MARRIAGE

When I got home that night as my wife served dinner, I held her hand and said, I’ve got something to tell you. She sat down and ate quietly. Again I observed the hurt in her eyes.

Suddenly I didn’t know how to open my mouth. But I had to let her know what I was thinking. I want a divorce. I raised the topic calmly.

She didn’t seem to be annoyed by my words, instead she asked me softly, why?

I avoided her question. This made her angry. She threw away the chopsticks and shouted at me, you are not a man! That night, we didn’t talk to each other. She was weeping. I knew she wanted to find out what had happened to our marriage. But I could hardly give her a satisfactory answer; she had lost my heart to Jane. I didn’t love her anymore. I just pitied her!

With a deep sense of guilt, I drafted a divorce agreement which stated that she could own our house, our car, and 30% stake of my company.

She glanced at it and then tore it into pieces. The woman who had spent ten years of her life with me had become a stranger. I felt sorry for her wasted time, resources and energy but I could not take back what I had said for I loved Jane so dearly. Finally she cried loudly in front of me, which was what I had expected to see. To me her cry was actually a kind of release. The idea of divorce which had obsessed me for several weeks seemed to be firmer and clearer now.

The next day, I came back home very late and found her writing something at the table. I didn’t have supper but went straight to sleep and fell asleep very fast because I was tired after an eventful day with Jane.

When I woke up, she was still there at the table writing. I just did not care so I turned over and was asleep again.

In the morning she presented her divorce conditions: she didn’t want anything from me, but needed a month’s notice before the divorce. She requested that in that one month we both struggle to live as normal a life as possible. Her reasons were simple: our son had his exams in a month’s time and she didn’t want to disrupt him with our broken marriage.

This was agreeable to me. But she had something more, she asked me to recall how I had carried her into out bridal room on our wedding day.

She requested that every day for the month’s duration I carry her out of our bedroom to the front door ever morning. I thought she was going crazy. Just to make our last days together bearable I accepted her odd request.

I told Jane about my wife’s divorce conditions. . She laughed loudly and thought it was absurd. No matter what tricks she applies, she has to face the divorce, she said scornfully.

My wife and I hadn’t had any body contact since my divorce intention was explicitly expressed. So when I carried her out on the first day, we both appeared clumsy. Our son clapped behind us, daddy is holding mommy in his arms. His words brought me a sense of pain. From the bedroom to the sitting room, then to the door, I walked over ten meters with her in my arms. She closed her eyes and said softly; don’t tell our son about the divorce. I nodded, feeling somewhat upset. I put her down outside
the door. She went to wait for the bus to work. I drove alone to the office.

On the second day, both of us acted much more easily. She leaned on my chest. I could smell the fragrance of her blouse. I realized that I hadn’t looked at this woman carefully for a long time. I realized she was not young any more. There were fine wrinkles on her face, her hair was graying! Our marriage had taken its toll on her. For a minute I wondered what I had done to her.

On the fourth day, when I lifted her up, I felt a sense of intimacy returning. This was the woman who had given ten years of her life to me.

On the fifth and sixth day, I realized that our sense of intimacy was growing again. I didn’t tell Jane about this. It became easier to carry her as the month slipped by. Perhaps the everyday workout made me stronger.

She was choosing what to wear one morning. She tried on quite a few dresses but could not find a suitable one. Then she sighed, all my dresses have grown bigger. I suddenly realized that she had grown so thin, that was the reason why I could carry her more easily.

Suddenly it hit me… she had buried so much pain and bitterness in her heart. Subconsciously I reached out and touched her head.

Our son came in at the moment and said, Dad, it’s time to carry mom out. To him, seeing his father carrying his mother out had become an essential part of his life. My wife gestured to our son to come closer and hugged him tightly. I turned my face away because I was afraid I might change my mind at this last minute. I then held her in my arms, walking from the bedroom, through the sitting room, to the hallway. Her hand surrounded my neck softly and naturally. I held her body tightly; it was just like our wedding day.

But her much lighter weight made me sad. On the last day, when I held her in my arms I could hardly move a step. Our son had gone to school. I held her tightly and said, I hadn’t noticed that our life lacked intimacy.

