“Von, would you get me a glass of water?” he requested wearily. 

I don’t remember if the words, “Why can’t he get his own water?,”actually slipped out of my mouth or if the sentiment spilled out in the shrug of my shoulders or roll of my eyes. But my mother spun around. “He is your father,” she scolded and then said something to the effect of “if he asks you for a glass of water you get it. He works hard all day… Respect your father…if I ever heard you….”   

Something clicked that day that still causes me to reflect on that moment when I think of what it means to honor your father and your mother as the Bible commands. Looking back, I know there was no reason, save being a touchy teenage, for my behavior toward my father, a quiet, hard-working man who gave the best of what he had to his wife and six children. He was a patient man who taught me how to drive and who complimented both my good meals and my bad attempts when I was learning to cook as a teenager.

Growing up, I watched Daddy polish his shoes on Saturday evenings before settling down at the dining room table with his Bible and concordance. He always studied for the Sunday school class he taught, always prepared himself for the day ahead at Thankful Baptist Church.

I didn’t think much then about having a father who loved to go to church, who enjoyed singing in the choir, who counted it a privilege to be a church deacon and trustee. I grew up in a time and place where the family men on my working-class street went to church faithfully.  Neighbors who didn’t call my daddy Mr. Willie called him Deacon Shinhoster.

On Sundays, my family would gather around the breakfast table and daddy would say the blessing. We would eat and then get ready for church. My younger sister, older brother and I –the last three of my parent’s six children—piled into the backseat of Daddy’s old Buick, while Mom commanded the front passenger seat. Daddy would then take us to the church we attended in West Savannah, Solomon Temple Church of God in Christ, and then hurry across town to be on time for his own church service. He came back after his service, which always got out before ours, to pick us up.

It was a ritual that played itself out for years, without any fuss or fanfare. Sometime after I left home for college, daddy decided to leave his long-time church and to join my mom at Solomon Temple. I know that gave her much joy and brought them closer together as the last of their children went off to college.

For years, I lived with the false impression that daddy has abdicated his role as head of the household to my mother. Every time, I would ask him something, he would say “have you asked your mother.” And she would say, “Have you asked your father?” I couldn’t seem to get a direct answer from him.

What I learned later, however, was that they were always working together as a unit to raise us, always consulting each other. I was surprised years ago when one of my brothers mentioned how daddy was always instructing the three boys in what to takes to become a man. He told them what was expected of them when they were away from home,  to always save some of the money they made from work and to make sure they completed their education.

Daddy helped raise three boys who became good men and leaders in their spheres of influence. He also encouraged his daughters to go to college and to pursue their dreams, which all of us did and are doing. For me, he became a role model for what a husband and father should be.

Daddy was a good man, a godly man, and not just because he attended church. But because he lived those attributes every day that I knew him until his death in 1993. He led by example and taught us all to live our lives with faith and trust in God.

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Looking at the tree, I saw the wonder of  the season. It is a time when many of us extend ourselves to others. It is one of the things that make this time of year so special for me. For the last several years, my family and I joined with two other families to purchase gifts for children of various ages and sizes. Around the middle of the month, we would come together for the annual  tree-trimming party at my friend’s house and wrap the presents. We enjoyed matching gifts with our list and making sure each child received a fun toy as well as an article of clothing.   

My friend Marcia especially enjoyed shopping for our annual gift-giving and wrapping the gifts in the most festive paper she could find. Even though she’s not able to do her own shopping this season, she is not letting that stop her for spreading her angel wings and bringing some Christmas joy to others. Relatives will do the shopping for her.

Over the next couple of weeks, my church and other churches will be gathering  bundles of new toys and clothing for childen and families in need, joining Y members and employees of other organizations who want to bring a bit of  joy into the lives of families that otherwise would do without. The gifts are more than just material objects that could break or wear out over time, they are tangible manifestations of God’s love.  They are messages of hope from angels.

