Chicken Soup for the African American Soul

by Jack Canfield

  “Anyway, my grandparents weren’t thrilled about my being dumped on them and having another mouth to feed. I remember that even when I was little, I was so very good, never caused any problems and helped around the house as much as possible. I didn’t want to be a burden, but they always made me feel like one. Anyway, they both died of influenza the same month I turned thirteen.

  “None of the relatives liked me much or wanted me, so my father had no choice but to take me in. I had seen his family occasionally over the years, but didn’t know them well. Of course, I understood why my stepmother resented having to live with another woman’s child, but I never knew why my sister hated me so much. And it’s sad, because we could have been such friends.”

  After a long pause, Lottie went on. “I wanted them to be proud of me, so I studied diligently in order to be accepted into college. When my sister heard my plans, she suddenly announced that she wanted to attend the university, too. My father immediately told me to get ‘that college idea’ out of my head because tuition was expensive and he had already promised my sister that she could go instead of me. I was brokenhearted, but reluctantly started taking typing, shorthand and other business courses so I could at least work in an office instead of cleaning houses or being a nurse’s aide.

  “Right before I graduated from high school, an army recruiter talked to the senior class about serving our country, then getting the GI bill—like how the government would pay for veterans to go to college and all. So the day I turned eighteen, I signed up. They sent me to Washington, D.C., where I did clerical work for four years.

  “After my discharge, I returned home, found a part-time secretarial job, enrolled in classes and eventually earned my bachelor’s degree. My sister had changed her mind about college, so at the time I was the first black female to ever graduate from that university. Anyway, I ended up teaching ninth grade in an inner-city school for the next thirty-three years.

  “And, in a nutshell, I finally gave up trying to have a relationship with my relatives. But that’s okay,” she added with a smile to convince everyone (including herself). “I had an endless supply of kids in my classes who needed all the TLC they could get.”

  After Lottie had so openly discussed her past, I kept wondering what part of her story she kept concealed. She seemed so sad, and it felt like there was a major puzzle piece missing. Had she ever been in love? Did she lose her soul mate in the war and vow never to marry? Had she bounced back from a near-fatal illness?

  I struggled to refocus on what the other residents in my group were saying. I glanced at everyone in the room, then over at Lottie. She had tears streaming down her face. “Oh, Lottie!” I gasped in surprise. “You must be hurting so much! Maybe we should get a doctor.”

  “No,” she purred softly. “Actually, I’m much better now. In fact, I don’t remember when I’ve felt so good. Do you know that you have been holding and massaging my hands for almost an hour now?”

  I stole a glimpse at my watch. “Gosh, I—I didn’t,” I confessed. “I was just . . . ”

  “Thank you,” she interrupted me. “That was incredibly healing. Do you know that tomorrow is my eightieth birthday, and I’ve never once had anyone hold my hands like that?”

  “Oh, Lottie, I’m so sorry,” I stammered, trying not to let my voice crack or my tears flow. How could anyone be so grateful over something so little? I hadn’t done anything! For one of the few times in my life, I was speechless.

  “You’ve probably noticed that my eyes are light blue,” she suddenly interjected.

  “I—I actually hadn’t,” I responded apologetically, really seeing them right then for the first time.

  “Hmmmm,” Lottie crooned. “That’s one of the first things my people notice. You see, my mother was a white woman. In those days, interracial marriages were not welcome, nor were their biracial offspring. I was never accepted into either family because of that. Even though my skin is dark, complete strangers could take just one look at my blue eyes and know my past. It’s almost as though people tried to make me feel ashamed of it, ashamed of who I am.”

  Lottie gazed into space. “When I was about eight or nine, I was hiding behind this fence and watching a white woman playing with her young daughter in a park. The child fell down and started crying. The mother raced over, scooped the little girl up in her arms, hugged her tightly and smothered her with kisses. I memorized that lady’s face. I’ve never seen a picture of my own mother, so from then on, throughout my whole life, every time I’ve been sad or scared, I just closed my eyes and imagined that lady. I pretended that she was my mother and that she was always there to comfort and protect me—just like she did with her daughter that day.”

  The words I wanted to say did not come. Lottie smiled peacefully. “Just last night I was thinking that I’m almost eighty years old, and I’ve never known what it is like to be comforted when I’m hurting. And now I do. You didn’t even realize it, but you just gave me the best birthday gift I’ve ever had.”

  My God, I hadn’t done anything!

  “Oh, Lottie,” my quivering voice responded, “may I please give you a hug?” We both stood up. I don’t know if I held her or she held me, but it felt so good.

  Behind me was a long line of other teary-eyed women, waiting to hug their new friend. I overheard Mrs. Burton whispering in the background again, this time planning a surprise birthday party . . . something with a “sisters” theme.

  Karen Waldman

  5

  PRAISE,

  WORSHIP

  AND PRAYER

  Always continue the climb. It is possible for you to do whatever you choose, if you first get to know who you are and are willing to work with a power that is greater than ourselves to do it.

  Oprah Winfrey

  I Heard the Voice of Jesus

  Saying Still to Fight On

  As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.

