I took my granddaughter and great-grandson on a ride down
memory lane this past week (of course, my great-grandson slept through most of
it). We went to south Alabama to visit
the graves of my parents and grandparents and also got in a trip to Gulf Shores
and some good seafood at Wintzell’s Oyster House in Mobile.
The city has changed a lot. People continue to move out west, north, and
east across the bay. Despite significant
investments of time and money, downtown and surrounding areas are inner city
and are largely in decline. There are
some bright spots—new downtown hotels and convention center, efforts at
restoration and preservation, and a growing arts community.
We drove past four places that were meaningful to me
growing up—North Carolina Street where I spent my years from age 5 to 18, the
church where I professed Christ and was ordained to the ministry, my old
school, and the Mobile Public Library. The
house where I lived is long gone, lost to a massive urban renewal program some
decades ago. The church building where I
spent so much time now houses an African-American congregation. My parents were still there when Oakdale
Baptist sold the facility to another congregation and merged with West End
Baptist Church to become Government Street church (which has since
relocated). My school is still there,
but it has grown so much that I hardly recognized it. The library was largely the same, but the
size has been doubled with a new addition and added parking lot.
All of these were defining places for me as a child. First, the house provided a home where
parents struggled to do their best for their child and taught him the faith
that sustained them. Second, the library
was the place that provided the resources that nurtured my mind and
imagination. What I know about writing I
learned from reading the books I found there provided by kindly and indulgent librarians. Third, the church and its members provided a
place for me to take my first steps in Christian leadership and discover my
gifts for ministry. Fourth, the school
challenged me to do well and several instructors encouraged my love of history and
reading.
There are no markers on any of those places to memorialize
the influences I received there, but I know and I remember the people that made
them important to me.
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