He Was Always There

By Carolyn E. Perry

I have been encouraged for many, many years to write a book. I thought I had nothing of value to say. As the years marched by and I had more adventures, God said, "It's time."

In my years on this earth, I have learned so many valuable lessons. More than anything, I have learned some amazing things about God, His Son, and their love for us. And I am still learning.

I hope that you will be encouraged by what you read in this book.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christian Faith Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Mar 16, 2022
• ISBN: 9781639036288

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He Was Always There

Carolyn E. Perry

ISBN 978-1-63903-627-1 (paperback)

ISBN 978-1-63903-628-8 (digital)

Copyright © 2022 by Carolyn E. Perry

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods without the prior written permission of the publisher. For permission requests, solicit the publisher via the address below.

Christian Faith Publishing, Inc.

832 Park Avenue

Meadville, PA 16335

www.christianfaithpublishing.com

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Preface

I have met and interacted with many people who have touched and influenced my life. It would take an entire book if I tried to name them all, and I would probably miss someone. I have gleaned off of all the people I have met, books I have read, and messages I have heard. I thank all of you for enlightening me.

I want to thank my family. They looked beyond my faults and loved me anyway. I want to thank all of my Freedom International Covenant family. A special shout-out to my spiritual parents, Apostle Devin and Pastor Cordi Park. On many days, you two were, and still are, the wind beneath my wings.

I leave the best for last. This is the one who pushed, pushed, and pushed some more for me to write this book. He would always send me chapter titles. I didn’t use any of them, but he kept the idea in the forefront. He is and has been family to me since he started dating my oldest daughter. He is the father of my oldest granddaughter, my son, my friend, and my spiritual confidant. His name is Silas Darnell Johnson Sr. (stage name Denez)! I love you and thank you.

Chapter 1

In the Beginning

John 1:1–3a says In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was with God in the beginning. Through Him all things were made; without Him nothing was made that has been made, including me. When the world was created, it was created to house God’s greatest creation—mankind. With all my bumps and bruises, all my mishaps, all my wrong choices (you name it, I’ve probably done it) still I rise.

When I was created, I was created to worship God and to be His eyes, ears, mouth, hands, and feet for Him on earth (more detail forthcoming). The love of God created me.

I think if I give you some information about me, my family, and my upbringing, it might give you a better insight into who the person writing this book is. On July 25, 1948, Carolyn E. Collins was born to Othello and Thelma (Gordon) Collins. It was stated early that I would be unique. In those days, that meant that my mother was menopausal. My father was fifty-three, and my mother was forty-three years old when I was born. It was also noted in those days that change of life babies were a little off balanced. So as I grew up, there was little confidence that I would be productive in the world (one of my truths that would influence my future).

Thelma Sophese Gordon Collins—born May 23, 1905, in Columbia, South Carolina, to a man of color and a woman who was a full German Jew. My mother had eight brothers and sisters. My grandfather (Thomas Gordon) was a carpenter, and he had to build a six-foot fence around their house. The fence was built not only for his children to have a safe place to play but also to keep the people out who detested my grandparent’s union and their children. Imagine the environment—late 1890s to early 1900s—a mixed marriage in Columbia, South Carolina. My mother and her siblings were constantly harassed and had things thrown at them on their way to school.

The fence that was built to keep out trouble didn’t completely protect my mother and her siblings. There was in-house terror. My grandmother, Matilda Gordon, was a very miserable and unhappy woman. All of her family had disowned her because of her choice of a husband. She only had one brother who would visit occasionally.

So because of her isolation, she had no one to strike out to except her children and her husband. My mother and her siblings were physically abused by my grandmother. During those times, the clothing consisted of puffy blouses and long skirts, so no one saw the scars and whelps that my mother endured. And really, what would have happened? Who would have cared? One of the things that came out of this abuse was my mother’s promise that if she ever had children, she would not treat them the way she and her siblings had been treated. (Now as you will see further in the story, this, in a way, played a major part in my upbringing.)

My mother was a strong black woman who did not have an easy life. She only had a sixth-grade education. Her profession was that of a woman who cleaned rich folks’ homes in the upscale outskirts of Atlantic City, New Jersey. The cities were Ventnor, Margate, and Longport, New Jersey. My mother made $8-plus carfare per day!

After I got older and became a mother myself, I realized that we were poor. I never had a day when I was hungry, homeless, or naked. In fact, I had the best of everything. My clothes came from the best stores on Atlantic Avenue. I only had the best foods. I only had hot dogs when I went on the Boardwalk. I don’t know how she did it, but she managed to raise me as being in a middle-class family. We lived in Carver Hall, which was considered at the time, middle-class. I think the rent was $65 per month. I now know that she did without on a lot of days so that I had the best of everything. God was in the mix from day one.

