Hire
Writers
Editors
Home Tour About Read What's New Help Forums Join
My Account Login
Shop
Save
Support
E
Book
Store
Learn
About
Jesus
  

Win A Publishing Package HERE            

The HOME for Christian writers! The Home for Christian Writers!
The Official Writing Challenge

BACK TO
CHALLENGE
MAIN

INSTRUCTIONS

how it works
submission rules
guidelines for
choosing a level

ENTRIES

submit your entry
read current entries
read past entries
challenge winners



Our Daily Devotional HERE
Place it on your site or
receive it daily by email.





TRUST JESUS TODAY

TRY THE TEST



Share
how it works   Submit

Previous Challenge Entry (Level 4 – Masters)
Topic: Countdown to Christmas/Advent (10/23/08)

TITLE: A Moment to Bind
By
10/28/08


 LEAVE COMMENT ON ARTICLE
 SEND A PRIVATE COMMENT
 SEND ARTICLE TO A FRIEND
 ADD TO MY FAVORITES

No Christmas approaches without my thoughts wandering back to the Christmas of my fourteenth year. A year dredged in ugliness.

In January and February, Walter Cronkite droned on about the Tet Offensive in Vietnam. Here at home, the civil rights movement was holding its own offensive. We—my mother, my father and I—were part of that second front.

My father owned a barbershop on 14th Street in D.C. My mother’s family owned a funeral parlor across town. Two businesses desegregation couldn’t touch, because touching was the problem. Touching Negro skin. No one but another Negro was willing to do it.

In March, one of my uncles attending Howard University participated in a siege that shut the campus down. My mother heralded him a hero. My father called him an extremist.

I don’t remember a time my mother was satisfied with my father. “You is blind,” she yelled so often, I feared for his sight. “You sees what’s goin’ on here under yo’ puffed nostrils, but you is blind. If you had to bury ‘em, I reckon you’d see.”

On April 4th, when Martin Luther King was assassinated, my mother went crazy, like only a black woman can. Two days later our barbershop went up in flames, along with several blocks of commerce—the result of the riots.

We retreated into a room above the funeral home. We brought beds, a chest of drawers, and the black and white TV my father wouldn’t sell.

It wasn’t only America in an uproar, though.

In May, Walter Cronkite reported on a youth uprising threatening the French government, then on Nigerian forces contributing to a humanitarian disaster. My mother clucked. My father sighed.

On June 3rd, Andy Warhol was shot, but no one remembered because two days later RFK was gunned down. My father was heartbroken. My mother smug in her feelings of retribution.

The next few months were riddled with protests, from the war to the Miss America Pageant. I didn’t want to watch CBS news anymore.

In October, my father made a concession for the XIX Olympiad in Mexico City, and we switched to ABC, but not even the Olympics could bandage people together. While receiving their medals, two black runners made a Black Pride statement, and another shout sounded across the nation.

“Ya’ll go,” cheered my mother.

“Not the place,” said my father.

Then my mother left. For all we knew, she could have flown to Africa.

The year continued with bitter elections, more war, and the Zodiac killer. I got out of school for Christmas, but there was no joy, only numbness.

“Come on, Isaac,” my father coaxed. “Les go get us some pizza and listen to them astro-nauts, headin’ up to the moon.” I had no interest—not until he told me about them leaving earth’s gravitational pull. The earth having no hold—would it make them better people?

Oh, to be free of this earth.

On their first broadcast, Commander Borman demonstrated the controls; Jim Lovell made chocolate pudding; and William Anders played with his weightless toothbrush. Audio and visual were both grainy, yet I was captivated.

The following night, we were ready, stripped down to boxers and undershirts, sitting on an uncomfortable braided rug made of paper, my Grandmother had given us. On the television, the moon appeared as the astronauts were seeing it. Next to the blackness of space, darker than any black man’s skin, glowed the moon, lighter than any white man’s skin.

Commander Borman said they had a message for all of us on earth and he began reading from the Book of Genesis.

“In the beginning, God created the heavens and earth. And the earth was without form and void and darkness was on the face of the deep, and the Spirit of God moved upon the face of the waters. And God said, Let there be light. And there was light. And God saw the light and said it was good.”

As they took turns reading the first ten verses, I was there with God, witnessing the wonder of creation.

Commander Borman concluded with, “Good night—good luck—a Merry Christmas—and God Bless all of you—all of you—on this good earth.”

Christmas Eve, 1968 returned something the rest of the year had stolen. The ability to love my father and my mother. The ability to feel for black and white, Americans, Vietnamese, soldiers, activists, and politicians.

It bound me forevermore to mankind and his Maker.


The opinions expressed by authors may not necessarily reflect the opinion of FaithWriters.com.
Accept Jesus as Your Lord and Savior Right Now - CLICK HERE
JOIN US at FaithWriters for Free. Grow as a Writer and Spread the Gospel.


This article has been read 885 times
Member Comments
Member Date
Seema Bagai 10/31/08
This is a unique angle on the topic. I enjoyed reading the narrator's perspective of the past.
Marilyn Schnepp 11/01/08
A fascinating and gripping read about an era I remember well. You related MY memories of those troublesome times as well as your own. When you proceeded to tell how the astronaut began to read: "In the beginning God created..." tears filled my eyes with the awesome wonder of it all. What a touching and heartfelt story, and so well written. I give this writer an A+...and triple Kudos!

PS: We're in those trying days again I fear. God BLess!
Joanne Sher 11/01/08
Oh, what a unique take on the topic, with a realism that is more than authentic. This certainly reads as a true-life account. Excellent.
Angela M. Baker-Bridge11/02/08
Very well told story about my generation...sadly, I fear if the date was July 20, 2008 instead of 1969, the Bible wouldn't have been read, citing Separation of Church and State. God forgive and heal our land.
Sharon Kane11/03/08
Wow! The light truly shines into the darkness in the way you have written this gripping piece.
Celeste Ammirata11/03/08
Wow. What a well written story. I was like you WERE there. The last four sentences pull it all together and leave me with a feeling of peace and hope. Great job! God Bless
Karlene Jacobsen 11/03/08
Sounds like a memoir. Very nicely done, I was intrigued and saddened by our history.
Verna Cole Mitchell 11/05/08
This is an awesome story--told by a master story teller.
Beckie Stewart11/05/08
Wow, this was different and so full of interesting history weaved into the lives of a family living then. Good job.
Dee Yoder 11/05/08
Masterfully told and creatively written. This is wonderful!
Leah Nichols 11/06/08
Very unique approach to the topic. I appreciate the view into history....being too young to remember it myself! Excellent writing. :)
Beth LaBuff 11/17/08
You are so skilled with your writing. This is wonderful, creative, and gripping. I could hear Walter Cronkite through this. Growing up in Iowa, I remember when MLK was shot, but I didn't know who he was… in my naiveté, I thought he was a foreign "King", and wondered what the consequences would be to our country. This really took me back. Excellent, Lisa!!!