The things he left behind pt 2

Amongst them was a few dozen cassette tapes, a cassette player, and a pair of headphones. I looked through them at first. Most looked like sermons and some old music. I probably wouldn’t have been so drawn to the sermons if it weren’t for the signatures on the bottom of many. Some were signed by my father and a few by my grandmother. I flashed back to my childhood. In my earliest memories, I remember him setting the headphones on my head as he walked me and my brother to the basketball court with him. I remember sitting and playing with the bigger tape deck, recording my voice. I remember him stepping through the stages of musical devices—from Walkman's to CD players to the iPod—until I found my own way to my generation of music.

I hadn’t yet developed a love for sermons. If anything, I was more influenced by the Nation of Islam at that exact moment. I had mixed feelings. On one hand, I was proud of my father for becoming a pastor and preaching on the same corners that had once trapped him. On the other, I wondered how much peace it brought him—especially after reading through his notes and seeing one of his final letters was a confused and pain-filled plea to God for help and understanding. I wanted to feel it, but I was honestly lost.

I was nearly lost in life at that point. It was a chance encounter with an older gentleman on the bus that made me revisit. He was handing out the Daily Bread, and normally I would ignore it—but seeing how disrespectful other passengers were to him made me want to give him some warm energy. Now, this may feel like a tangent, but this was the beginning of a new path where everything seemed connected. I looked up to see three Bible scriptures drawn on top of the poster near the front of the bus where I was sitting. I learned the story of Ezekiel the Watcher and entered into an ongoing conversation with God that carried across into the Daily Bread and pulled me back to the cassette tapes I had set down.

I still remember the first one I grabbed. It had an image of two hands holding up the earth and was titled “My Transition is Transferable.” The words, the message, and my life were so well aligned I began to question if it was decision or destiny. I reflected on my position at the time with A Way of Change and how I kept coming back—at the cost of my own opportunity and beyond the comprehension of those that cared for me, even my former co-workers. I reflected on the passing of my father and how much our lives aligned, even though we were so disconnected. I wanted to carry on his dream of seeing Baltimore become a shining city of God and of hope. I wanted to carry forth his unfinished program ideas. I wanted to watch over the family he left behind, yet I felt so disconnected I didn’t even know where to start. The next leg of my journey began when I pressed play on that tape.

My mind was filled with as many questions as inspiration. The only problem was, he wasn’t here to ask, and I had no spiritual father to look to at the time. I began to pray more, starting with the prayer for daily bread, and each verse hit me with new depth. I started to form questions and write them down—and somehow, every time I reached for another tape, my questions were answered as if God were walking with me, listening to my prayers.

It was at this time that I began to look at spirituality in a different way. Previously, I thought of being spiritual as something that you either were or were not. My perspective shifted, and I began to see it as a muscle that could get stronger if exercised—and weaker when neglected. My confusion turned to curiosity, and then excitement, as my Q&A with God continued. It took me about a month, at least, to work my way through all of the tapes.

That time was like being in my own bubble, away from the world. It was just me, God, the spirit of my father, and the work in front of me. He took me away, and he showed me his hand and his face. He led me into the valley and peeled pieces away from me that I was not ready to let go of—yet he knew I could grow without. He helped me to find him in all religions, to lessen my doubts, to see the shadows of his people and their works throughout time, and he hinted at a future where I served him as a shepherd.

When you work this spiritual muscle, you are rewarded with the fruits of the Spirit and with God's love. When you share in his word and his works, you will certainly receive hate and slander—yet the rewards are far greater. When you constantly forget to acknowledge the presence of God, that muscle will get weaker, and the sound of his voice will become foreign. I wish to return to these tapes and find a way to share some of the stories.

These stories help to realign my mission, to ground me in God’s glory, and to honor the legacy of my ancestors. I could not be more grateful for the path he has led me on."