I drove to office…. jumped out of the car swiftly without locking the door. I was afraid any delay would make me change my mind…I walked upstairs. Jane opened the door and I said to her, Sorry, Jane, I do not want the divorce anymore.

She looked at me, astonished, and then touched my forehead. Do you have a fever? She said. I moved her hand off my head. Sorry, Jane, I said, I won’t divorce. My marriage life was boring probably because she and I didn’t value the details of our lives, not because we didn’t love each other anymore. Now I realize that since I carried her into my home on our wedding day I am supposed to hold her until death do us apart.

Jane seemed to suddenly wake up. She gave me a loud slap and then slammed the door and burst into tears. I walked downstairs and drove away.

At the floral shop on the way, I ordered a bouquet of flowers for my wife. The salesgirl asked me what to write on the card. I smiled and wrote, I’ll carry you out every morning until death do us apart.

That evening I arrived home, flowers in my hands, a smile on my face, I run up stairs, only to find my wife in the bed – dead.
My wife had been fighting CANCER for months and I was so busy with Jane to even notice. She knew that she would die soon and she wanted to save me from the whatever negative reaction from our son, in case we push thru with the divorce.– At least, in the eyes of our son— I’m a loving husband….

The small details of your lives are what really matter in a relationship. It is not the mansion, the car, property, the money in the bank. These create an environment conducive for happiness but cannot give happiness in themselves. So find time to be your spouse’s friend and do those little things for each other that build intimacy. Do have a real happy marriage!

If you don’t share this, nothing will happen to you.

If you do, you just might save a marriage.
Many of life’s failures are people who did not realize how close they were to success when they gave up.

A CHRIST-CENTERED MARRIAGE IS A MARRIAGE THAT IS SURE TO LAST A LIFETIME.

So then, they are no longer two but one flesh. Therefore what God has joined together, let not man separate. Matthew 19:6

A old college friend, John, and I were talking the other day.  He had recently run into one of our frat brothers who I hadn’t seen in 25 years and sent me his picture.  Incredibly, Jules hadn’t aged in all these years, and is now a family man and father.  It blessed me to know that he was doing fine.  I mean, we can’t take for granted that any of us have another 25 years left to live.  When I asked about whether Jules was on facebook, John said Jules was adamant about not being on facebook.  I wondered aloud, “Why not”?  I was told it had nothing to do with a fear of technology and privacy laws or leaks.  It simply had to with Jules not wanting to reach back into the past.  I understood.  I, too, felt like this at one time in my life.

I’m content with my life and devoid of needing anyone’s approval, affirmation, or validation.  Yet, I admit to desiring to see the people who were apart of my life during a special, exciting, if not precarious time. The past is just that…the past. However, I imagine that there will always be those among us who still live there (in the past). And unfortunately, there may be some who will let that time, whether good or bad, define who they are even today. I’m not suggesting this has anything to do with Jules and his choices. His reasons are his own and I’m very grateful to know he and his family are well. Seeing his picture made my day! But, aside from him, I do believe there are people who may have a difficult time reconciling their past with their present without some confusion, regret, guilt, or shame.  Although we claim to have been “washed in the Blood of the Lamb”, many of us find it difficult to accept His pardon because we are still dealing with the natural consequences of our past sinful behavior.

We’re all grown up, now, right?  I respect Jules’ decision regarding reconnecting with people, places or things from years gone by.  However, I can only hope we can all learn from the relationships of our past, while understanding that none of us weren’t as grown or smart as we thought we were in our teens and 20s.  To be sure, there are some things we need to leave in the past, never to reacquaint with again. I can only imagine the foolishness some people, and yes, some couples have had to endure because someone from their past has inconspicuously crept into their present…through facebook, or some other form of social networking. While I’m not particularly concerned about this, I completely understand the fear some of us must have of something or someone (from their past) (re)introducing themselves to you, your spouse, and family.  Sadly, some people from our past may not have any good intentions whatsoever and are only seeking to cause more hurt and harm.

Yet, people do change.  Some actually grow up and become the adults that we thought we were 25 years ago.  Some of us can actually become agents of grace, mercy, and change by humbling ourselves and sharing a few words of apology and encouragement, none more important than, “I’m sorry”, or “I forgive you”.

But, you’ll first have to forgive yourself.  I believe that “hurt people” turn around and hurt people…”changed people” change people…and “healed people” help to heal people.  And I believe we all would agree that this is easier said than done.

