Broad Shoulders

By Joyce Bennett

From Trials to Triumph God has always put angels in my life to help me through all my journey""starting with my aunt taking me in at age seven to age eighteen to my teacher who fed me when I was hungry in high school, to the help I received while I was in college, and to my six children, my nine grandchildren, and four great-grandchildren who have made life easy for me and from being homeless to my husband's aunt and uncle taking me in, to the home I am still living in, to my church and my pastor ( Alfred Owens), to my brother Ronnie who was truly God sent along with my pastor, and to my angels who have been with me each and every day of my life. I am so grateful.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christian Faith Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: May 15, 2019
• ISBN: 9781644589366

Book preview

Early Years of My Life

Must Jesus bare the cross alone and all the world go free? No! There is a cross for everyone, and there is a cross for me. Thank you God for giving me broad shoulders strong enough to carry my cross and to be able to stand against all odds.

God decided to take my mother at the age of thirty-seven years. She left five girls behind. I am the youngest of the five, and we are all three years apart. I had just turned seven when she passed. My oldest sister had already left home and lived about nine miles away in Creswell, North Carolina. I have no idea what happened to my next two sisters. I was in high school when I saw them again. I was told my sister, who is three years older than me, and I were left in the house alone. She was taken in by my aunt (my mother’s sister) and uncle. They took her right after my mother died. I somehow ended up with my grandmother and my Uncle Thomas. It was a while before my aunt and uncle whom my sister was living with took me in. I remember walking down a long lane to get to the bus to go to school while living with my Uncle Thomas. My uncle’s children never went to school. Maybe they were too young. I know I am older than his oldest child. Maybe they were not old enough to attend school. You had to be six years old to attend school. I had just turned seven. Maybe they had not turned six yet.

I cannot remember to this day my mother’s facial features or her body features. I have a picture of her, but it does not jog my memory of her looks. I remember many things we did together and things she said to me; but I don’t remember her favor, her size, or even her complexion. I was never close to my father. The only time I remember my father ever touching me was when I was approximately two years old. We were on our way home from church one night, and I remember my father dragging me, as my mother was begging him to carry me. He did not pick me up until we were finally near home. I believe God wanted me to remember this occasion, because I was so young when this happened. I was told I was always right under my mother at all times.

When I reached school age, I remember my mother having Mrs. Johnson pick me up after school and take me to her home, and she would come and get me when her work was over. Mrs. Johnson had a daughter in my class by the name of Zethalyn. Mrs. Spencer was another lady who would get me from school sometimes. She also had a daughter in my class named Charlene. Also my mother had a sister, who would get me sometimes; but she had a husband who was always drunk, and I was very afraid of him. When my mother was desperate, she would leave me there. She knew how afraid I was of my uncle. I would hide in a corner until my mother came. She only let me stay there when she had no other choice. My aunt was my mother’s youngest sister. She spoke with a very soft voice, and she was very good to me. I don’t know why my sisters did not get me from school. I was the youngest of five children, but somehow my mother did not let them get me after school.

I attended Tyrrell Elementary School while we were was living in Columbia. We were very poor. My mother had to use her money to support the family. She could not depend for much support on our father, because he had a lifestyle that caused him not to do anything for his family. I was told my oldest sister while in her early teens ran a little store that belonged to the Rawsons. The Rawsons owned a store and the only funeral home for blacks in Columbia where we lived. Mrs. Rawson was the high school math teacher. My oldest sister was very smart as they called it, and she was able to run the little convenience store for the Rawsons. Mrs. Rawson would always say to me, I know you can do it because your sister was very smart. I loved to hear her say those words, because I loved my sister so much. I wanted to be smart like her.

One of the teachers from my school in Columbia before my mother died was Ms. Jones who sold hot dogs at lunch time for ten cents, and she put mustard and onion on them. Oh, they always smelled so good. I could not afford one, so I would go every day and sit on the steps by her window so I could smell the aroma from the hot dogs and onions. My mother asked me before she died what I wanted for Christmas, and I told her a hot dog. She said nobody wanted a hot dog for Christmas, so she went and put a doll in layaway for me. She did not know she would be dead before Christmas. Someone got the doll for me that Christmas. I did not get another Christmas toy until I was thirteen. Our Christmas usually consisted of an orange, a peppermint candy stick, and sometimes some nuts. I would sit on the porch and watch what other children got for Christmas. After Christmas, all the children on the school bus would tell everybody what they got. The children never asked me, because somehow they knew I never got a toy.

I was not allowed to go to some of the homes my mother worked in, not because I was bad, but because my mother had to give all her time and attention to her work and they did not want a black child in their home. One of the ladies did let me go to work with my mother, and she was good to me. She let me play with a little ironing board and iron and a little broom and mop that belonged to her children who had grown up and did not play with them anymore.

I remember a little story my mother told me when I was too young to go to school. One morning my mother and I were going to one of her daily jobs, and a flock of little birds were on the side of the street. They were chirping and chirping. I asked my mother, Where is their mother? She said their mother might not be with them, but God looked after them when she was not around. She said they were sparrows and God was watching over them. I asked her, Why is God watching over the little sparrows? She said because their mother asked God to watch over them. She said if I ever needed anything, I would just ask God, and he would watch over me too. Then she said, Always remember that. Ask God for whatever it is that you need, and he will help you too. I asked, Why will he watch over me? She said, Because I’ve asked God to watch over you too. I don’t know if she knew she would die in the next short year or if this was a conversation predestined by God. I did not know what she meant then, but I learned pretty quickly. I heard she died the Thursday before Mother’s Day and was buried on Mother’s Day. I was not taken to the hospital to see my mother while she was sick and was not taken to her funeral. I remember seeing the hearse go by my home, taking her to the cemetery. I still was not aware at that time that I would never see her again. God has given me many memories that I will never forget about her. I remember her many prayers on her knees, with her face to the floor and sometimes her face on the bed. Her stomach was always hurting. My father was a ladies’ man