The first thing that comes to my mind when I reminisce about my life is the great mercy dealt to me. It spared me from a lot of pain and turmoil.
I can vaguely remember my parents splitting up. I recollect certain scenes when I was with one or the other. In one of those scenes I am very young. I stand on a bed watching my dad working in the kitchen. He has just finished helping me with something. I can’t quite remember what. I look out the window and see my grandmother walking towards our front door. Everything fades as the rest is only a fogy picture in my mind. Suddenly I am there again embracing my grandma. I find out she has something for me. It is a three-wheel bike for toddlers. I am elated. I can still remember the feeling of joy even to this day.
The mercy I mentioned comes later on in my life, but not too much later. My parents who have been away from each other for some months go to meet with a pastor one night about their relational issues. My Dad wants so bad for things to be different. He has been changed and wants a second chance. My mom doesn’t want to hear about it. She reluctantly goes with him that night, however. But quickly ends the meeting by saying that it is finished and leaves without another word. My Dad who is devastated talks to the pastor a little longer asking him what chance he has of ever being with my mom again. The pastor is pretty sure the relationship is finished.
Through the grace of God, however, my mom changes her mind and eventually they both are together again and soon after become professing Christians. That mercy would follow me through the rest of my young life and, I am certain, would help mold me into the person I am today.
The next scene I recall is a few years later. I lay down on another bed in a room that my brother and I share. We live in a trailer. My dad stands over me. He is tucking me into bed. As I get comfortable in the covers enjoying the presence of my father and the warm glow of the lamp, I look up into his eyes and listen quietly to his words. He asks me a simple question, “Jacob, have you ever heard of goliath?” I hadn’t heard of that great giant who was slain by a mere young but faithful man. That is the first time I recall hearing about the bible. Again every thing fades into the fog of forgetfulness.
Objects and people suddenly come into focus as my memory clicks into another stage of my life. I am bent over, hands on my knees looking at the ground, trying to catch my breath. In the distance a girl is walking slowly towards me. Her face is very familiar. I have known here for years. She is smiling but I know her purpose. As she gets closer I must make my move. I take one last deep breath, turn around, and jolt for a door in the side of the church. I can hear her behind me. As I make it to the door I quickly open it mapping out the path I need to take. Down the stairs, through fellowship hall, and out the big glass doors. As I take the stairs two at a time I hear heavy breath behind me. Terrified I look back but am relieved to see my friend, Bryan, behind me. The terror comes back as both the girl chasing me and another girl appear behind us. They aren’t letting up. I yell as loud as I can and fly through the door. Every thing fogs over once again.
We decide to leave that first church with the sole intent of going to a more family focused congregation—one which focuses on strong parental guidance of their kids. We drive over to the house of the pastor of family covenant. I remember walking up the front steps. My throat is very sore, and I have an anxious feeling in the pit of my stomach. I know I’m going to have to meet someone new. All the while, I’m making sure that I stay behind my mom and dad. “Knock, Knock, Knock.” My dad raps his knuckles against the door in that rhythm he always uses. The door opens slowly to reveal the face of an older boy, with whom I would soon come to be good friends. He smiles and lets us in. Suddenly the contents of the room swirl around in an invisible, tornado-like wind fading from view until all goes fogy once again.
As some years go by, we stay with the church growing somewhat close to the five families within. Another scene begins to materialize.
I’m running as hard as I can through a park. It is Fifth Street Park over by the brick streets and older homes. That is how I distinguish it from the rest. I always remember the red bricks. As I run, I can hear kids my age screaming and laughing along with me. I look over and see another friend I have made. We are playing tag. Suddenly I slide to avoid being tagged, scrapping up the grass and staining my genes. Getting up I feel like kicking myself knowing that the slide isn’t worth my embarrassment. My memory world fades out for a second and back in. I stand with one foot on a bench. Towering over me is an outside pavilion. We are still in the same park. My best friend is standing to my right. He is talking somewhat heatedly to an acquaintance. They are discussing Lord of the Rings. Marcus, my friend, says that Lord of the rings is sinful and bad. I stupidly agree with him getting in an argument with the acquaintance and his older brother. Fog once again envelopes me, but, only momentarily. We suddenly appear in the drive way of large house. My friend’s mom stands, hand on her hips, listening as a lady and her son apologize for their behavior at the park. I see a glint of prideful victory in the former’s face. She nods matter-of-factly and accepts the apology.
Our prideful self-righteous attitudes continue for a couple more years to come. I go along with it because that is how the people around me act. We are right and others are obviously wrong. Suddenly that life is gone while yet another scene surfaces.
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