Joseph Level

knows there is a population of people who are counting on you NOT to vote.  I mean, really…how many more excuses can you keep coming up with not to go to the polls?   Today, sadly, some of you will you prove them right.   However, many of you will indeed cast your ballot and prove them wrong!  Which group are you in?  I’m Joseph Level and not only did I approve this message, I voted today!

Hi All! 

Marriage.  It’s God’s idea!  So, naturally, He would have the prescription to maintian a successful one, and it is found in His Word.  However, many of us never considered nor counseled with Him before we got married, yet many of us seemingly ask Him to bless the mess we find ourselves in. 

All of us who value “til death do us part” need help, especially me.  So, here you go!  Enjoy the 2 links below!

http://www.perrynoble.com/2010/04/13/10-things-ive-learned-about-marriage-in-ten-years-part-one/

http://www.perrynoble.com/2010/04/14/10-things-ive-learned-about-marriage-in-ten-years-part-two/

Recently, one of my facebook associates wrote an article that served to encourage and strengthen me and other African-American Men.  I wanted to share it with you.  I particularly share his sentiments found in his opening disclaimer.

(I want to take a few minutes to write some special words to a special group of people. Before I do that, let me clarify a few things; as a child of God, my identity is not found in my skin color, my ethnicity, or the achievements of great african-american people past or present. My identity is rooted and grounded in the revelation of Jesus Christ, His blood atonement for my sin, His kingship and priesthood that He’s called me into. Therefore I am not a black Christian, I am a Christian, 1st and foremost, who happens to be of African descent. My motivations for writing this are not pro-black, but pro-Jesus who is the great redeemer of men everywhere. If you have a problem with this, please save me the hassle and remove me from your friend list.)

Dear men,
It is true that America is a land that was built on the backs and bloodshed of the native americans and our forefathers. Many will be upset to hear me make such a claim, but history bears record that this is true. However, despite the slavery, the injustice, the segregation, the racism, when we look at black history we find many great men and women who have done marvelous things for both america and the world in spite of the circumstances surrounding them. I believe this bears great witness to the resiliency of our people, but more so to the unrelenting love of Christ. As far as heritage goes, much of our history may have been lost in slavery, but a great legacy was left for us by our ancestors. From politics, to science, to religion, to business, to world missions, God has truly given our people a special inheritance despite the shame that our forefathers lived and died with. The pen of tomorrow’s history book is in our hands, our choices today truly do matter.

My purpose in writing this is not to recap the great achievements, or to review the horrors of our past, but to encourage you to look toward the future in light of the Kingdom of God. In other words, to remind you where we come from, and when I say that I’m not talking about Africa, but Zion, created in the heart of our heavenly father. As a young man (24) I’m apart of a generation in which 70% of african-american youth are being raised without a father, nearly 3/4 pregnancies among black women end in abortion, the incarceration rate for black males is nearly 10 times higher than any other people, the high school drop out rate is nearly 50% or higher in some places. I say this with a heavy heart, not because I’m black, but because I’m a child of God. By God’s grace I was raised with a mother and a father, and was exposed to different cultures, and the finest education as a child. But despite all of that, I still have vivid memories of racism, I can recall sitting around the dinner table hearing stories of my parents, and grandparents who lived through the race riots of the 50’s, 60’s and 70’s. Like you, I have a family tree that has been chopped at the root by injustice. On a personal level I know what it’s like to walk down the street and see white females run in the opposite direction in fear, somehow convinced I was a thief or a rapist, because of the images they see on Tv, or the stories they may have heard.

