Tag Archives: Trust

Christianity Is A Love Relationship

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Unknown Author

You cannot love someone that you do not know, and you cannot know someone that you don’t spend quality time with.

To know Jesus is to love Him. To love Him is to trust Him. To trust Him is to obey Him. To obey Him is to be blessed. It begins with a daily, quality communication with the Lord.

Why is it best to spend time with the Lord in the morning? Because you are getting ready to go on a road trip through life. You don’t take the trip and then read the map, do you?

How are you starting your mornings? With a cup of coffee and the paper? Or with the pure milk of the Word and the light of His presence?

Give ear to my words, O LORD, consider my sighing.
Listen to my cry for help, my King and my God, for to you I pray.
In the morning, O LORD, you hear my voice; in the morning I lay my requests before you and wait in expectation. — Psalm 5:1-3

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An “Aussie” Story

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Author unknown

Years ago a hardworking man took his family from New York State to Australia to take advantage of a work opportunity there. Part of this man’s family was a handsome young son who had aspirations of joining the circus as a trapeze artist or an actor. This young fellow, biding his time until a circus job or even one as a stagehand came along, worked at the local shipyards which bordered on the worse section of town.

Walking home from work one evening this young man was attacked by five thugs who wanted to rob him. Instead of just giving up his money the young fellow resisted. However they bested him easily and proceeded to beat him to a pulp. They mashed his face with their boots, and kicked and beat his body brutally with clubs, leaving him for dead. When the police happened to find him lying in the road they assumed he was dead and called for the Morgue Wagon.

On the way to the morgue a policeman heard him gasp for air, and they immediately took him to the emergency unit at the hospital. When he was placed on a gurney a nurse remarked to her horror, that this young man no longer had a face. Each eye socket was smashed, his skull, legs, and arms fractured, his nose literally hanging from his face, all is teeth were gone, and his jaw was almost completely torn from his skull.

Although his life was spared, he spent over a year in the hospital. When he finally left, his body may have healed but his face was disgusting to look at. He was no longer the handsome youth that everyone admired.

When the young man started to look for work again he was turned down by everyone just on account of the way he looked. One potential employer suggested to him that he join the freak show at the circus as The Man Who Had No Face. And he did this for a while. He was still rejected by everyone and no one wanted to be seen in his company. He had thoughts of suicide.

This went on for five years. One day he passed a church and sought some solace there. Entering the church he encountered a priest who saw him sobbing while kneeling in a pew. The priest took pity on him and took him to the rectory where they talked at length. The priest was impressed with him to such a degree that he said that he would do everything possible for him that could be done to restore his dignity and life, if the young man would promise to be the best Catholic he could be, and trust in God’s mercy to free him from his torturous life. The young man went to Mass and communion every day, and after thanking God for saving his life, asked God to only give him peace of mind and the grace to be the best man he could ever be in His eyes.

The priest, through his personal contacts was able to secure the services of the best plastic surgeon in Australia. There would be no cost to the young man, as the doctor was the priest’s best friend. The doctor too was so impressed by the young man. Whose outlook now on life, even though he had experienced the worst, was filled with good humor and love. The surgery was a miraculous success. All the best dental work was also done for him.

The young man became everything he promised God he would be. He was also blessed with a wonderful, beautiful wife, many children, and success in an industry which would have been the furthest thing from his mind as a career, if not for the goodness of God and the love of the people who cared for him.

This he acknowledges publicly.

The Matchless Pearl

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Author Unknown

David Morse – American missionary to India – became great friends there with the pearl-diver, Rambhau. Many an evening he spent in Rambhau’s cabin reading to him from the Bible, and explaining to him God’s way of salvation.

Rambhau enjoyed listening to the Word of God, but whenever the missionary tried to get Rambhau to accept Christ as his Savior – he would shake his head and reply, “Your Christian way to heaven is too easy for me! I cannot accept it. If ever I should find admittance to heaven in that manner – I would feel like a pauper there…like a beggar who has been let in out of pity. I may be proud – but I want to deserve, I want to earn my place in heaven — and so I am going to work for it.”

Nothing the missionary could say seemed to have any effect on Rambhau’s decision, and so quite a few years slipped by. One evening, however, the missionary heard a knock on his door, and on going to open it he found Rambhau there.

“Come in, dear friend,” said Morse.

“No,” said the pearl-diver. “I want you to come with me to my house, Sahib, for a short time — I have something to show you. Please do not say ‘No’.”

