Walking out of Poverty

By Bishop Al Jones

My book, Walking Out of Poverty, has been a long time in writing. As you read my story, you will understand my objectives. I was born out of American slavery. I have been down in the valley for a long time, but today I am on the mountaintop. I have completed my book.
My book tells stories of my learned knowledge, my thoughts, and my trying and experiences in life. This was a God-given task from the start. I wanted to share my valuable lessons learned in life with others. I want them to be beneficial to others. I went back to school and got my bachelor’s degree in theology. I learned of a new walk of life. For we have many godly promises and the gift of salvation.
We have a divine right to the riches of life. We have a right to be on the other side of poverty. We can have the things that we need or want. We must learn how to accomplish our objectives. Then we will reach a level of success and fulfillment.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jul 28, 2023
• ISBN: 9798369403662

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Copyright © 2023 by Bishop Al Jones.

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Rev. date: 07/21/2023

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The contents of this book are the property of Al Jones Ministries and the author/publisher.

A STATEMENT TO STAND ON

The longest mile is accomplished by taking the first step.

—Harry Mayo, June 22, 2012

CONTENTS

Preface

Introduction

Chapter 1     The Early Years

Chapter 2     Life in the Big City

Chapter 3     You’re in the Army Now

Chapter 4     Life in Real Estate

Chapter 5     Accepting the Call of God

Chapter 6     G&A Developers

Chapter 7     Learning Life’s Lessons

Chapter 8     You Don’t Trust God Enough

Chapter 9     Learning the Word of God

Chapter 10   The Names Of Christ

Chapter 11   Toastmasters Is a Must

Chapter 12   Salvation Is Yours

Chapter 13   Sermons Preached and Practiced

Chapter 14   Go Deep, Be Quiet, and Pray

Chapter 15   My Bridge over Troubled Waters

Conclusion

PREFACE

My story of walking out of poverty is a true American story—a story of both faith and salvation. My vision of the process of walking, of taking the necessary steps to accomplish my objectives, was all that I wanted. The word poverty paints a picture of not having enough of what you want when you want it or not having capital when you want it or when you need it. The biggest symbol of being out of poverty is when you can experience and live your desired choices in life.

The idea for my book came to me on a day of continuous trials and immense struggle. At the time, I was a full-time licensed real estate agent actively involved in the business in Los Angeles, California. In real estate sales, the agent is required to go out to list and sell the residential, commercial, or vacant land properties they find. To create a listing is to forge an agreement between the owner of the real property, the seller, and the real estate agent. To do that, the agent must secure buyers for the subject properties based on the terms and conditions described in the agreement, and the agent will get paid a fee or sales commission check.

After a day of working, trying, and getting nowhere, I had returned home at noon for a few minutes’ lunch break. While preparing to continue with the rest of my day and in my emptiness, I sat down and turned on the TV. Then I heard the song by Kenny Rodgers called The Gambler. It was a song of advice to a gambler saying, You got to know when to hold them; you got to know when to fold them, and never count your money at the table.

From this thought, from these words, from this advice, I got the vision of walking from my home in Gardena to the ocean. I would be walking and knocking on every door in sight, believing that I would get enough new listings, sales, or any real estate business to reach a level of success. So I did some walking, and I did reach a level of some success.

In my planning after reading the book The Law of Success by Napoleon Hill, I made up my mind that I was going to earn $50,000 each year. In my first year of real estate sales, it didn’t happen; I didn’t even get close. A few years later when I got to REMAX Cashier Realty in Carson, for the first time, I earned over $100,000. As time went on, I learned better how to accomplish my objectives—how not to work harder but smarter.

Today I have learned and believe that it all was for the best. I call it a purifying process. Through all my trying, failures, and downfalls, I have gained the ultimate knowledge of the world, and I am a better man. One thing I’ve learned is how to go across the river—in other words, how to get the job done, how to make it in life, and how to accomplish my objectives.

In my steps going forward to get the things that I needed or wanted, I came to be a better person. It all led to my faith becoming stronger.