I’m sure you all have memories, stories, fears, and beliefs about what it means to be a black man in America, but I’m writing to not only encourage you, but challenge you to come up higher. MLK Jr. once said “A genuine leader is not a searcher for consensus but a molder of consensus.” so while the consensus about who we are may be sculpted and influenced by injustice or even our own laziness and compromise, I want to challenge you all, along with myself to write a new story. Not just for us, but for the generations to come. I’ve had a chance to travel the world and everywhere I’ve gone the influence I’ve had as an African-American male has been incredible. The world is familiar with our story as a people, and they respect it, now we must ask ourselves why don’t we? Our grandparents didn’t die in the fight for equality so that we walk the streets with our pants hanging half-way down, they gave their lives so that we could show the world the power of God’s redemptive love. The entire bible is the story about God and His chosen people the Israelites, who were sold into slavery, carried away as captives, who went back and forth serving false God’s and God judged them harshly. When Jesus came along, he made it possible for all men everywhere to know Him, not just jews. In the same way that He led Israel out of egypt to worship Him, He led our forefathers out of bondage for the same purpose, to worship. We were not set free to remain in shackles. Many of our generation are free from the chains of natural slavery, yet remain in bondage. The statistics, bare evidence of this. As the men God has redeemed unto himself and washed in His own blood, we have a duty and an anointing to proclaim freedom to the captives, not just black, but all people. I challenge you to remember who you are in Christ, not in color, to step out of ourselves to go against the victim mentality that so many black men have, and to be the leaders and worshippers we were created to be.

Our generation is a fatherless generation, and more than anything we need the men of God to step up and to be fathers. Because many of us have grown up without a father, to even say such a thing may seem unimaginable, but we must. When we are born again into the family of God, we all receive the spirit of adoption, and that is what we must impart to this fatherless generation. The bible says that God is a father to the fatherless, but he works through us. I especially want to encourage the teenagers to understand who you are in Christ. The world will tell you to dress a certain way, act a certain way, talk a certain, think a certain way, and if you aren’t careful you will convince yourself that there is no other way, but I tell you the truth, Jesus is the only way. By His grace, we must live like He did. Do the uncommon things, love, learn, be examples of purity and holiness. We need not complain about the stereotypes, we must step into our place of leadership and create a new consensus. By creating a new peer pressure we have the potential to lead our people and our nation in revival, by preaching on that which we have seen and heard concerning the word of life. So many of us think that sports are the only way to college, that rap music is the only venue to express yourself, but it’s not true. You are a child of God, not simply a black kid in a white man’s world. You are smart, you are intelligent, you are a leader, you are a trendsetter. Use your influence to reveal Jesus to people. No matter what the statistics say, the blood of Jesus speaks a better word, no matter how damaged your family history is, in Christ all things become new. No matter where you may have fallen short in the past, you can get back up again by the grace of God. Regardless of what your friends, family, or heros, have fallen short in, look at Jesus. He is the source of all truth. If you rap, rap on the beauty of Jesus, not the ugliness of the thug life, if you are successful in business, use the money to advance the kingdom, not your own, if you are called to preach, do it for God’s glory, not your own… whatever it is we have been gifted or called to do, let’s be an example to the world of what self-less love looks like. Let’s create a new stereotype, let’s surrender our hearts and allow God to bring beauty out of the ashes. We have come to the kingdom for such a time as this!

Last thing I want to leave you all with is a passage of scripture that I think sums up what I’m trying to say best.

Ezekiel 37:1-9
1 The hand of the LORD was upon me, and he brought me out by the Spirit of the LORD and set me in the middle of a valley; it was full of bones. 2 He led me back and forth among them, and I saw a great many bones on the floor of the valley, bones that were very dry. 3 He asked me, “Son of man, can these bones live?”
I said, “O Sovereign LORD, you alone know.”
4 Then he said to me, “Prophesy to these bones and say to them, ‘Dry bones, hear the word of the LORD! 5 This is what the Sovereign LORD says to these bones: I will make breath [a] enter you, and you will come to life. 6 I will attach tendons to you and make flesh come upon you and cover you with skin; I will put breath in you, and you will come to life. Then you will know that I am the LORD.’ “

7 So I prophesied as I was commanded. And as I was prophesying, there was a noise, a rattling sound, and the bones came together, bone to bone. 8 I looked, and tendons and flesh appeared on them and skin covered them, but there was no breath in them.

9 Then he said to me, “Prophesy to the breath; prophesy, son of man, and say to it, ‘This is what the Sovereign LORD says: Come from the four winds, O breath, and breathe into these slain, that they may live.’ ” 10 So I prophesied as he commanded me, and breath entered them; they came to life and stood up on their feet—a vast army.

