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.