The world is in need of more angels this season, since so many more families are suffering economic hardships.  The tree in the lobby at the Y is not the only one filled with angels waiting to take wings.

What are you doing this Christmas through your church, family or workplace to be someone’s angel?

 ”Be an angel to someone else whenever you can, as a way of thanking God for the help your angel has given you. ”

Quoted in The Angels’ Little Instruction Book by Eileen Elias Freeman, 1994

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I attended the affair with my business partner and friend, Sherry, whom I am visiting in Philly. We had spent part of the day working, so it was good to be in the company of women laughing and engaging in meaningful conversation. I even got hugs from former colleagues I had not seen in years, except on Facebook.

My breakout group consisted of about 17 professional African American women ranging in ages from  the 20s to 70s. And even the young among us already had come to realize that family, significant others, friends, work or money do not make us or keep us happy in the long run. Each of us is responsible for our own happiness.

Several in the room seemed to understand, as I do, that happiness is an inside job. It is a state of mind, some acknowledged. And faith plays a key role in sustaining our happiness, others around the room agreed.

One young woman talked about how she has found freedom and contentment in coming home after work  and reading her Bible. She is pursuing her goal of starting a public relations and marketing firm. Her faith, the seeds of which were planted by her parents, encourages and sustains her.

“We all have a different starting point for happiness. It’s not the same for everyone,” said another young woman, Sirena C. Moore, who lit up the room as she talked about what God has done in her life. Moore, a teenage mother of twins turned entrepreneur, received the 2010 Small Business Person of the Year award from the Greater Philadelphia Chamber of Commerce and was featured  on the cover of Black Enterprise Magazine in January.

The 28-year-old  owner of Elohim Cleaning Contractors Inc says she has found her passion and it is speaking and motivating others. Her website tells about her many accomplishments over the last 10 years. “God has given me such an awesome testimony,” Moore enthused.

Women talked about “the juggle” –careers, spouses, children, helping others – that often leaves them little time for themselves. “We give so much to so many people,” said a 50-something health care lobbyist. “I learned this in church… you have to fill your cup to help others.”       

Happiness and faith is a topic that resonates with me. Just last week, I spent what amounts to two days learning about releasing family blessings through emotional healing at a College of Prayer module in the D.C. area. Our presenter, Mike Plunket, is a pastor and college professor from New York who describes himself as a Christian hedonist. “I live for the pleasure of God,” he declared.

“True happiness is doing what you were made for, doing what you are wired for,” Plunket said. “To get there you have to own your own emotions. We tend to give our emotions away to someone else.”

Years ago, I made a choice, and I am still working toward this goal, to not allow others to determine my level of happiness. I chose to be happy and I am allowing myself time with God to ensure that my contentment is rooted in something that doesn’t change at someone else’s whim or some condition out of my control.

Webster’s dictionary defines happiness as a state of well-being and contentment. Nothing compares to the happiness I have found in my walk with Christ. I am grateful for the reminders I have received over the last week.

Let’s continue the conversation. What makes you happy?

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On previous walks along other favorite trails, friends and I noticed several huge trees that had stood generations and were now laying  prostrate. Their roots, which had once plunged deep into the earth, were now severed and reaching out helplessly. My first reaction was that the roots were too shallow for the tall, strong trees. Perhaps the trees had been weakened by disease, said one friend. Not necessarily so, I later learned. Even healthy trees sometimes topple over when the earth beneath them shifts from too much rain.

How like my faith that is. In good times, I stand tall and firm in what I believe. Head high, heart  fixed, I move sure-footed into the world and can withstand the onslaught. Failures, like rain, may come but I  just put up my umbrella and push on with the benign belief that failures are steppingstones to success. That’s what I was taught as a young girl growing up in a Pentecostal church in Savannah, Ga.,  and what I internalized, even when I struggled to believe it.

On the other hand, there have been those times when no matter where I turned, disappointment and frustration came  like heavy, dark clouds. Like drops of persistent rain, life’s trials have one time or another caused the ground to shift beneath my feet and with the weight of the elements pulling at me, I felt a fall would surely follow.