Several months ago, I wrote an “open letter” to my son.  It generated some vigorous discussion.  Here it is…

“Son, your mom and I are proud of you and the progress we’ve seen in your life thus far.  You know the value we place upon you and your siblings living a virtuous lifestyle.  That’s why I’m tremendously hurt and saddened to learn that your mother found a condom in your wallet.  Why, son?  You’re a virgin.  Are you not proud of that?  Were you planning on using it?  With who?  Do you think that this somehow makes you stand out?  I’ve got news for you, Tre, your life is about to change.  Any young girl or boy who finds this amusing or cute or attractive is just as deceived as you are.  Conversely, any young lady or young man who knows you now knows that you need to mature before they should feel comfortable hanging out with you!  Grow up, Joseph, and quit being afraid to walk alone if that is what it requires you to do.  Your generation yearns for examples of righteousness…will you be one, or will you take the road of normalcy and deception.  I love you, son, and always will.

Dad”

As a father of six, I do have some experience when it comes to parenting.  But like any good mother or father will tell you, no one ever perfects the craft.  Those who tend to succeed at it do so with a clear understanding that lifelong  “parenting continuing education” is a prerequisite.  I will freely admit that I’m far from being a perfect father, but I humbly submit that absolutely no one could love my children more than me…other than my wife, their mother.

There is probably very little else in the world that incites  passion in a mother more than when she feels her child is in danger.  Believe me, nothing incites more passion in a Black mother than when her “skills” are called into question.  While I can identify with the surge of anger my own mother may have felt when she was forced to respond to false allegations of abuse, I have learned to harness the power of my emotions when dealing with people who disagree with my approach.

There is probably very little else in this world that irritates me more than seeing a child exhibiting bad behavior in the presence of a parent, only to see that Mom or Dad refuse to bring correction.  There is no need to even attempt to provide me with any explanation.  I will never understand it.  I refuse to live in a world where I’m afraid of my own children.  THERE IS NO WAY!  I have vowed never to raise any children that you or anyone should ever “fear” without reason.  In order to accomplish my goal, I no longer care about my own reputation.  I could care less about what Jim, Jackie, Milton, Mary, Barry, or Betty thinks about me.

I can’t tell you the number of times I’ve seen kids do things in public that needed immediate corrective action.  However, their Mom or Dad thought more about their own reputation than seizing the moment and helping their child see the error of his/her way.  In other words, some parents literally “opt out” of  disciplining their child because they’re more concerned of how others will perceive them instead of their child.  Not here.  Not now.  Not ever.

Call me “old school”, but I will never forget Ms. Williams coming into the Collett Street Recreation Center gymnasium in Morganton, NC  one afternoon wearing a robe and rollers and carrying a switch…alright, it was more like a tree limb.  Me and the boys were playing a pick up game when Ms. Williams busted through the swinging doors and made a bee-line toward Odell and was all over him like white on rice in seconds.  She beat him with that switch all the way from the free throw line to the car parked in the emergency lane outside the front entrance.  I know because we all watched in horror as we followed them all the way.  Buddy, that’s what we called Odell, screamed and begged to no avail.  Nobody did a thing to help him…not even the center authorities.  They knew Buddy.  But, they also knew Ms. Williams.

They knew how much she loved Buddy and how much she had sacrificed for him.  They knew she worked 3 jobs and slept when she could so that she could provide for her household.  They knew she would do anything for him to succeed.  They also knew of the heartache many other parents faced because they hadn’t “loved” and “corrected” their children.  All I and the other kids knew was that you didn’t mess with Ms Williams.  She was not afraid of any of us, our parents, or, for that matter, anybody, except the Lord God Himself.

As it turned out, Buddy was suppose to go straight home from school that afternoon.  He chose to do something different.  Bad decision.  Although there were some parents who felt they were too dignified to grace the recreation center in pajamas, Ms. Williams didn’t consider her wardrobe when it came to giving Buddy some “tough love”.  Today, there are even fewer “Ms. Williams” in the world, and not surprisingly, a whole lot more “Buddys”.   Their wrong choices, though, don’t go unnoticed or unpunished.  Law enforcement both notices and punishes.   Usually by then, the only wardrobe anyone is concerned with is of the “orange” or “black & white stripe” variety.

Ms. Williams is not with us anymore.  However, Buddy is alive and well.  He never had to wear an orange jumpsuit.  He has never donned a black and white 2-piece.  He’s a college graduate teaching and coaching in a NC high school.  And he’ll be the 1st to tell you how much our community needs more parents like Ms. Williams.