“Of course I’ll come,” replied the missionary. As they neared his house, Rambhau said: “In a week’s time I start working for my place in heaven; I am leaving for Delhi — and I am going there on my knees.”

“Man, you are crazy! It’s nine hundred miles to Delhi, and the skin will break on your knees, and you will have blood-poisoning or leprosy before you get to Bombay.”

“No, I must get to Delhi,” affirmed Rambhau, “and the immortals will reward me for it! The suffering will be sweet – for it will purchase heaven for me!”

“Rambhau, my friend – you can’t. How can I bear you to do it – when Jesus Christ has suffered and died to purchase heaven for you!”

But the old man could not be moved. “You are my dearest friend on earth, Sahib Morse. Through all these years you have stood by me in sickness, in want – you have been sometimes my only friend. But even you cannot turn me from my desire to purchase eternal bliss…I must go to Delhi!”

Inside the hut Morse was seated in the very chair Rambhau had specially built for him – where on so many occasions he had read to him the Bible.

Rambhau left the room to return soon with a small but heavy English strongbox. “I have had this box for years,” said he, “and I keep only one thing in it. Now I will tell you about it, Sahib Morse. I once had a son…”

“A son! Why, Rambhau, you have never before said a word about him!”

“No, Sahib, I couldn’t.” Even as he spoke the diver’s eyes were moistened.

“Now I must tell you, for soon I will leave, and who knows whether I shall ever return? My son was a diver too. He was the best pearl diver on the coasts of India. He had the swiftest dive, the keenest eye, the strongest arm, the longest breath of any man who ever sought for pearls.

What joy he brought to me! Most pearls, as you know, have some defect or blemish only the expert can discern, but my boy always dreamed of finding the ‘perfect’ pearl – one beyond all that was ever found. One day he found it! But even when he saw it – he had been under water too long… That pearl cost him his life, for he died soon after.”

The old pearl diver bowed his head. For a moment his whole body shook, but there was no sound. “All these years,” he continued, “I have kept this pearl – but now I am going, not to return, and to you, my best friend – I am giving my pearl.”

The old man worked the combination on the strongbox and drew from it a carefully wrapped package. Gently opening the cotton, he picked up a mammoth pearl and placed it in the hand of the missionary.

It was one of the largest pearls ever found off the coast of India, and glowed with a luster and brilliance never seen in cultured pearls. It would have brought a fabulous sum in any market.

For a moment the missionary was speechless and gazed with awe. “Rambhau! What a pearl!”

Matchless pearl”That pearl, Sahib, is perfect,” replied the Indian quietly. The missionary looked up quickly with a new thought: Was not this the very opportunity and occasion he had prayed for – to make Rambhau understand the value of Christ’s sacrifice? So he said, designedly, “Rambhau, this is a wonderful pearl, an amazing pearl. Let me buy it. I would give you ten thousand dollars for it.”

“Sahib! What do you mean?”

“Well, I will give you fifteen thousand dollars for it, or if it takes more – I will work for it.”

“Sahib,” said Rambhau, stiffening his whole body, “this pearl is beyond price. No man in all the world has money enough to pay what this pearl is worth to me. On the market a million dollars could not buy it. I will not sell it to you. You may only have it as a gift.”

“No, Rambhau, I cannot accept that. As much as I want the pearl, I cannot accept it that way. Perhaps I am proud, but that is too easy. I must pay for it, or work for it…”

The old pearl-diver was stunned. “You don’t understand at all, Sahib. Don’t you see. My only son gave his life to get this pearl, and I wouldn’t sell it for any money. Its worth is in the life-blood of my son. I cannot sell this – but I can give it to you. Just accept it in token of the love I bear you.”

The missionary was choked, and for a moment could not speak. Then he gripped the hand of the old man. “Rambhau,” he said in a low voice, “don’t you see? My words are just what you have been saying to God all the time.”

The diver looked long and searchingly at the missionary, and slowly, slowly he began to understand. “God is offering you salvation as a free gift,” said the missionary. “It is so great and priceless that no man on earth can buy it. Millions of dollars are too little. No man on earth could earn it. His life would be millions of years too short. No man is good enough to deserve it. It cost God the life-blood of His only Son to make the entrance for you into heaven. In a million years, in a hundred pilgrimages, you could not earn that entrance. All you can do is to accept it as a token of God’s love for you – a sinner.