  Marianne Williamson

  Almost immediately after the protest started we had begun to receive threatening telephone calls and letters. They increased as time went on. By the middle of January, they had risen to thirty and forty a day.

  From the beginning of the protest both my parents and Coretta’s parents always had the unconscious, and often conscious, fear that something fatal might befall us. They never had any doubt about the rightness of our actions, but they were concerned about what might happen to us. My father made a beaten path between Atlanta and Montgomery throughout the days of the protest. Every time I saw him I went through a deep feeling of anxiety, because I knew that my every move was driving him deeper and deeper into a state of worry. During those days he could hardly mention the many harassments that Coretta, the baby and I were subjected to without shedding tears.

  As the weeks passed, I began to see that many of the threats were in earnest. Soon I felt myself faltering and growing in fear. One day, a white friend told me that he had heard from reliable sources that plans were being made to take my life. For the first time I realized that something could happen to me.

  One night at a mass meeting, I found myself saying: “If one day you find me sprawled out dead, I do not want you to retaliate with a single act of violence. I urge you to continue protesting with the same dignity and discipline you have shown so far.” A strange silence came over the audience.

  One night toward the end of January I settled into bed late, after a strenuous day. Coretta had already fallen asleep, and just as I was about to doze off the telephone rang. An angry voice said, “Listen, nigger, we’ve taken all we want from you; before next week you’ll be sorry you ever came to Montgomery.” I hung up, but I couldn’t sleep. It seemed that all of my fears had come down on me at once. I had reached the saturation point.

  I got out of bed and began to walk the floor. I had heard these things before, but for some reason that night it got to me. I turned over and I tried to go to sleep, but I couldn’t sleep. I was frustrated, bewildered
, and then I got up. Finally I went to the kitchen and heated a pot of coffee. I was ready to give up. With my cup of coffee sitting untouched before me I tried to think of a way to move out of the picture without appearing a coward. I sat there and thought about a beautiful little daughter who had just been born. I’d come in night after night and see that little gentle smile. I started thinking about a dedicated and loyal wife, who was over there asleep. And she could be taken from me, or I could be taken from her. And I got to the point that I couldn’t take it any longer. I was weak.

  Something said to me, “You can’t call on Daddy now, you can’t even call on Mama. You’ve got to call on that something in that person that your daddy used to tell you about, that power that can make a way out of no way.”

  With my head in my hands, I bowed over the kitchen table and prayed aloud. The words I spoke to God that midnight are still vivid in my memory: “Lord, I’m down here trying to do what’s right. I think I’m right. I am here taking a stand for what I believe is right. But Lord, I must confess that I’m weak now, I’m faltering. I’m losing my courage. Now, I am afraid. And I can’t let the people see me like this because if they see me weak and losing my courage, they will begin to get weak. The people are looking to me for leadership, and if I stand before them without strength and courage, they too will falter. I am at the end of my powers. I have nothing left. I’ve come to the point where I can’t face it alone.”

  It seemed as though I could hear the quiet assurance of an inner voice saying: “Martin Luther, stand up for righteousness. Stand up for justice. Stand up for truth. And lo, I will be with you. Even until the end of the world.”

  I tell you I’ve seen the lightning flash. I’ve heard the thunder roar. I’ve felt sin breakers dashing trying to conquer my soul. But I heard the voice of Jesus saying still to fight on. He promised never to leave me alone. At that moment I experienced the presence of the Divine as I had never experienced Him before. Almost at once my fears began to go. My uncertainty disappeared. I was ready to face anything.

  Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.

  Bedtime Blessing

  It is better to walk in the dark with God than to run in the light alone.

  Bobby Jones

  “I’m tired, Lord,” I said as I walked up the stairs leading to the hallway of the kids’ bedroom. My circumstances weighed heavily on my normally cheery disposition. It had been six months since I was laid off from my job. I knew the letters by heart. “Thank you for your interest in our company. We will keep your resume on file and if your skills match our needs . . . blah blah blah.” The job search thing had gotten under my skin. After all, I have a pretty impressive resume, and I’d never before had a problem getting a job.

  I plopped down on the floor at the top of the stairs and dropped my head into the palms of my hands. It had been two years since my marriage ended. I was wrestling with being single, again. This job hunt made me want to pull my hair out. And on top of that, the bills were due and unemployment wasn’t quite cutting it.

  “Mommy!” the kids called out.

  I pushed past my feelings of fear, uncertainty and frustration, got up from the floor and made my way to the kids’ bedroom.

  “What story would you like to read tonight?” I flipped through a book I thought the kids would both enjoy.

  “Mommy, let’s read about the animals!” Cameron stood up on the bed and waved one of his favorite animal books.

  Courtney, my two-year-old, clung to her doll as I picked her up and sat on the bed next to Cameron.

  As I read, their eyes widened with excitement as if they’d never heard this story before. I silently wished I could look at my life this way, too.

  They pointed at pictures of the animals and identified which they liked best.

  “Mommy, which animal are you? This is me,” Courtney said as she pointed at a giraffe.

