Standing on the Wings of Eagles: Leaving a Legacy from Generation to Generations

By Charlene D. Crawford and Co-Author Yvonne E. Crawford-Burns

Charlene left a legacy for the family in her writings affirming the fact, "We Are Standing on the Wings of Eagles." The purpose of the book is to depict black life in contrast to suburban, inner city, especially black church life. Show the futility of diverse lifestyles. An integration of the personal and political--the past on the present. The book was written by the eldest sibling prior to her unexpected death. Three days prior to her death, on March 10, 2003, Charlene wrote the following in her personal journal:

My thoughts.

My plans.

My prayers.

It is my prayer that everything I am, everything I hope to be, lines up with the perfect will of God.

...Charlene

Few people can deliver words of blessing and encouragement at the perfect time when that "hug" is needed. Charlene was one. She was able to discern just the right time and need. Of course, she was so many years ahead of her time, it was if she had been here before writing all she saw in her notebook for future reference. Acquaintances are many in life, but true friends are few. Charlene was my true friend. I cherish her love and memory. I can still picture her singing with her mother, Lena, and family. They created such a perfect harmony that it could only have been orchestrated with God conducting. Charlene had a special way to let you know what she thought even if she did not agree with you. She was always ready to take time to do for others. She was God's voice and God's feet (serving) doing what she was able and supposed to do and leaving the rest to capable God. I was truly blessed to share a part of her time on earth. You are missed. God bless, my friend Charlene.

--Elizabeth Marsh-Addis

Retired teacher

God has a way of placing people into our lives when we need them the most. Charlene was one of these persons for me. I had the awesome privilege of meeting Charlene while pastoring my second church, the Bethel AME Church in Monroeville, Pennsylvania. Bethel was Charlene's home church. It was the church where her mother, Ms. Lena, was the minister of music and served for over fifty years. It was very apparent to me, as their new pastor, that this family was exceptional in so many ways, and family, both their own and God's family, was at the center of their joy and sincere service to the Lord. It was so obvious that Ms. Lena was a mother who was deeply steeped in the Lord and quietly, yet boldly, prayer was at the heart of her daily disciplines. After Charlene began attending church again, she got saved and recommitted her heart once again to the Lord. Additionally, I was honored to pastor her younger brother, Darryl, who was also called to the ministry and is now serving as the assistant pastor in New Jersey and one of Ms. Lena's daughter's, Yvonne, is serving as a senior pastor of a church in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. Subsequently, all of Ms. Lena's children are currently serving the Lord in ministry. Charlene's mother left a God-fearing legacy for all her children to follow. They, indeed, are "standing on the wings of eagles." As I watched Charlene grow in the Lord, it was not at all surprising to me that she had tapped into the Spirit of the Lord and was alert and inquisitive, holding tightly to God's Word. Charlene foresaw the importance of documenting the revelations sweetly whispered in her own ear, leaving a legacy for generations to come. Thank you, Charlene. "Write the Vision And make it plain on tablets, that he may run who reads it. For the vision is yet for an appointed time; But at the end it will speak, and it will not lie. Though it tarries, wait for it; Because it will surely come, It will not tarry"(Habakkuk 2:2-3)!

--Rev. Dr. Brenda J. Gregg

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• Language: English
• Publisher: Christian Faith Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Oct 20, 2021
• ISBN: 9781638749257

Book preview

Chapter 1

Rachel’s Reaction to Death

The greatest legacy one can pass on to one’s children and grandchildren is not money or other material things accumulated in one’s life, but rather a legacy of character and faith.

—Billy Graham

Rachel was listening to some Billie Holliday, flouring chicken wings, getting ready to fry them when she noticed Chief kept running back and forth from the kitchen to the living room looking at her plaintively. He wasn’t barking, but something had obviously disturbed him. Wiping her hands, she turned the music down and went to the front door expecting to see her mother. It was then that she had heard the sirens and saw the flashing red lights from the ambulance pass the window. Immediately, she was gripped with anxiety. Peeping through the door window, she saw two white men open the gate to the house and start up the walkway. Chief was barking now, so loudly and frantically that she had to take him and lock him in the basement. By the time she returned, the two men were ringing the doorbell. She opened the door knowing something was very wrong.

Yes, what is it? was all she could manage.

Does a Lena Banks live here?

Yes. I’m her daughter. She was forcing the words out now. What’s the matter? Her voice had taken on a tinny quality.

We need you to come with us. Your mother—we think it’s your mother—has been shot right up the street from here. He pointed in the direction that the ambulance had gone.

What makes you think it’s my mother? She was grasping at straws now.

There was a purse with her ID.

