A Life That Could Be Full of Hate yet Gained Heavenly Treasures: Life Preparation

By Reverend Dr A. A. Harriott

This book is a true story of my life journey to date based upon evil thoughts and the enhancement of good character. A good deed will never be lost. He who sows courtesy reaps friendship, and whoever plants kindness gathers love. Bad thoughts are thieves that act their part and creep through the window of our thoughts, and if its way can win, it lets hundreds of robbers in.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Mar 22, 2018
• ISBN: 9781546284086

Reverend Dr A. A. Harriott

From the age of twenty years and four months, I adopted a full Christlike way of life. In 1951, on Sunday, March 8, I was baptized in the Negro River, Hagley Gap, St. Thomas, Jamaica, to show my commitment to a Christlike life. From that day onward, I have tried to live so that I could look others straight in the eye and not stand with the setting sun and hate myself for the things I have done. I tried to walk with my head held high, always to deserve other peoples respect and not thinking that no one will know the kind of person I really am. Above all, I tried to have self-respect and be free of a guilty conscience. For the thoughts of any person could be burning with jealousy and strife as well as with love and compassion, but this is only revealed by words or deeds. Only God our Father is unconditionally divine.

Book preview

2018 Reverend Dr A. A. Harriott. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system,

or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 03/21/2018

ISBN: 978-1-5462-8407-9 (sc)

       978-1-5462-8408-6 (e)

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

17457.png

A Life That Could Be Full of Hate yet Gained Heavenly Treasures

Life Preparation

A True Story

REVEREND DR A. A. HARRIOTT

Contents

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 20

CHAPTER 21

CHAPTER 22

CHAPTER 23

CHAPTER 24

CHAPTER 25

CHAPTER 26

CHAPTER 27

CHAPTER 1

I’m a Jamaican who was born in the western parish of St. Thomas, in a little district called Minto, on Friday, November 13, 1931. My parents’ names were Norman Harriott and Iona Harriott; my mother’s maiden name was Headlam. I am the fourth of eleven children. We were poor and at times needy, but from day one, we were taught by our mother and father that by trusting in, believing in, and living like Christ, we would receive a divine blessing from our heavenly Father. I am hoping that people who read this book will be encouraged and empowered to read it over and over again to receive their portion of untold gifts.

My mother was of Scottish descent and was given the name Iona by her grandmother, who was from a little island in Scotland with the same name. My father was of African descent. He happened to be born in Jamaica because of the slave trading from the continent of Africa. He received his name Harriott after his slave master. My father was a man with gifts like a prophet who sees and foretells things before they happen. I was told of the African cultural life as we read about it in biblical times.

We were taught very little of our African roots, as it would be seen as degrading to speak of ourselves as black African descendants. To be called black by Europeans in their genealogy meant evil, bad, dangerous, and full of satanic power.

According to the history of my life, from when I was born, my parents struggled very hard to keep me alive. In the country part of the island and parish nine miles from the Blue Mountains, doctors were very hard to find—and when you did find one, the distance from home was very far. On top of that, the parent might not be able to afford the doctor’s fees.

When I was about two years old, as I have been told, one morning my mother and father pronounced me dead. From that time, throughout the day, people were coming to and going from our home. All preparations were made for my burial, including my grave. Late in the evening, at the final preparation, my grandmother went to do what we would call wash and dress the dead. At that moment, she shouted, He isn’t dead! He has come back to life! As the news spread, people came praying, and thanksgiving was offered to God for the restoration of my life.

A few weeks later, my mother said, she went to the market in Kingston and one of her friends told her to save my urine through the night. Let it remain for two days, then bathe him in it. My mother followed the instructions of her friend. Not long after, my skin began to change. She told me that an outstanding change would take place in my body for the better, and I began to overcome my illness. In those days in that area where we were living, there were a lot of illnesses like mine. Lots of people would resort to herbs prescribed by the elders of the community.

