Immanuel Baptist "On the Journey" Articles
On the Journey
                        Being—Me . . . Being--You
            I began my schooling (as the old timers would say) at West End Elementary School in Gaffney, South Carolina. Mrs. Hart was the principal, and she ran a tight ship. The rumor circulating in the boys’ bathroom was that if sent to her office you could expect a whipping with a three-foot section of black garden hose. (This rumor was a very effective deterrent.) In the first grade, I was in Mrs. Wood’s class. She was blond and beautiful! Mrs. Pleyer was my second grade teacher. She once made me cry. In third grade, Mrs. Parker embarrassed me when she used one of my poems to demonstrate to the class how not to write poetry. When I became an adult, I forgave her for she also bestowed upon me my love for history. Mrs. Clary, my fourth grade teacher, was round, kind, and loving like my grandmother. I thought Mrs. O’Shields in the fifth grade was the most intimidating woman I had ever encountered. I was afraid to talk in her class, and, when she looked directly at me, I felt guilty. Even with all of that, I hated to leave her class at the end of the year. Mrs. Bonner, my sixth grade teacher, must have suffered from some sort of personality disorder. Part of the week, she was wonderful, but, on the other days, she ruled with a stony silence and a penetrating stare. She taught me that   people’s moods change just like the weather.
            Billy Turner and I were classmates from Mrs. Wood’s angelic presence in first grade all the way to the last day of Mrs. Bonner’s sixth grade gulag. We went to church together at Gaffney First Baptist Church. We were friends. A few times, I spent the night at his house on the weekend.
            I describe Billy Turner as a childhood friend, but, when I reflect upon those years, I suspect I was envious of Billy. I wanted him to be my friend, because I wanted to be Billy Turner. He was the best reader in our class. Even in the first grade, it was evident to every member of our class that Billy read better than the rest of us. It wasn’t because Billy had better vocabulary skills. We all knew the words. Billy read with expression and his voice made the story seem more alive than our voices. In reading circle, I never wanted to sit by Billy. When it was my turn to read aloud, I could only hear how terrible my voice sounded compared to his.
            On the playground, Billy was about half-a-step faster than I was. In a race, if my black Keds didn’t slide in the dirt, I could beat Billy in his white PF Flyers to the finish line. But, if we started even, he would beat me by a nose. When choosing sides for football at recess, Billy would be picked first for his speed, and I would get picked second. We were always competing with one another, which only increased the sin of envy.
            It took me a long time to realize that I really didn’t want to be Billy’s friend—in my heart, I wanted to be Billy Turner. I recall my relationship with Billy whenever I hear people measuring, comparing, and contrasting themselves with others. Sometimes, when I hear people harshly criticize a friend or mere acquaintance, I recognize the telltale signs of envy. It is hard to understand why we don’t want to be ourselves. Sometimes we just have a tough time identifying our strengths and appreciating our uniqueness. Somehow we find it hard just to be the people God created us to me.
            There is an Hasidic tale about Rabbi Zusya of Antipol. Living in Eastern Europe during the eighteenth century, the Rabbi was known for his humility and devotion to God. The story goes like this:
As Rabbi Zusya grew old and feeble, he realized death was near, and he became very agitated. His disciples said to him, “Master, you have lived such an exemplary life. Surely God will reward you. Why then do you tremble at the prospect of dying?” He answered them, “When I stand before God, should God say to me, Zusya, why weren’t you another Moses? I will have an answer for Him. I will say to Him, Master of the universe, You did not grant me the greatness of soul that you granted Moses. Should He ask me, Zusya, why were you not another King Solomon? I will say to Him, Because You did not bless me with the wisdom to be another King Solomon. But alas, what will I say to Him if He asks me, Zusya, why were you not Zusya? Why were you not the person I gave you the ability to be?” [Harold S. Kushner, Overcoming Life’s Disappointments, 26]
As this story convicts me,  I understand more clearly why Jesus told stories—it is hard to escape their truth.
            It seems to me that almost daily we need to be reminded that we are God’s beloved children. He created us in our uniqueness, and we are His gift to the universe. We must live to be the people He created us to be. It is my divine destiny to be Jamie Broome—not Billy Turner. It is your divine destiny to be you. We are called to be mid-wives helping one another be and become the people God envisioned in our creation. Truly, it will be great to be you!jamie
Website last updated:  Thursday, September 27, 2006                     Website Related Questions/Comments:  Chris Cash-ccash@vci.net

Immanuel Baptist Church  -  3465 Buckner Lane  -  Paducah, KY, 42001  -  270.443.5306  -  www.immanuel-paducah.org