“Rambhau, of course I will accept the pearl in deep humility, praying God that I may be worthy of your love. Rambhau, won’t you accept God’s great gift of heaven, too, in deep humility, knowing it cost Him the death of His Son to offer it to you?”

Great tears were now rolling down the cheeks of the old man. The veil was beginning to lift. “Sahib, I see it now. I have believed in the doctrine of Jesus for the last two years, but I could not believe that His salvation was free. Now I understand. Some things are too priceless to be bought or earned. Sahib, I will accept His salvation!”

“For God so loved the world, that He gave His only begotten Son,
that whosoever believeth in Him should not perish, but have everlasting life.”
John 3:16

Passed Around By Man But Not Passed Over By God-Chapter 10

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I know I said Sherita was an ugly girl and that remains true. I am not saying I was all that and a bag of chips because I was not. I was just a short, thin-framed girl but I did have something that Sherita would never have — long, thick, naturally-beautiful, dark brown hair, flawless caramel-brown skin and a gorgeous smile. Yeah, yeah, she had thighs, legs and a big butt, but that is all she had going for her and I believe she already knew that. Sherita’s and my birthday came around, both were in April. Hers on April 21st and mine on the 24th but she was a year older than I.

Esther decided to take me to the doctor to get my ears pierced for my eighth birthday. I was excited that I was going to be able to wear earrings. Big Momma had purchased a cute white dress for me to wear on my special day but before I could go get my ears pierced and wear my birthday outfit, I had to get my hair washed and pressed. The only thing I did not care for was getting my hair hot combed and because my hair was long and thick it seemed like it took forever. My hair had to be done this way on a weekly basis because I had “grade N” hair, that is, nappy.

After my hair was done and gorgeous, we went to the clinic to get my ears pierced. The nurse put silver studs into both of my ears and I must say the earrings enhanced my appearance. You could not tell me anything at this point. After being blessed with my new earrings, Esther took Sherita, Pauline and me out to dinner and a movie for our birthday.

Things were not always bad around the house, but you can bet your last dollar if trouble happened, Sherita’s name was all over it. One of those bad days sure came into that house unexpectedly, a day I can never forget and I know Sherita can never forget it either.

We were on our way home from school on a warm day, when Sherita and I came across a stranger. Our school was only a block away from the house and there was a vacant lot that many of us would use as a shortcut as we went home. We were walking down the hill of this empty lot, with Sherita ahead of me, when a young man approached Sherita. She stopped and they began talking to one another.

I was looking at this young man, who I definitely knew was not near our age, but something was familiar about him. He started walking and Sherita began walking behind him as if she was following him. I started speed walking to catch up with her and asked if she knew him. She said as clear as day, “Yes, just come on” and I assumed everything was okay. But everything was far from okay.

The next thing I knew, Sherita and I were in a dark garage with this young man. He put a knife up to Sherita’s throat and told me to sit down and cover my eyes. I put my hands over my face but peeked through my fingers as he sexually assaulted Sherita. He made her take off her pants and underwear and unbutton her blouse then made her lay on that dirty ground where he assaulted her. I remember him kissing her and rubbing his hands all over her body. I could see Sherita was scared because he still had that knife at her throat. He would look over at me to see if my eyes were still covered.

I could not believe what was happening and hoped that I was not next to be touched, or worse he would kill us both. The worst report a neighborhood could hear on the nightly news was that two young girls were sexually assaulted and found dead in a garage directly across the street from their house.

After the stranger finished, he told Sherita to get dressed and for us to wait in the garage for twenty minutes after he left and that we’d better not tell anyone what he had just done. We did as we were told and came out of the garage with both of us looking to make sure he was gone as we ran across the street to the house. Sherita was crying as she told her family the horrible thing that just happened to her on our way home from school. They asked us who it was, where it happened, what happened, and so forth.

The police were called to the scene and everybody was still in shock about the news they just heard as the police questioned us about the man’s description. I can still recall how he looked as if it was yesterday.

Remember when I said I did not know him, but he looked familiar? He was about 5’7”, medium built, light-skinned complexion with red freckles and a reddish-color afro. He was just red! I know there are little sayings like all black people look alike or everybody has a twin. Whatever the case may be, he looked just like the uninvited young man who was in our apartment when my family moved into Stateway Gardens.

Hey, let’s look at this — Big Momma’s house was on 58th and LaSalle and Stateway Gardens was on 39th and State. It is not far because State Street is only two streets away from LaSalle Street. Therefore, there is a possibility that this could be the same person.