In some of my recent experiences and accomplishments, I know that God has been with me and that I have walked out of poverty spiritually and financially. I have learned valuable lessons—valuable lessons I want to transform into a message to benefit others. I want to help them too to reach a level of success.

INTRODUCTION

I started writing my book a long time ago. I was a young man then, but as time passed, I had become old. In 1976, when the idea first came to me to write a book called Walking Out of Poverty, the vision was clear. I wanted to tell my story of how I accomplished my objectives. My decision was to try to live on the other side of poverty. The wants and needs of my daily walk were quite demanding, and I knew that the taste of life in this world could be sweet.

After deciding to write a book, I always wanted to share my stories so that they may benefit someone else. Walking out of poverty is a theory of entering into a place of rest and security and the ultimate level of provisions for life. It’s when you reach your desired level of success or fulfillment. In a common sense of thinking, being out of poverty is when you have cash money in your hand and some in the bank.

I am out of poverty in a mindful sense through faith in the power of God. Over the last forty-three years, I was writing little notes, letters, and passages to put in my book. These notes were beneficial nuggets to be used to help someone on their way. In the old days, it was said, Forty years of wilderness wandering, but today I can say, Forty-three years of wilderness trying and learning. I have been down in the valley; today I am on the mountaintop.

Now through my writing, I must tell you of one of my most valuable lessons learned. It is to know that patience is a virtue of success. One definition of patience is long-suffering or enduring, continuing even in the face of difficulties. Sometimes while wanting and working to reach your desired level of success, you will need to be patient. So as I share my beneficial and valuable lessons learned with you, again, I say to you, Patience is a virtue of success.

If in your daily walk on life’s journey you go to the front door and can’t get in, go on around to the back door, because when you get to the table, the food will taste just as good. Being out of poverty comes when you are at peace in the process of trying. So embark with me on this walk out of poverty, allowing me to share a few of my experiences, my learned knowledge, as we head toward success.

CHAPTER 1

THE EARLY YEARS

My Story: The Beginning of Life

I was born to my mother, Willie Ella Jones, with a twin brother in rural Mississippi, and my mother with her nurse named us Albert and Alford. It seemed like I could remember that day when my father, Howard Jones, and his family were set to go forward together. As time passed on, I was small and seemingly down low, and I could feel the presence of others. I later learned that there were three or four little girls a few years older than me, and they were our sisters. We were a large family and growing.

The house was small, and the floors were hard. This house, our home, was located just above the edge of the wood line at the end of a cotton field. This was farmland for cotton and corn. Later, my father moved his family straight north about a quarter of a mile on the same small dirt road. The new house was larger with more space for work and play. It was a space for living and sharing with the family.

Our new home had three bedrooms, a hall, and a kitchen. This was so much better for our large, growing family. This was home for Mom and Dad and their twelve children. Father and Mother’s room was sometimes used like the family room. They had a big heater sitting out in the middle of the floor, so it was always a good place to get warm.

Many lessons, stories, and experiences happened while sitting around the heater in the wintertime. We had a large lot for the cows and hogs. Our corncrib and stable was on the north side of the lot. The large, valuable vegetable garden was on the north side of the adjoining lot. We lived at a small intersection where two dirt roads met. A small drainage ditch went off to the west side of the cornfields.

My grandfather Hilton Jones (Paw) and grandmom Bee lived just east of our house. It was almost within hollering distance. Just over from them were Uncle Sherman and Aunt Clyde. Over from them were Uncle William and Cousin Fannie. The Jones family lived on the Hays Brothers and Hall Plantation, a family of sharecroppers. The sharecropping system was an agreement between the parties. The owner of the land allowed us, the workers, to share in the return of whatever was raised, produced, or earned. The plantation owners did allow for a plot of land to be used for a two-room school. The school’s name was Hays School, and it was a grammar school for grades 1 to 8.

One afternoon we were all playing out in front of the house on the dirt road in the dust. It was my sister Clara who seemingly made an announcement. Next year you all are going to be six years old, and you are going to have to start school. You must start in the first grade. This information came with both fear and excitement. The time for starting school came quick. I couldn’t remember much preparation being made, but I am sure that some careful instructions were being given in getting us ready for the first day of school.