How did my mother’s entire family get from Columbia, South Carolina, to Williamsport, Pennsylvania? One of my uncles, Sidney Maddox, worked as a porter on the railroad in one of their business cars. He cooked and also served on the car. I think that was enough to give them hope to better themselves by going north. Three of my aunts remained in Williamsport. The rest of the family spread out to Newark and East Orange, New Jersey. In Williamsport, my mother met and married my sister’s father, a native of Philadelphia, who will remain nameless. He turned out to be a womanizer and a child abuser. We also found out that he was married before my mother and had not been divorced. To that union was born my sister Lillian Marie Benjamin. She was born on December 8, 1942.

After the birth of their child, they moved to Mays Landing, New Jersey. My mother had to walk several miles each morning to take my sister (whom she carried in her arms because they had no carriage) to the babysitter before traveling farther to catch the bus for work. This man did not have a job, but he was too busy to take care of his child or take his wife to work. Mays Landing, where they lived at that time, had no paved roads, just dirt roads. While carrying my sister in her arms the several miles to the babysitter, many days, as my mother would be walking that dirt road, she would watch her husband drive right past her with one of his ladies in the car. The car, by the way, was being paid for by the woman that he sprayed dust on as he passed by her and his child.

My sister was raised in Williamsport, Pennsylvania. There’s a major story there, and maybe one day, I will visit that in another book relating to the pain that family can create. Anyhow, when she turned eighteen, she moved to Atlantic City with my mother and me. She is five and a half years older than I.

On the weekends, when my mother would come home from work, she would bring home a pint of Seagram’s 7 for my sister, a pint of Gordon’s Gin for her, and a fifth of Thunderbird for me. I was around twelve years old. There were two reasons why she said she did this. In her mind, she believed that she would teach us how to drink so that no man would be able to outdrink us and take advantage of us. And boy did we ever outdrink a lot of guys! They would just give up and leave us alone. They spent all that money and got nothing in return, except empty pockets. The other reason that she would let me drink at home was so that I wouldn’t go out and do it. It always worked because I would get drunk and pass out and not be able to go anywhere.

The freedom I had to do whatever I wanted to do was really a blessing in disguise. All the neighbors said that I would end up in reform school or early pregnancy. Never happened. I believe, my mother didn’t realize it, but she used reverse psychology on me. Since I was able to do whatever I wanted, the things that my girlfriends were sneaking around doing—having sex in the crawl space under the apartment buildings or in the bushes—I never did. I think she was a wise woman. There was a method to her madness. But more than anything else, she was a God-fearing, praying woman.

I was smoking at an early age. When my father passed, of course, my mother allowed me to smoke and purchased my cigarettes. I smoked Parliaments. This brings a story to mind. After my father passed, I met the Johnson/Kelly family. One of the children became my best friend and remained so until she went home to glory on June 12, 1995. The patriarch of the family was strict. When he saw me smoking, he took my cigarettes. I remember him telling me that the cigarette was bigger than me! Well, he would take my cigarettes every time he saw me with them. Finally, I went home and told my mother. My mother marched to the house and told him to give me my cigarettes. She brought them for me, and that was that! He had a little gray metal box. I remember him taking a key and opening that box and giving the cigarettes to my mom, and that was that.

This family became my family and still remains so, and it was at this house that I ate hot dogs, neck bones, and other wonderful things that I knew nothing about. My mother would be so mad with me. I was a little fast. And I skipped a lot of school, so I would hookey over my friend’s house. The parents were at work, and the older brother was home, so I would hang out there.

As I look back at some of my escapades, I see how God was there even then. My girlfriend was a few years older than I, and her older brother might have been my sister’s age. Back in those days, young men had processes. They would get their hair straightened. He was very handsome. He was very dark, and boy could he sing. The entire family (well, wait, not all of them) could sing! At that time, I was in love with Jackie Wilson. Matthew’s hair was just like his!

My best friend’s brother would have his friends over. They were really my big brothers. My mother found out that I was not in school, and of course, she called the house. They said that I was not there, so they decided that when I went home, I had to be really sick so I wouldn’t get in trouble, so they went into the kitchen. They must have put any and everything in a glass for me to drink. I couldn’t even smell it without getting sick. They took me home and said that they found me in the street after my mom had called. I hear stories all the time about children being sexually abused, abducted, killed, or whatever and most of the time is caused by someone close. But they were my family for real. Once again, my God was there. Matthew was in a car accident that took his life.

Little story

I had to be about ten or eleven years of age. Jackie Wilson was coming to town. There was a policeman who was friends with my family. During that time, community really believed that it took a village to raise a child, and they really were serious about helping my mother with me after my father died. He was one of the security people for the concert. In the front of the stage, there was a railing. This place was actually a skating rink. It was called The Coliseum. My uncle put me right up front behind the railing. I was very small. Well, when the show started, all the people were pressing me against the railing. Well, my uncle, seeing this, rescued me and sat me on the edge of the stage. OMG! I sat there in a trance while Jackie Wilson was singing and stepping all over the stage.

He was known for doing splits. So he goes down, he flips over, and there he is, and I’m looking down on him. He grabbed my