The Help..

Tony and I went to the movies last night to see "The Help". The movie was taken from a novel set in the 1960's in Jackson, Mississippi by the the same name. It was the story of several courageous women who braved going outside the law in order to tell the true story of black women who had spent their lives taking care of prominent southern families.

Having been born and raised in New York, I spent those years in integrated neighborhoods, having friends of all colors and backgrounds. We lived next door to the Flanagans who were a black family on one side and the Ross family who were Jewish on the other. We never hesitated to eat or visit together and remained friends long after we moved away. In fact, I went back numerous times for weekend visits with the Flanagans where I would watch Mama Mable in the kitchen while I played till bedtime with Sissy, my best friend.

I had heard of the prejudices in the south but never came face to face with them until I married my first husband. He was in the Navy and was being sent overseas two weeks after our wedding. I moved to Charleston to live with his parents. It was more than a culture shock to say the least. On my first trip to the commissary to do food shopping with my mother-in-law an old black man was bagging our groceries. I engaged him in a conversation asking about his day. I thought he was just being shy in the way he hung his head when answering my few questions. When we got in the car, my mother-in-law lit into me and told me in no uncertain terms that I was not in the north any longer, and I was not to speak to "colored" people who were there to serve us. This was 1971. This woman, although born and raised in South Carolina, had lived in New York for 8 years. What had I gotten myself into? Did I go through a time warp? I found that her attitude was one shared by many (even to this day) although few will admit it. I don't sit and judge them because this scenario was one of normalcy to them just as my tolerant background was one of normalcy to me. Since that time and through various circumstances, I found myself in a profession that took me throughout the south, including Jackson, Mississippi, serving diabetic footwear needs to thousands of elderly black women (and men).

As I sat this morning during my devotional time I could not get this movie out of my mind. I couldn't help but shed a few tears when I realized that many, if not most, of those wonderful, beautiful black feet that I touched had experienced the degradation and humiliation depicted in The Help. But the movie was a testament to the strength of these brave women and their ancestors who lived lives of servitude. I know that God did not mean this kind of servitude to fellow man!

I sat thanking God that he had placed me in a position where all of these people needed me and how grateful I was to be of service to them. Then I had an epiphany!! They didn't need me. I needed them! They taught me through their stories and their hardships who I was. More importantly, they taught me about who God is.

I thank each and every one of them.

My Father

My father is amazing. Always has been. Sometimes we grow up not understanding the things that our father sacrificed for us to give us a better life. We think that he doesn't know what we need as much as we do. We rebel, we fight and we take way more than we give. Sometimes I remember Fred Sanford's line to his son Lamont "I brought you into this world and I can take you out!!". I guess that is actually true when you think about it.

I remember that although my dad was a stern taskmaster, with eyes in the back of his head which saw everything I did, he never made me do anything that was harmful to me or did not make me stronger as a person. Although he had other responsibilities, he always was there for me to teach me, guide me and discipline me when I needed it (which was more times than I care to count). Yet, his arms are always open to catch me when I fall, hold me when I am in pain or grieving a loss or to give me hugs and pats on the back when deserved. What a guy!

When we lost Diana, Bonny, Craig, Mom, Patti, Matt, Joey and other family members, as well as many friends, that is when my father really stepped up and got us all through it. None of us would have made it without his support and loving, caring nature, knowing what each of us needed and expressing it like nobody else could to help us carry on. And, there was nobody as excited and full of joy as he was during the birth of any child or cheering at any seemingly small accomplishment any of us would have. I guess that is what a dad is for. My father has done his job admirably and still does. He gives me a sense of belonging, a sense of security, a sense of safety and most of all, a sense of love and reminding me day after day whose I am.

You should meet him. He will change your life. You see, my earthly dad died when I was 5 years old, yet I have NEVER felt "fatherless". My father has always been there to meet my needs and I know He will always be there for me. My Father is actually "our" father. In fact, He is "Our Father who art in Heaven". He is there for you too.

Thanks daddy for ALWAYS being there.