Buddy, meet your old friend.  You used to call me Ray-Ray, but now they call me Mr. Level.

Ms. Williams is one of my heroes and I hope I do as fine a a job raising my children as she did with you, Odell.

As a former student athlete, I’m keenly aware of the influence coaches have in the lives of their players.  Sadly, some of it isn’t good.  However, most of it is absolutely necessary for the development of young men and women.  Coach John O’Neil is a coach I’ve always liked as a kid, and as an adult. 

I first met coach when I was a little league athlete.  All of us kids knew who the “big” coaches were.  In our little town of Morganton, Freedom High School athletics were huge, and “Fat Friday” night football was “King”.  Coach O’Neil stood out, if for no other reason because he was the only Black coach.  It was a fact all of us knew, but, at that time, didn’t really understand nor appreciate.  And, it was something Coach O’Neil never made a big deal about…not even a little one.

As I progressed my way through the ranks of being ”one of the ones they really wanted”, Coach O’Neil eventually became one of my football coaches at Freedom.  He didn’t talk a lot, but he would, without hesitation, offer you a word of encouragement.  He even gave me rides to and from practice.  I’ll never forget once getting into his car, I was being extra careful not to mess up anything up in the car while getting in it after a dirty practice.  Although I can’t recall what type of car it was, but I considered it “nice”.  Coach noticed my feeble attempt, smiled and said, ”Man, get in.  I would never have a car that I wouldn’t let anyone ride in!”  To a young kid who had dreams of having some of the finer things in life, it was a lesson learned that has impacted me for life.  Now, I’m not blaming coach or using him as an excuse for me having one of the “junkiest” cars in America, but certainly, no material possession of mine is too good for me to share with anyone.  I could tell Coach also appreciated the extra effort and hustle I put in during, and after practice.  After encouraging me to run the stadium stairs for a week, I dropped my 40 yard dash time from 4.9 to 4.7.  I, too, also remember seeing disappointment in me wrought across his brow.  It was a regular drill during football practice.  I did it what was required.  But Coach knew when I finished I hadn’t give it my all.  Everyone else thought I was doing my normal “Mr. Hustle” routine and patted me on the back.  Everyone that is, except Coach O’Neil.  He knew, and it was written all over his face.  And thanks to his cute, little wife, Mary Ann, he also knew when I wasn’t giving my best in the classroom.  As it would turn out, I had the fortune of having Mrs. O’Neil as MY high school guidance counselor.  Go figure. 

And yet, before any of us could believe it, it was over.  I was a high school graduate ready to head off to college in Charlotte and determined never to return to live in Morganton, NC.  Not that I didn’t enjoy my life in Burke County, it just wasn’t big enough for my misguided ambition, and obviously my youthful arrogance.  I mean, why would anyone stay in such a small city when there were areas like Atlanta, DC, New York, and Chicago to conquer.  In my hurry to get out and grow up so fast, I failed to appreciate the reason why Coach and others stayed in Morganton…ME…and numbers of young Black boys and girls who needed someone (other than our own parents) to look up to.  WE needed their commitment, their guidance, and their love.  In order to fulfill the will of God for their lives, they needed us…and WE needed them more. 

I’ve come to believe that Coach O’Neil’s quiet, outward demeanor probably violently conflicted with a inward, raging passion…not for winning, but for fairness and equality.  Maybe it’s just me, but behind those steady eyes and straight face, I could sense that he felt things weren’t always right…that something, or someone wasn’t quite getting his (of her) fair shot.  Obviously, he somehow managed to keep it to himself…sort of.  You see, in reality, he has sowed that same passion into me and countless number of young men and women who have had the privilege of calling him Coach. 

Although I haven’t lived in Morganton since 1983, I regularly saw Coach here in my current home of Greensboro, NC during NC A&T’s homecomings.  Plus, the O’Neil’s only daughter has lived here since she finished school in Greensboro, herself.  

Now, when my 6 kids question why “Mom and Dad” choose to live in this little town called Greensboro instead of Atlanta, DC, New York, and Chicago, I can smile, too, and know that, like Coach in Morganton, I’m simply doing my part where God called me to do it. 