Just when I thought things could not get any worse than they already were, guess what — they did. Guess who was in the kitchen being interrogated by the family about what happened to Sherita? Can you believe they were now blaming this rape on an eight year old? They asked me, “Where were you? Why didn’t you get any help? How did you let this happen?” Excuse me? I was in tears because I could not understand why they were blaming all of this on me. Hello, I might not have been sexually assaulted but I was a victim too! And it could have been worse – we were both still alive! I can understand their anger and frustration but blaming it on the foster child was not the answer.

What hurt me most was when Sherita told her family that she did tell me to go and get help. They asked me if what she said was true, and I said the true answer was no, she did not. I kept telling them exactly what happened but they did not seem to be listening to a word I was saying. I looked at them and wondered why they were not asking Sherita who this person was that she was openly talking to, as if she knew him. What did he tell her that would cause her to follow him in the first place? I mean, he didn’t have anything in his hand that was a threat to her, so why? She was the one that was older and should have known better. Oh, believe me I was cursing them out real well in my mind. It was not my fault y’all did not teach her not to talk to strangers. Ms. Brown taught her baby girl! You can bet that man would not have gotten two words out of me, much less a damn look. But all I could do was sit there crying; wishing all of this would go away.

A couple days later, we went down to the police station to try to identify the young man. They gave Sherita and me some books that were filled with mug shots of different male individuals but unfortunately he was not in any of the books.

Eventually things died down and we moved to a courtyard apartment unit on 69th and Cornell. I cannot recall what apartment floor we resided on but I know I was now attending another school for my third grade year. This school was Parkside Elementary at 6938 South East End Avenue. I don’t remember the teacher’s name or what he or she looked like because I didn’t stay long enough to keep memory of it but for some strange reason I remember the school’s name and where we lived.

Passed Around By Man But Not Passed Over By God  Chontate Brown Copyright ©2013 All rights reserved.

Passed Around By God But Not Passed Over By God-Chapter 9

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After a few months of living in our new foster home, people began to show their true colors. Sherita and Marcus were the troublemakers of the household and Sherita was the leader. Sherita and her brother would do bad things then blame them on Raffeal and me, but mostly me. Sherita was a compulsive liar. Everything that came out of her mouth was lie and she actually believed she was telling the truth.

The first of her devious acts happened one day when we were all sitting in the living room. It was Raffeal, Marcus, Pauline, me and, of course, Sherita. Big Momma or any other adults, to my knowledge, were not there. Melanie was left in charge but she was off in her own little world. Sherita and Marcus decided they wanted to play with fire using a lighter they had found around the house. The strange thing was that I do not know whose it could have been because nobody in the house was a smoker.

They first lit paper and then it was whatever they could set on fire. I can remember this day so well because I was standing in the dining room, which was Big Momma’s room too, when they asked Raffeal if they could light the strings hanging from the legs of his cut-off blue jean shorts I don’t think he understood what they were asking him and I couldn’t believe they were serious. Before I knew it, they had set fire to one of those strings and in an instant that one thin string combusted into a big flame. My baby brother was screaming and hopping around trying to put the fire out and they were laughing at him, so I ran over to rescue him.

Luckily, he did not suffer from any burns. From that day on I hated every one of them. Sherita made us vow not to say anything about this day, but she forgot that her four-year-old sister Pauline was present when it happened.

A couple weeks later, Sherita, Pauline and I were sitting in their mother Esther’s room Pauline was chattering like any other four year old and told her mother what happened that day, not  knowing she was about to get her siblings into trouble. When Pauline finished telling the story, Esther got angry, looked at Sherita and said, “Y’all did what?” Sherita had the nerve to lie with a straight face and say I was the one who did the terrible thing to my own brother.

Before I could state my case, Esther had slapped the taste out of my mouth. I could only sit there holding my face in disbelief that this girl had just told a boldfaced lie on me and her mother believed her over me.

Another time Sherita was again playing with matches. I guess this crazy child just loved playing with fire. She was burning every dead hair she could find in an ashtray. Now if you have ever burned dead hair, you know it leaves behind a strange smell.

Again, no adult supervision in the house and Sherita was having her way as if she was at Burger King. Right after she went on her burning hair spree, guess who just happened to walk into the house but the adults.

