I Am a Walking Testimony: To God Be the Glory

By Aishah Kelsick-Ricks

Ricks / I am a walking testimony / 2

This book is inspired by my first book titled The Dedication to the Trial of My Life. I want my readers to know the true story behind the poetry and how a strength greater than myself helped me along the way of my life's journey. This great spiritual being was there throughout my childhood and still is the significant part of my life. I am talking about God, ladies and gentlemen. If it was not for him, I would not be here today. I owe him everything that I am. So with this book, I give him all the glory because he inspired me to write it. In my darkest hour, I birthed out my life's story. I hope this book sends a powerful message to those who have been labeled the middle child, the black sheep, and lets them know though ostracized and set apart they are still somebody who was born with a purpose and an identity.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christian Faith Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: May 13, 2021
• ISBN: 9781645692782

Book preview

Chapter 1

The tribulation started the day I came out of my mother’s womb. I was not only born into a sinful world as the Bible pronounces, but I was born feeling alone like I was the only one because of my indifference. I was born into a family where I was set apart. I was labeled the peculiar one. I later on found out my light shining among the darkness I had to face. This light was introduced to me by my grandmother when she introduced me to the Lord Jesus Christ by teaching me how to pray. I remember this so well because I remember the night when I looked at the photograph where she was ninety-three years old and I began to remember clearly the times she picked me and my sister up on the weekends, Friday nights to be exact, so that we could attend church Sunday morning. My grandmother was so symbolic to me because she introduced me to the meaning that made life worth living, and that meaning helped me to grasp a higher power that was stronger than myself that helped me to embark on a strength that was greater than my own. This strength helped me to overcome my life’s greatest trials, by developing a solid relationship with God. These frequent meetings with my grandmother ceased, and I found myself alone in an environment that really didn’t accept me. However, the only something that was very real and true to me and that showed me acceptance was the presence of God. Throughout my life, whether I was doing bad or good, this presence would always find me.

After living place to place and moving into a motel room, I found myself wandering off as I always did, trying to get used to the environment. In this environment, I learned to dream. Back then, the dream was to be a singer. I love to sing and found me envisioning myself singing like Cyndi Lauper. Yes, Cyndi Lauper was introduced to me by a motel playmate. I found myself growing fond of her; and she was my way of escape from the cooped-up motel room, where my mother, sister, and I resided for six long months. I remember the motel room like it was yesterday. It had two beds and a kitchenette where Mom prepared our everyday meals—a place my family called home. After the motel room, we were headed to my grandmother’s house, the woman I saw as symbolic who introduced me to Jesus. I and my sister were back going to church every Sunday. My mother didn’t attend much. My grandmother’s house became home. I remember me and my sister playing in the backyard climbing trees and my grandfather fixing cars on the side of the house. My grandfather, whom we called Granddaddy, was cool because he always gave me and my sister money to go the store and buy salty plums and pickles. These were the days Granddaddy was known for throwing family barbeques. All his children knew one another, and their children knew their cousins. Gatherings kept the family together. Growing up like this around my grandparents made me feel like I was a part of something until one day within a blink of an eye it all changed. I’ll never forget it. It was the day that a liver disease claimed my grandfather’s life and the family gatherings ceased. It felt like time stopped. I found myself living again with my mom in our own place, back to being treated like the peculiar one by my brothers and sisters. I couldn’t really be myself because I tried to fit in and still was not accepted. I began to wonder if something really was wrong with me. Why don’t I feel like I’m a part of something? I remember nights when I would cry myself to sleep because I got talked about by my siblings and sometimes wondered if my mother was in on it. Being tired of crying, my sadness and frustration came out in rage.

Chapter 2

Moving to this little apartment after moving out of my grandparent’s home did not invite the childlike living that I was accustomed to. People would be knocking on the door all times of the night and my brother’s bedroom window. I remember it like it was yesterday. I was about eight or nine years old the first time I had ever witnessed a drug deal. My brother got the place for him and my mom, and that meant we had to live under his conditions, which later my mom adopted all too well. She became my brother’s best customer. I was living a nightmare that I just wanted to go away. Seeing my mom and older sister with a crack pipe in their mouths and my brother giving it to them was totally devastating to me and ultimately was when my feats of rage began. By knowing right from wrong and standing up for what was right, I was labeled the preacher, the weird one. I remember breaking every crack pipe in the house I could find, but it did not do any good because my mom and sister would just go out and buy new ones.

I remember asking my mom why she did it, and she said it was for experimentation. My mom went to work every day as a licensed vocational nurse, while my older sister just lay back and smoked crack all day in her bedroom. I watched my nephew run around in a wet soggy diaper because his mom wanted to get high. This was hard for me to accept. I became frustrated and numb at the same time. I began to scratch bald spots in my head and grit my teeth. This was the only way I found some type of relief from all the madness that was going on around me. Trying to enforce what was right only made me look a little weirder and estranged me from my siblings and my mother because I just wanted a normal household that operated normally. I started to feel like drugs were ruining everybody’s life that was around me, including my childhood. This was the beginning of a drug battle for my older sister, one that she could not shake on her own. She needed the help of a mighty God, and she knew it. She moved in with my grandmother and then from there began to get cleaned. Meanwhile, years had passed; and Mom decided she wanted to move to San Bernardino, California, to be with my father. In the year of 1987, Mom packed up and, with me and my one-year-old younger sister, headed to San Bernardino. Before the move, we had been visiting our father on the weekends, so I and my sister were familiar with the city. This move changed my mother’s life tremendously. She embraced Christianity, stopped smoking and drinking, and began to attend church regularly. This part of my life I embraced with open arms. I remember going to church not only on Sundays but also on Tuesday nights for Bible study and Saturdays for choir rehearsal. I was back doing what I was familiar with as a child praying and talking to God.

Chapter 3

While attending church regularly, I began to really embrace the term faith even though I was still feeling like the outsider of my family. I knew there was someone who knew me beyond myself and whom I could depend on. Frequently after my feats of rage, I found myself sitting in my mother’s car on the driver’s side and looking up to the sky and talking to this special someone—God. Looking up to the sky rather sad or happy gave me hope and enabled me to dream. After settling at Dad’s house and finding a home church, school started. Middle school was what I used to know as junior high school in San Fernando. This experience while in middle school seemed that I, the church-going girl, could never stop getting in trouble, always being talked about not just by my siblings now but school peers from my hair or my clothes. There was always something. So I began to talk back and fight back, and by fighting back, I couldn’t really focus on school. My grades were bad. I was failing every subject. I remember one hot summer day. I was in history class, and the teacher was lecturing on Abraham Lincoln and how he abolished slavery. I raised my hand and said Abraham Lincoln had slaves also, and I was immediately sent to the office. The office called my mother, and I was sent home for only sharing what I was taught at home by my mother. My mom believed in her black history. In fact, she believed in it so much that she bought some black history books that taught pure black history. I still sit back and reflect on Mama’s words, You didn’t do anything wrong. History in schools is culturally biased. I sat up that night as everyone was sleeping and thought about how I just witnessed racism in so many words. I was suspended for five days, and I couldn’t return without being