My parents and others told me that I started walking when I was three and a half years old. My sister Wilhell, who was born two years and seven months after me, walked before me. She was even strong enough to help me take my first step. I held one of her hands while holding a bamboo stick with my other hand.

I have very little knowledge, if any, of my childhood until about age five, when I started remembering things happening around me. I remember my eldest sister, Alberta, holding me in her arms and sometimes holding my hands as I struggled to walk, and I remember her taking me to church.

My dad worked in the field away from home sometimes. Wilhell and I were not yet of school age, as we would start schooling at seven, so some days my dad would take both of us to the field with him, riding on a mule. Sometimes he would take our eldest brother with us, and sometimes all members of the family went, especially on school holidays.

We were very joyful, with him telling us stories, singing gospel songs for us, and praying for us and other children of the world at large. With him, we listened to the birds singing in the trees. I heard him one day say the birds were vocalizing the air with the sound of their music.

In those early years of our childhood, he taught us many gospel songs. One of them I can never forget:

Poor and needy though I be,

God almighty cares for me.

Gives me clothing, shelter, food.

Gives me all I need of good.

He will hear me when I pray.

He is with me night and day,

when I sleep and when I wake,

for the Lord my Savior’s sake.

As I linger here a while,

He will bless me with His smiles.

And when this short life is past,

I will reign with Him at last.

Then to Him I will tune my song,

happy as the day is long.

This my joy and songs shall ever be,

God almighty cares for me.

I remember in 1937, when the king of England was crowned, I was so small that my eldest sister, Alberta, lifted me up and let me stand upon her shoulders by one of the school windows to collect my gift.

We were highly disciplined with a Christlike upbringing, praying just before going to bed. Our father taught us to say this prayer:

This night as I lay down to sleep, I give You, Lord, my soul to keep. If I should die before I wake, I pray Thee, Lord, my soul to take. In my little bed I lie, heavenly Father. Hear my cry, Lord, protect me through this night, and keep me safe till morning light.

We all as children were also taught a verse of scripture from either the book of Psalms or the book of Proverbs. And we prayed in the morning, our father would wake us from our sleep. He taught us to say the following:

Now I wake and see the light. God has kept me through the night. Make me good to Thee, oh Lord. Please keep and guide me though this day.

One morning, my mother sent my brother and my two elder sisters to a lady called Mrs. Kelly. My sisters wanted me to go along with them, but my mother refused, as she remembered the history of my life. I heard my mother’s refusal, so I left the house. I walked a little way down the road and hid myself by stooping underneath a coffee tree. When I saw my brother and sisters walking by, I came out of hiding and joined them. The gleeful love, as I remember even now, was indescribable. We played together going and coming.

On our way back, I had a short piece of bamboo stick in my hand. I was in front of them, running as they pretended to catch me. I turned off the main road into a small footpath. While they were chasing me, I fell down with my mouth open wide. The bamboo stick went through my mouth and into my throat. When my brother and sisters came to my rescue, as they lifted me up, the bamboo stick was stuck into the ground with a large piece of my flesh stuck on top of it.

All four of us were in tears as they started calling for my mother. We were not far from home. Our mother heard their cries and ran to us. When she was told what happened, she blamed the three elder ones for disobeying her order. We were not far away from the spot where I fell, so they took my mother there. Still holding me in her arms, she looked me in my face and said, If I was sure you will not die, I would give you a beating. My mother, still holding me in her arms, took me home.

My grandmother came with many others. She asked for someone to bring her a leaf from a plant called Sinkle Bible. My grandmother baked it in the fire, split it, and wrapped it around my neck. She liquidized some more of the plant and gave it to me to drink. I was not taken to any doctor. No one was sure if I would survive or talk again, but with prayers from my father and friends, after a while—I cannot remember how long—I was able to speak.

In my early life, as I remember, sickness and accidents were all mine to live with. When I was about six, my mother and father sat down together while preparing scallion for marketing. I sat with them, with the evening getting dark. My mother sent me for fire to light the lamp. I went into the kitchen, took up one of the fire sticks from the fireside, turned around, and went through the kitchen door.