Ethel was the first to come through the door and quickly realized that somebody had burned hair in the house. She asked Sherita and me who was burning hair and again this ugly girl lied and said I did it. My stupid self just stood there like a stick in the mud and didn’t even open my mouth to say anything. Ethel spanked my hand with a hard hairbrush and chastised me about playing with matches while Sherita just stood there smiling because she knew she had just gotten away with murder.

Passed Around By Man But Not Passed Over By God  Chontate Brown Copyright ©2013 All rights reserved.

Passed Around By God But Not Passed Over By God-Chapter 8

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At the tender age of seven years old, I had formed my own opinions of adults, “Do not trust them.” I was at the point in my life where I was heartbroken, my mother was locked away like a criminal and my siblings and I remained separated from each other. My mother had to hear in court about all the horrific trials that Raffeal and I had endured while in the custody of Rose. This devastating news set my mother’s recovery back, causing her to fall into depression fueled by guilt as if it was her fault we were mistreated. The caseworker managed to place my brother and me into another foster home, hoping we would regain a healthy balance of emotional stability. Yep, that did the trick!

Our new home was with an older woman who went by the name “Big Momma”. Big Momma lived in a bluish color one-level house on 58th and LaSalle. You could tell the place was somewhat old but it was decent I supposed. Our new foster mother was not big in size at all; she was somewhat tall, but not big. She had beautiful skin for her older age and beautiful, wavy, long black hair that she always wore in a ponytail. One of her eyelids was lower than the other which I learned later was due to a stroke she had once upon a time. She appeared to be a nice, caring and thoughtful person.

Finally, somebody was happy to see us and welcomed us into their home. Big Momma’s children and grandchildren were also there to greet us. They were kindly introducing themselves to my brother and me but deep down inside, I was not buying it. Two of her adult daughters, named Ethel and Esther, lived in this house. Ethel did not have any kids, but Esther had four. Their names were Melanie, Marcus, Sherita and Pauline. Now Ethel should have been called Big Momma because she was fat. Esther was not fat but if she ate a couple more pork chops, she’d have been well on her way. They gave us a tour of the place, which I must say was not something I would declare nice but it was bearable. I thought it was somewhat strange that Big Momma’s bedroom set was in the dining room.

Everybody was all smiles but me because I had too many things racing through my mind about this new foster parent, another new school and something that probably had never crossed my mind, new foster siblings. I already knew in my mind that this living arrangement was about to be very challenging.

Melanie was the oldest and seemed a bit strange to me. She did not talk much and was always off to herself. She did not cross my path and I tried not to cross hers. Marcus was the only boy among the siblings. He was short in height, brown complexioned, and hmmm… Moving forward, Sherita was what you would call a bona fide “tilt drill” meaning she had a cute shape with a big booty but an ugly face that only a mother could love. She was a light-skinned eight-year-old girl who looked like she was twelve. Sherita was not just ugly in the face but also in her ways. She was a sneaky, conniving bully. Lastly, the baby girl Pauline was a little cutie. Her head was big, but she was still cute and the same age as my baby brother, Raffeal. I shared a room with Melanie and Sherita, and Raffeal was in the room with Marcus.

Ms. Irving made sure that Big Momma had a clear understanding that the wound on my leg needed daily dressing changes. I must admit, my new foster mother was on point when it came to taking care of my wound. She did the daily dressing changes as ordered and made sure I kept my doctor’s follow-up appointments as scheduled. I hated those dressing changes because it was still painful to touch, especially when she had to pack the wet gauze into the wound. It took a strong stomach to tolerate the massive hole the dog had left in me, but she did it like a champ. For me it could be too much to handle. There were times when I thought my wound would never heal, but with the help of Big Momma that once golf-ball-sized hole eventually healed, although it left a permanent scar.

Though reluctant to feel comfortable, things seemed to be getting better for me and my brother. I was finishing the second grade at Jesse Sherwood Elementary at 245 West 57th Street, the foster mom was not torturing me and my mother was allowed more visitation rights. But not everything was what it seemed.

Passed Around By Man But Not Passed Over By God  Chontate Brown Copyright ©2013 All rights reserved.