My son’s rebellious teenage years became one of those root-shaking times.  As he grew more and more enamored of street life, my family’s foundation strained to nearly breaking point.  As my husband’s and my son’s relationship grew more contentious, I felt at times like I was standing on the edge of madness.

 Keeping my son in high school became an obstacle course that I was determined to run, pulling and pushing him along. Graduating from high school was imperative, I told him time and time again as I reminded him of  his potential and our extended family’s belief in the importance of education. I cajoled him into going to church as many times as I could, hoping that earlier Bible lessons would sustain him when he refused to go.

In the midst of my tears, I  began to see God at work in me and in my family. I welcomed the distraction that work offered, attended my daughter’s school functions and served in church activities. I also prayed hard and studied my Bible more diligently. Little victories with my son, like the time he made an A on a computer programming  test, became cause for inner celebrations of thanksgiving.

After going to four different high schools in almost as many years,  my son graduated and is  now pushing his way through college while still struggling to find his footing in the world. My family, my marriage are stronger today than it’s ever been. I am learning I cannot worry about what rain will come tomorrow.  I am holding on to hope today.

Like the tree in Brookside, which I marvel at each time I see it,  I am clinging to my faith come rain or shine.  As the Scripture says, “This is the day that the Lord has made. I will rejoice and be glad in it!”

PS:  Please continue to pray for and send support if you can to the survivors of the devastating earthquakes in western Indonesia and the tsunami on Samoa.

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Rev. Dr. Leslie D. Callahan’s joyous installation service was the culmination of a three-year search, which church officials said was bathed in prayer and fasting. Her selection in May over a male candidate has been heralded as “historic” many, many times over.

A long procession of robed clergy from Philadelphia and beyond marched into the sanctuary, bearing witness to “the Lord’s doing.” Quite noticeable among the dozens of preachers and prominent theologians was the number of young black women who were rejoicing with their sister in the ministry and perhaps getting a glimpse of new possibilities for their own futures. I marveled along with them at God’s great faithfulness.  

It was a “historic occasion in the life of St. Paul,” one male speaker proclaimed in the floor- to-balcony-packed sanctuary.  “A historic appointment,” said another.   “St. Paul vibrated history,” added one female pastor.  

“My prayer is that the city, nation and world will look at St. Paul as a model,” remarked yet another.

A new leadership model is sorely needed for the African American church. While the number of black women graduating from seminary has increased significantly over the last 20 years, many trained women have been denied opportunities to pastor in some mainline denominations.  Church tradition, Scripture interpretation and sexism factor among the reasons.  

In some cases black women ministers have  joined more accepting white denominations, while other black women in increasing numbers have started their own churches.  And even that is not without it problems as some men and women still struggle with having a woman overseeing their spiritual development.

 For most of my life, I’ve attended churches led by male pastors. Currently I have a female pastor, Rev. Dr. Cynthia T. Turner, who is an anointed preacher and an insightful teacher. More than four years ago, as a leader of the transition committee for our church, I prayed long and hard when the church was considering her candidacy. I had to deal with my own tradition-bound views of being in a church led by a woman, and a younger one at that.  Ultimately, though, I trusted that God would make the final decision for the Dayspring Community Church.  

Over time, I have come to believe that more than anything God is looking for persons, irrespective of race, gender or age, who will lead His people according to His word and spread the gospel of Jesus Christ. (Yes, I did say “His.” I know that some may raise an arched brow to such gender specificity, but that’s a different blog.)

“Things are changing in the world, things are changing in the nation, things are changing in the church, so this is representation of that change here in Philadelphia,” Rev. Callahan said in a local television interview.

Rev. Dr. Leslie D. Callahan

Let’s continue to pray that more churches will change so that there will be fewer historical moments such as the one rightly celebrated at venerable St. Paul, which is known as “the miracle on 10th Street.”

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