My sister Wilhell saw me going with the fire. She realized that I was sent for the fire by our parents, so she took from the fireside a blazing fire stick and came running behind. She caught up with me just before I reached my mother. Seeing that our mother would have taken my fire stick before hers, she put her blazing fire into my left eye.

My eye was badly burnt, but this was not noticed until Friday morning. When I got out of bed, my left eyelid was closed. I could not see anything through it. No one took any notice of me, not even my father. My mother had left home early that morning for a far marketplace called Poppean, which was thirty to forty miles away. She returned home late Saturday night when I was already in bed. Sunday morning, as I awoke from sleep, I heard my mother’s voice, so I went to her bedside. She immediately noticed the condition of my eye.

She was furious. She turned to my dad as they lay beside each other in their bed and said, Didn’t you see the child’s eye since Friday so as to take him to the doctor? My dad said nothing, so she smote him with her hand in his face. My dad did not retaliate, as he was not that kind of husband.

Monday morning, my dad woke me from sleep early. He was going to work far from home to a place called Monkland, where he would be for a week. He took me with him, as he intended to stop at the doctor with me. The doctor’s name was Dr. Bartlett. When the doctor saw my eye, he was very cross with my dad and asked when this had happened.

Since Thursday night, said my dad.

Since Thursday? said the doctor. And it’s only now you have brought him to me? You are not a caring father, are you?

While attending to me, the doctor was still commenting on the neglect of my father. His final comment was, One day later, I wouldn’t be able to save his eye!

Then he recalled that I was the baby who was once so sick I was sent home with my mother to die, with no hope of prolonging my life. The doctor kissed me and said to my dad, Take care of him. He is special.

One morning—I cannot recall what I had done wrong—my father flogged me with a strap of leather. That gave me a cut on my left leg as a mark for life.

I followed my elder brother Wilfred, and we were very joyful together, but when he met his mates, he would try to show off on me. We always loved singing, as did our mum and dad. I was sulky with a high temperament and inclined to hurt anyone who hurt me. As the youngest, I would do whatever I had in mind to do, whether right or wrong.

My eldest brother was the uppers to me, and until this day still is humorous, adventurous, kind, and always willing to help other people. My brothers and sisters, from the eldest to the youngest, were very kind, loving, and gentle to me. I was also to them—until any one of them did or said anything to me that I felt was wrong and hurtful. Then I would retaliate.

When I was between the ages of five and six, a friend of my parents gave me a pair of guinea pigs. I did not have a pen or cage to put them in, so my mother asked one of her brothers-in-law to put them in his rabbit pen together with his rabbits temporarily. He agreed.

One Friday evening, his eldest son and I went not far from his home to get food for the animals. After that, we started playing a game with a stone. My cousin was older than me. It was just a small stone we were rolling to each other. On one occasion when I rolled the stone to him, the stone scratched his thigh. He got up (as the both of us were sitting down) and ran to his father crying.

Without any question asked of either of us, his father held me by my hand and beat me with a whip. I went home crying and told my parents, and all they said to me was, Go and get your guinea pigs out of his pen. This I did with a vow to myself that if it was one day before he died, I would have my revenge in whatever way possible. Although we all were brought up in a kind and loving way, in my mind I could only see revenge.

CHAPTER 2

I started going to school at the age of eight instead of seven because of ill health. When I was nine, one of my teachers discovered that my tonsils were very large. When I went home that evening, I told my mother what my teacher had said. My mother also looked down my throat and saw how large the tonsils were. Within a few days, I was taken five miles away from home to be examined by a doctor.

At the time of the examination, the doctor told my mother that I must have an operation to remove the tonsils. My mother was very concerned for my safety. In those days, there was a doctor by the name of Dr. Wright working in the Morant-Bay public hospital, and we were informed that he had never operated on any patient who survived. So my mum told Dr. Pieter she would agree for me to have the operation only if he could assure her that he would do the operation himself and guarantee my safety.

Dr. Pieter looked at my mom