Uphill...Downhill...never letting go

?Every single time I take a visit to my hometown, I am struck by all of the things that have changed but in my mind’s eye, still remain the same. My father doesn’t live in the old neighborhood anymore – but that neighborhood still lives in me and nothing has changed.

There’s the playground at the elementary school across the street where old friends would gather for games of 21, horse, play pickup games … There are no rims, backboards or swings there anymore. That school has now become an annex. But the memories we made and the bonds we built go beyond games, balls, or any piece of playground equipment – they’ll last forever.

Marlboro Heights Missionary Baptist Church sits directly in front of our old house. Each day that church played chimes telling the time to all who could hear.  Each night at 9:30, those church chimes would play the most beautiful song; I never found out the name of that song, but I can still hum it just the same. On most nights my crew would gather not too far from the church, talking, dreaming, playing catch, and just having the most innocent fun. They don’t hold church there anymore as they build a new one a few miles away. But that church, that place, will forever be woven into the fabric of our hearts.

Those places and countless others hold a special meaning for me, but none can compare to the hill that leads to the old grocery store behind our house. It’s not quite the hill it used to be but it’s still there nonetheless and has a special meaning. 

When I was around 5, just about every day as my siblings and father were at school and work, my mother and I would walk down to get groceries then walk back up to bring them home. The walk down was no problem as she held my little hand, we talked, laughed, she told me things she needed and asked me not to forget (knowing full well that she wouldn’t). 

There was the trail of water that marked the midpoint of the parking lot that we used to jump over. Who could ever forget the lamp post? There’s no way you could – the one with the square base painted bright yellow, announcing itself for all to see. If you looked to the right, there stood the alley … big and bold, filled with workers, good people, stocking the store we were about to enter. Yes, I guess you could say our walks to the store were pure bliss.

The walk home was different. For a small woman like her and a small child like me, the walk home…could at times be tough. There was no plastic back then, just paper and I can vividly remember the days when she struggled to carry those bags and wishing I were big and strong enough to help. So many days I’ve stared at that hill wishing we could have just one…more…walk. I would gladly carry it all … every last bag.

I remember seeing her struggle but what I recall the most is that no matter how much those bags held, no matter how much they challenged her, or how out of breath her little body became…is that she always found enough strength onto hold my hand.

Our neighborhood is nestled just off of a highway and cars would zoom through the parking lot and streets with reckless abandon. Stray German Shepherds, big ones, roamed the roads and racism was so much more overt. 

But as I sit and think about that hill, I can honestly say in all those days when those things and more were swirling around us, I was never once afraid. In fact, in all the days before and all of the many days that have passed since, I can honestly say that the palm of her hand…was the safest place I have ever been…

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It’s the most beautiful time of the year where we celebrate the most beautiful people God ever created; mothers. If you’re blessed enough to have yours, spend some time with her.

Think about all of the hills the two of you have climbed together when no matter what load she was carrying; she always found the strength to hold onto your hand.   I’m sure you’ll agree…

It’s the safest place…you’ve ever been…