children on the outskirts of what is deemed to be “the most multi-cultural city in the world,” continued to open my heart and mind.
But I still have things to learn.
We still have things to learn.
I didn’t want to watch the video of George Floyd being choked to death by a police officer. I made it through half. My gut wrenched, and it felt like we might go back to Detroit, 1967.
The ugly truth is on video and it is way bigger than a 4-year old having a temper tantrum in the kitchen. The very thought that my piddly story can even begin to open any conversation on racism would be laughable, except, well—here we are, aren’t we?
Our nation—our family, has been in trouble for a long time. Children don’t just “learn” what is right and happy families don’t just “happen.”
Yes, it will take a whole lot more than one little talk with a tenderhearted child, but it’s a place to start, and we can’t afford to ignore what we have seen.
In 1908, John Oxenham wrote—
In Christ there is no east or west,
In Him no south or north,
But one great family bound by love
Throughout the whole wide earth.
100 years later, heartbroken and ashamed, we face the repugnant reality that we aren’t “one great family bound by love.”
But we do not have to face this reality with hopelessness and fear. There is a higher truth that promises to set us free (John 8:32).
The truth of God’s love joined Gloria and Gene’s hearts with my family’s hearts and our almost all lily-white church.
We can stand together, and raise our voices to proclaim the truth of His love to the rest of the world.
“And he said to him, “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart And with all your soul and with all your mind. This is the great and first commandment. And a second is like it: You shall love your neighbor as yourself.” Matthew 22:37-39
He left us with two commandments—love God, and love your neighbor.
How are we doing?
You are right…we are affected more than we realize. We can KNOW we are all created equal, but then have misconceptions creep into our minds that are in conflict with what we KNOW and not even realize.
Yes, Carrie–we, so often, don’t even realize our misconceptions! May God give us tender hearts to love like He loves us.
I’m not sure if you will remember this, but a couple and their small children started attending our church. I think she was white and he was black. It seems no one had a problem with them attending until they went forward to be baptized and join our church.
Several families ended up leaving the church when you dad decided to go forward with the baptism. I’ll never forget after they were baptized, your dad had the congregation sing
Jesus loves the little children
All the children of the world
Red, brown, yellow
Black and white
They are precious in His sight
Jesus loves the little children
Of the world! A simple little song with such meaning!❤
Judy, I absolutely do remember that and almost included it in this post. I’m so glad you wrote about it here. My dad’s heart was such a picture of how grace could change someone. He grew up in the south but loved everyone!
This is a most beautiful story and very needed during these challenging times. I will keep this post and read it many times as it is like salve to my heart and soul.
Thank you for your words and thoughts.
Thank you, Judith. May God use us all to love like He loves.
Thank you, Judith, for your kind words. I am stopping to pray for you right now, during this strange and challenging time. Truly, we lean on the One who is always in control.
Judy, I remember that so well. Thank you for reminding us. That was an important moment for all of us. And for God’s name to be exalted and cleared.
Thank you , for taking time & writing your wonderful blogs. Makes me happy to read and hear or see the wonderful things that each of us have been through. Continue: God Bless. A friend & family in Christ .
Thank you, Karen, for taking time to read and for pointing me to Christ so many years ago!