  I pointed at a colorful bird, “That’s me.”

  Cameron interrupted, “No, Mommy. You can’t be that bird. That bird looks afraid. Look at his face. He’s afraid. Mommy, you’re not afraid, are you?”

  “Uh.” Tongue-tied and amazed at the profundity of my four-year-old, I stared at him, perplexed by the depth of his question.

  “Fear not, Mommy, for God is with you,” Cameron reassured me with a smile.

  I felt a flame of hope ignite inside me. The kids played in bed as I sat there and reflected on the conversation I’d just had with God on the stairs a few minutes ago—and the one He had just had with me through my young son.

  Sure, I had lost my job, but it was a job that I no longer enjoyed. The reality of divorce permeated my mind with clouds of uncertainty and fear, but then I thought of how much time my ex-husband invests in the children and what a great partnership we’ve formed since the divorce. The bills were due and my expenses far exceeded my income, but every month God provided and met the needs along with a few wants.

  After the kids were bundled into bed, I kissed them goodnight and turned off the light. I gazed into their bright eyes once more.

  “God loves you, Mommy,” Courtney said with the excitement only a two-year-old could possess.

  My heart smiled as I reached into her eyes and grabbed a mustard seed of faith.

  Catina Slade

  Walking by Faith

  I am not a special person. I am a regular person who does special things.

  Sarah Vaughan

  One Sunday morning at the end of an inspiring sermon, my pastor told the congregation, “I want everyone to do something nice for an elder. It really does take a village, and as good Christians, we must take care of our elders. Go out, read to an elder, take someone for a ride, cook dinner, spend time with an elder this week.”

  Oh, good, I thought. That should be easy; I can do something special for my mother. Maybe I’ll take her to dinner along with another family friend. It shouldn’t be too hard.

  Then my pastor put a special touch to the assignment. “Make sure that you do this for someone you don’t know.”

  Oh well, I’ll figure out something later, I told myself. My stomach growled as I drove out of the church parking lot and headed toward the market. I put the challenge out of my mind and started mentally planning my Sunday dinner.

  As I was putting groceries in the car, I noticed an older man, a bum, stooping and fumbling with a large trash bag. When I closed the car door, a voice reminded, “Help an elder this day.”

  So, I leaned out the car and said, “Excuse me, do you need any help?”

  “Oh!” the old man turned and looked up, startled.

  All of a sudden, it felt important to help this man.

  “Sir, can I help you? Do you need a ride?” I asked, sounding a little more urgent.

  “Well, yes,” the old man said. “I do need some help. I bought more than I thought, and I don’t know how I’m going to get all this home.”

  Now I really started to pay attention. He was taking all his smaller bags and putting them in a large trash bag and I got the impression he intended to carry his large bag on his shoulders.

  “I can give you a ride. It’s no problem,” I said.

  “Oh, I live far,” he stated.

  At that point, it really didn’t matter where he lived, I knew that this was a divine assignment, and I would have taken him to the moon without hesitation. I stepped out of the car to help him with his groceries, heavy with canned goods, and started loading them into my car.

  His name was Hank, and he lived only a few miles from the market, but with his bags it would have been a long walk. As we reached his home, I helped him with his groceries to the door, and he offered to pay me for the ride.

  “No, I was glad to help you.”

  I told him about the assignment and asked for his phone number.

  “I would like to call you sometime this week, just to say hello,” I told him. He gave me his number, and I drove off with the promise of calling him.

  When I called the next week, Hank answered the phon
e.

  “Hello,” he said. “I am so very glad that you called. You just don’t know what you did for me. You see, I lost my wife a few years ago, and it has been so hard on me. I’m eighty years old and I have a car I can’t drive anymore because my eyesight is so bad. Nobody has ever offered me a ride unless I pay them.”

  The words were tumbling out of his mouth. “I didn’t know what I was going to do,” he continued. “I had been struggling with my groceries for about an hour, wondering how I was going to get home. I wanted to catch a taxi, but didn’t want to leave my bags. I was getting so upset, I just cried out, ‘God, please help me.’ It seems like right after that I heard a voice say, ‘Excuse me, do you need any help?’”

  I took Hank to church with me the following Sunday, and we became friends in the weeks to follow. I had many rich conversations with Hank, and the experience had a profound effect on me because it was a major lesson in obedience. You see, my first thought was that he was a bum, but then I remembered my pastor’s words—or I wonder, Was it the voice of God that I heard?

  Deborah Bellis

  God Listens to Even the Smallest Prayers

  The more you are aware of God’s unchanging love, the safer you feel in the world.

  Susan L. Taylor

  My daughter was fourteen at the time. She had accepted Christ into her life when she was seven. Now, seven years later, she was questioning her faith.

  “Mom, I don’t think God is with me anymore,” she said one day.

  I asked her why she felt that way, and she said she couldn’t hear God talking to her, almost as if He didn’t notice her at all anymore.

  My heart ached for her as I listened to this young child—my child—share her feelings of being abandoned by God. I gave her a hug and searched my mind for the right words to reassure her.