They had both left the question of death hanging in the air. She went back into the kitchen and turned off the frying pan, threw on her coat from the rack by the door checking automatically to make sure her keys were in the pocket, made sure the door was locked, and then followed them to a waiting car. On the way there, she just kept praying that it was not her mother, that this all was just some big mistake, although she could not imagine why they would come to the house upsetting her like this. When she arrived at the scene, the first thing she saw was the yellow crime-scene ribbon. How many times had she seen it on television? A crowd had gathered and was milling around the edges of the ribbon. They were subdued and quiet, though, not the usual rowdy bunch. All eyes were fixed on a transvestite Rachel had seen around the neighborhood. He was putting on quite a show. He had on a long, red cape, high heels, and a blond wig, and was complaining that he needed to get into his apartment. Evidently the crime scene was blocking the entrance to his apartment. After showing some identification, he was escorted through. All eyes were on him, so he would not stop talking. He was walking in that exaggerated manner that they have. This is really a shame. Just a shame. Right in front of my house. As soon as I get my Section 8, I am moving out of here. Just a shame. Such a nice lady. Ain’t nobody safe. He disappeared into the building.

As the policemen opened the door to let her out, all eyes turned to her. She could see the news vans; their bright lights and their cameras were already on the scene. This story was going to be on the eleven o’clock news. There was no moment too personal to be shared. She refused to feel self-conscious, though. She needed to record this moment for her own benefit. As she approached the yellow barrier, she saw lying motionless on the sidewalk covered by a blanket, a body that she knew was her mother. She was led under the ribbon to the body, and a policeman pulled back a corner of the blanket. There against the pavement, looking very composed considering, was all that remained of her mother. She was lying face down with her one arm stretched out, and her head turned to the side. Her eyes were closed. Rachel stood there for a moment. It was all too sudden. One moment she had been frying up some wings. Now this. She felt part of herself withdraw and watch from a distance. She was finding it difficult to process what was occurring. She kept hoping she might wake up. It had all the ethereal quality of a bad dream. All eyes were fixed on her. She had become the center of attention. She was aware of their presence. They were waiting for a reaction from her. This was real. Better than television. She wished they would all go away, or at least look away, and leave her alone with her mother. But she felt their eyes. She was breathing heavily. A policeman was standing beside her. He was not looking at her; he was surveying the crowd, probably looking for witnesses.

Numb, her physical self knelt down and touched her mother’s arm. It was still soft but already cool. She felt no repulsion but drew her hand back quickly. Her mother was gone. She heard herself whisper, Oh, Mama. That was when the pain started, an excruciating pain that erupted from the center of her being and spread outward. She felt engulfed in pain. She heard herself moaning from a distance. The policeman was pulling her away. She wanted to stay there for a while until her emotions stopped swirling. She bent and kissed her mother’s cheek. Later she would say it was like having the umbilical cord ripped away. She wanted to take her mother home, away from the strangers who were just being nosy, from those who were going about their business methodically, handling her body with such indifference. This should not be happening. Her mother did not deserve to die like this. The detectives were explaining to her what they thought had happened.

She wasn’t raped, was she? she had to ask. Could it get any worse? They assured her that she had not been raped. They said it appeared to be a drive-by. They asked her some routine questions and then drove her back to the house. The coroner would be taking the body downtown to the morgue, and the funeral home could pick it up from there. They asked her if they could call someone for her. No, she had replied. She wanted to be alone. She would call Reggie later. She did not want to talk yet. She did not know what to say yet. For some reason she felt even more angry toward him now. She did not want him to come because he had to, because the circumstances dictated it. Their relationship had deteriorated until nothing came naturally anymore. She would call the children in the morning.

Let them sleep for now. No use disturbing them. After calling the funeral home and letting them know where to pick the body up, she turned the ringer off the phone. Most people would not hear about this until morning. She went into the kitchen, put the chicken away, and turned the music off. Chief was whining and scratching at the cellar door. She let him back into the house. The two of them went into the living room, where she turned off all the lights including the floodlights outside, and lay down on the couch. She did not want any visitors. If anybody knocked on the door, she was not going to answer it. The house was dark and quiet. Chief flopped down on the floor in front of the couch. She patted the couch, and he jumped up and laid beside her. He had never done that before. It was then that the tears started. It was like a dam burst. A torrent was released deep inside her, and she cried until there were no more tears, nothing but dry heaves. Then she prayed. She asked God to help her get through this, to help her honor her mother. Slowly she calmed down enough to drift in and out of sleep. The darkness enveloped her as she and Chief grieved together. The night passed slowly as she slept some, cried some, but mostly just waited for whatever was coming next.

Chapter 2

Reggie’s Reaction

If you’re going to live, leave a legacy. Make a mark on the world that can’t be erased.

—Maya Angelou

Reggie Robinson was sitting at the kitchen table the next morning eating a bowl of Cheerios when the phone rang. It was his mother with the news about the death of his mother-in-law. He had been shocked at first and saddened, but then the thought crept into his mind, Now Rachel will have no one else to turn to. And his spirit picked up.

After hanging up the phone with his mother, he dialed Rachel’s number and got the answering machine. He slammed the phone down in disgust without leaving a message. There went any hope of a spontaneous reunion with his wife. He wondered how she was taking this. Maybe he should just go over there. His mother had advised him to wait for Rachel to call him. He did not want to wait. He wanted to be right there by her side. He took a deep breath. He was going to have to be cool. It was his fault that she had left him in the first place. He realized that now. He had tried to force her to do what he wanted. He should not have given