Passed Around By God But Not Passed Over By God-Chapter 6

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Christmas season came back around but was not going to be celebrated in her house. Not because she was a Jehovah’s Witness; she was not affiliated with them, but because she was a mean, old, fat, black-assed Grinch. Our Christmas presents came from the community who donated gifts to DCFS. Rose did not buy us a damn thing for Christmas. Raffeal and I were excited to see something we hadn’t seen in a while — toys. I was blessed with a doll and a youth cookware set in white that exactly resembled the well-known Conair cookware. The box the dishes came in would become a make-believe stove when you flipped it over on the other side. I would play with my dishes with excitement when I was able to play in my room until one day Rose had the audacity to tell me my cookware set looked real enough for her to really cook with them. She had that evil look in her eyes that was telling me to keep a close eye on my gift because they might just come up missing.

It was about this time when I thought enough was enough and decided I was going to break out from that hellhole. I had my great escape all planned. I was going to be out of that place! I got up one morning and Chicago, as usual, had another great snowfall. There was no school that day and I don’t even remember what story I gave Rose, but I knew I was leaving. I left the house and guess what? I did not include a destination in my plans. I had no idea where I was going or how to get to my family’s house. I just found myself sitting under someone’s stairwell thinking about how I could not leave Raffeal behind in the care of this woman. After a couple of hours of hanging out in the snow with no place to go, I had no choice but to go back to Rose’s house. When I returned to the house, Rose was waiting but I was caught by surprise when she did not have anything to say to me. I think she suspected what I was going to do and was trying to be cautious about her actions.

Her conscience only lasted for a day then she was right back at it with her endless rage. Rose was becoming more treacherous than ever before and really went off the deep end one day. In her bathroom, Rose had a maroon bathroom rug and dish set. She come stomping up the stairs early in the morning, waking us  from our sleep, yelling and asking who had put a crack in the bathroom drinking cup. I promise you we never touched anything in that bathroom unless I was cleaning it. We told her we didn’t touch that cup, but she kept yelling that we were lying and we were going to learn to keep our hands off her things. Raffeal was in tears because we knew what was about to happen to us. She called us downstairs into the kitchen where we got all of our beatings. I noticed there was no cord in Rose’s hands and she was standing by the stove looking like a bat out of hell. She turned on the stove and told us to come over to it. My heart dropped because I knew at that moment this woman was about to do the unthinkable to us. I was crying and shaking my head from side to side trying to plead with her, but she demanded I stand in front of that stove and without a care in her heart she grabbed my right hand and placed it over the open flame to burn as a punishment. I screamed for her to stop burning me and would have done anything she wanted me to do if she would just stop. I could hear her through the pain asking me, “You gonna keep your hands off my things?” I screamed “Yes” from the top of my lungs. Then the torture ended but not for long, because Raffeal was next in line. My brother began screaming before she even said his name. I began crying even more because I would have to witness Rose placing my baby brother’s hand over the open flame. In my mind I was crying “he’s just a baby”. My heart was aching more due to once again not being able to protect him from danger. When it was all over, Raffeal and I were lying on the floor trying to comfort each other. Rose just sent us back up to our room as if nothing had happened. She burned us really bad and to this day we still have those burn scars to prove it. Both my brother’s and my burns developed painful blisters. Raffeal had a huge blister on his left thumb that was ready to burst any minute.

A few days after we were given third-degree burns by the pyromaniac, Rose dropped us off at one of her friend’s house to watch us while she ran a couple of errands. Her friend’s name was Ethel and her favorite hobby was jigsaw puzzles. Ethel had a wall full of the puzzles that she placed into frames like artwork. I thought it was unique. She seemed nice but then again she was friends with Rose. She looked at us with a strange expression when Raffeal and I sat on her floor in a corner but she continued to work on her latest puzzle. She asked us a few questions and then noticed that my brother had a bandage wrapped around his left hand. She curiously asked what happened to his hand as I secretly tried to hide my hand from her. Without a fear in his heart he told her that Rose had burned his hand on the stove. She looked troubled from what she just heard and I was sitting in that corner sweating bullets and ready to faint because my baby brother just signed us up for our deathbeds. Rose returned from her errands and was ready to take us back to the plantation when her friend Ethel asked her with the “I know you didn’t” look on her face if she burned my brother’s hand. Rose looked back at Raffeal like a dragon ready to burn him up completely and said with a straight face, “No, I didn’t burn that boy.” Ethel replied, “I hope you ain’t burning these kids.” Rose got smart and turned the table on my brother, bullying him into saying he was telling a lie about her. Rose told us to come on and the trip back to her house was very quiet.

Passed Around By Man But Not Passed Over By God  Chontate Brown Copyright ©2013 All rights reserved.