Thanks, Coach.  I’m glad you help to raise me into a man that you could call your friend.  I’ll continue to think of you often

Alright!  I must admit…it’s been a minute since I last wrote to you at length.  But, I have been busy.  Isn’t this the excuse for about everything we don’t do in our life…that we’re busy?  Sure, you HEAR me everyday, but this is now, along with everything else, a “blogging society”.

So, it has been busy in the world.  War, rumors of war, earthquakes, famine…sounds like the end of times.  However, maybe, we’ve all been too busy to notice all that is taking place.  Personally, I could get consumed in just my wife and our 6 children.  But then, I wouldn’t be able to support them if I didn’t work.  So, like millions of people like you, I am busy at work blogging to you about…well…me!

Blogging not just about me, but us!  My oldest, Shanda, a UNC grad and middle school math teacher is now in a serious relationship…her first.  This could be the one, and I could find myself giving my 1st daughter away.   Brittani, my high school senior and valedictorian, has been accepted to EVERYWHERE she has applied.  We’re praying for scholarships…in Jesus’ name!  Joseph, a junior and Josh, a freshman, both missed going to state championship football and basketball games by 1 victory.  Jeremy, a 6th grader, continues to forge his own identity as a student athlete, while Jordan, our 6 year old daughter with Down Syndrome, continues to amaze everyone.

And all the while, Sonia, my lovely wife, and I stay busy doing what we love…seeing our children stay grounded in the Lord…while in the busy world.

It’s about to get exciting in Greensboro, NC.

In a few days, despite what else is happening on the planet, the eyes of the world will converge upon the Gate City for the grand opening of the International Civil Rights Center and Museum (ICRCM).  Providentially, this occasion occurs 50 years to the day the last time “the eyes of the world” focused on Greensboro.  By now, one would hope that every man, woman and child (at least in the Triad) would by keenly familiar with the A&T 4 and their “en-counter” at that infamous, downtown Greensboro’s Woolworths.  Thanks to the the ICRCM, all of us can now become intimate with Franklin McCain, Joseph McNeil, Jibreel Khazan (formerly Ezell Blair, Jr), and the late David Richmond, as well as the movement they sparked in in the heart of young men and women all over the South, and the rest of the world, as a result of their non-violent protest.

Their courage was demonstrated in a time when such acts could easily cost you your life, and, at the least, some jail-time.  Many did pay the ultimate sacrifice, their lives honored as their mutilated bodies lay prostrate in a casket, at the alter, in the “church-house”.  Others lived, and lamented their decisions, while suffering the battery and humiliation from “Bull Conner-types”, preparing to face the magistrate while sitting in the jail beneath the “court-house”.

The civil rights movement has had it’s share of heroes (and to be politically correct, heroines).  Sadly, we are only familiar with those whose faces were beamed across a new phenomenon in the 1960s called television.  However, they represent a small percentage of them.  I believe that some of the most important contributions made in the “movement” were made by individuals whose faces fell flat on the floor of the church-house and rarely ever came up.

In the initial stages of the movement, people marched to the “church-house” and ignited non-violent protest on the alter of prayer.  However, in the movement’s latter half, the church was regulated to just being a meeting place for people to assemble before marching to the courthouse.  (Admittedly, I would have been one of the one’s ready to go downtown, although I don’t know if I would have qualified.  Great strength was required to remain silent in the face of an angry, racist mob, and being silent is not one of my strongholds.)  It’s an understandable progression, except for one unforgivable transgression.  Ever so gradually, we, the people, began to petition politicians instead of the Lord God Himself.  We (believers) grew weary in well doing, and began to seek God’s hand, and not His heart.  We forgot that God doesn’t hate people, He hates sin.  And racism is, in fact, sin.

I am forever grateful and humbled by the tremendous sacrifices made by men and women who selflessly gave their lives so that I, someone they never knew, could live in a society better than their own.  I’ve even come to understand that some of it was necessary.  But, I also want to thank those men, woman, and children, who continue to pray for God’s favor in the midst of our struggle to overcome our sin.  I’ve heard it said before, “Wise men still seek Him”.

My prayer is that as we continue the movement, “Let us not forsake the Lord, Thy God”.   Truth is, God has granted us unalienable rights, not man!  And, I choose to be on the Lord’s side.