On the first day of school, my sisters were making a big thing of getting dressed while my mother was dressing Albert and myself. There were five of us leaving our house, walking to school. As we passed by our neighbor’s and friend’s house, we were joined by Ezell and his sister Bobbie Draper; then we all went to school together.

Upon arrival to Hays School, it was my sister Esther who introduced us to the principal, Mrs. Richards. After some talk and processing, we were assigned a new small book. This book was to be shared by both of us. It was a pretty little yellow book. During this time, I noticed quite a bit of talk and attention going on as we were recognized by other children seeing us as identical twins for the first time. Some of these students had met us before.

The time passed on fast, and lunchtime came quick. All the students, large and small, went out in front of the building and under two big shade trees to eat their lunch and play. During this time, I recognized a short little pop-eyed boy whom we had met before at church. His mother knew my mother. In the event of play, things escalated; and all of a sudden, the fight was on, and I had no fear of fighting him. The fight was broken up by my sister and other older students. As time passed on, that boy became my longtime friend. His name was Arthur Lee Edwards, and yes, we had several other fights until we learned better and were forced to fight together.

On the second day of school, through all the stuff of just getting ready and trying to get there, we forgot to bring our book to school; and of course, Mrs. Richards gave us one hell of a whipping with a switch for leaving the book at home. I must tell you, though, my sister Esther did try to stand up for us by taking some of the whipping. So as you can see, my first two days of school was definitely a learning process; and as time went on, I came to love our school, and we continued attending Hays School until graduating to high school.

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Albert and Alford

This is a picture of Albert and Alford at around seven or eight years old on a day of excitement. My elder sister Jewel and her family had just arrived, driving down from Chicago, and they had a camera. Upon their arrival, they started taking family pictures. This was a time of joy and excitement.

In the summer of 1958, when I was eleven years old, the time had come for our annual revival service. Pilgrim Rest Baptist Church was our family church home. The revival service started in late July or the first of August and continued for one week. The baptismal service that followed was always held on that Sunday morning before church service. During the regular eleven o’clock service, the final extending of the opportunity to Christian discipleship was given.

The revival service was a time of preaching, teaching, and sharing God’s Word with the unsaved, nonbelievers, or anyone who wanted to enter into the kingdom of God. All who were interested in being saved by Jesus Christ were invited to come. They would walk to the front of the church sanctuary and take a seat. Seating was on one of the long benches that were placed across in front of the pulpit. At the opening of the program, I myself along with others made the choice to go up and take a seat on the bench; that bench was called the mourners’ bench.

The church would select a special pastor or preacher for the task. This revival for us usually consisted in two preached sermons each day except Sunday, starting on Sunday night. Our preacher Reverend Beryl was assigned to bring the Word for the week. He was a thin man who could really preach God’s Word. Starting out on Sunday night, the first service was entitled You Got to Give Up All, a lesson to be treasured. On Monday night service, he poured it on us again. By this time, I was a broken man, but I knew that I believed in God. Some of his teaching required us to trust God.

On Tuesday morning, I felt all the convictions that I could get. I knew that I believed in God. At that point in the service, where much prayer and songs were given, the congregation would all gather around us to offer spiritual support and encouragement.

My sister Rose and I had a special relationship, for she was my babysitter while growing up and was one who had been there before me. She came to me and asked me, If you were in a river about to drown, going down for the last time, and you called on Jesus to save you, do you believe that He would save you? I answered yes and walked off the mourners’ bench. I was baptized on that Sunday morning and became a dues-paying member of Pilgrim Rest Baptist Church.

Life Can Be Hard

The next few years were mostly about work and going to school. In this process, I gained some of the experiences of life. At age twelve, we were being paid full adult wages for chopping cotton by the day. The work was hard, and the hours were long, from six in the morning to six in the evening with one hour for lunch. The pay was $3 per day. For picking up sweet potatoes, the pay was the same. Picking cotton, we were paid $2 for each hundred pounds that was picked. To make some money, you must pick at least two hundred pounds per day, and that was difficult.

Corn was raised, pulled, and put in our corncrib from a third of the crop. Being sharecroppers, the landowner planted the crops, and we