Days of Profound Gratitude – Thursday, 30 June 2011 – Part III
I determined the driveway adjacent to a red brick house had to be the one leading to my childhood home. My late paternal uncle, the eldest son and child of my grandparents and a third parent for my siblings, cousins and myself, built this custom brick house in the early 1970s. Nearly forty years later, I definitely appreciate the personal and financial accomplishment he made in obtaining financing, supervising construction and making mortgage payments. With a house on the market in the most challenging market in recent economic history, I am grateful for his example of personal ambition, familial vision and home ownership. Actually, his house was the nicest one in the neighborhood at the time of his untimely death in September 1978 at the young age of 48. Incredibly, it remains distinctive as I found it near the large overgrown area that covers the plot where his parents' house once stood. Once I was assured that I located the right spot, I parked the car to narrate the story of my childhood for my wife and children. I detailed the interior and exterior of the white wooden house that lacked central heating and air conditioning. I marvel that twelve people lived within such small square footage. Furthermore, I stand in awe of the 3500 square feet home that I am selling; in many ways, it would have been a dream house for my family.
I pointed to the plot of land where our garden lay. Early March just before spring amidst dreadful forecasts of frosts and final wind chills, we prepared the soil with fertilizer for planting season at the end of the month. Little did I know how significant this arduous chore was to our livelihood? That garden fed us. As a child, I could not appreciate the organic and extremely healthy produce we enjoyed as we did not use any insecticides or pesticides. As descendants of farmers, my grandparents knew ecologically friendly and natural methods of preventing bugs from destroying plants. I recall the sweet potato bank of pine straw that preserved the abundant harvest of yams. We ate piping hot and steaming candy yams in the middle of winter. Additionally, my grandmother's immeasurable labor of love of canning fresh fruit and vegetables in the oppressive and draining heat of July. Drenched in sweat, she stalwartly visualized feeding her family in thick and thin times. "Momma" ignored the heat and personal discomfort in exchange for the greater aim of ensuring our well-being.
Near the garden, a makeshift basketball court equated with Madison Square Garden for the children of our neighborhood and the adjoining one. With my grandfather's help, we chopped down a tall tree in nearby woods. He gave us a piece of ply wood that served as the back board. With a heart full of joy and a very broad smile, I remember how all of us chipped in a portion of our meager weekly allowances to purchase a brand new set of nets. Our net hanging ceremony rivaled the awarding of medals at the end of an Olympic competition.
Then, I become sad as I consider the front porch is gone. There, on many mornings as dawn creeps over the horizon, I sat in a wooden chair and glared beyond the leaves of a china berry tree directly adjacent to the driveway. Each time, I lift my dreams and goals to Almighty God being fully persuaded that He intended more for me than I saw around me within my impoverished context. I unquestionably believed life had more to offer. I did not then nor do I now accept the arbitrary limitations of race, class, pedigree, and social strata. Simply stated, I believe unconditionally in God's miraculous capabilities and power (Ephesians 3:20 and Romans 4:18-25) and I wholeheartedly believe in myself because of the divine gifts graciously given to me at conception. Those foundational beliefs which comprise the basis of my personal credo are the reasons for the profound gratitude to which I refer above. In the time I have been away from the old neighborhood, I experience daily increasing amounts of thanksgiving for God's faithfulness.
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