My first memories are before five years old—sitting
on my bed and fellowshipping with God. So, my
story begins here, through the wide and curious
eyes of an isolated little girl who’ll spend the next few decades
overcoming rejection and temptations.
No one taught me how to be in the Lord’s presence or
how to have deep, meaningful conversations with Him. Our
fellowship simply began the moment my lonely little heart
hurt like no child’s should, and God showed up to comfort
me. He assured me I belong to Him, then told me to call on
Him whenever I felt alone or needed my heavenly Father’s
loving embrace. I’m convinced God knew this would help
me throughout my life, and He’s right, it has. Sometimes,
the only reassuring thing I could count on was feeling that
welcoming embrace.
Loneliness and rejection in my childhood home on Gable
Street burned holes in my soul’s memory. One instance
happened the morning we planned to celebrate my fifth
birthday. It was a Sunday morning. I awoke with excitement,
eager to hear my parents mention my birthday. My anticipation
grew as I got ready for worship service. Why hadn’t anyone
come to find me yet? I wondered. Maybe no one knows I’m up yet.
A horn beeped from our driveway; this was my cue that my
grandparents were there to pick me up for church. I took the
disappointment that my parents hadn’t wished me birthday
greetings one slow step at a time, until I exited the back door.
Not a peep from anyone. The horn beeped again, reminding
me my birthday love was waiting. My excitement returned.
As I reached the gate, Mom rushed through the back door.
“Veda!” she yelled.
I stopped and turned back toward her. I knew she’d wish
me happy birthday then.
“You look like that dead baby bird lying on the concrete,”
she said, motioning toward the tiny mound to my left,
underneath the basketball rim.
My heart crumpled once I noticed the tiny featherless
bird and realized it must have met its untimely death after
falling from its nest. Grief-filled tears streaked my cheeks. I
stepped through the gate, closed it behind me, and raced to
the waiting car.
“Why are you crying?” Grandma asked when I climbed
into the backseat.
“Because,” I sobbed, “my parents hate me.” I told them
what my mom said and about my parents’ silent disregard for
my special day.
“Veda,” Grandma said before switching into prayer mode,
“Your mama didn’t mean it.”
She and Granddad consoled me and prayed aloud to
the Good Lord the whole drive to church. My Grandma,
the mother of seventeen children, knew how to console a
troubled child.
Praise God, I had regained my composure by the time we
pulled into church. I entered service feeling like the special
birthday girl I was. After worship service, I was whisked away
to my surprise fifth birthday party. There was family, music,
food, a cake, and plenty of balloons. There was even a dance
contest, in which my cousin Adam and I won first place. My
mom never showed up to my party, but I opened my gifts as I
sat on my dad’s lap. I had an awesome time surrounded by my
family, which included my younger sister Marg, my aunties
Lavern, Laurel, and Marsha, plus my cousins Adam, Dionne,
Michelle, and Kim. All that love was the best gift ever.
The day turned out to be amazing, overshadowing the
painful morning’s start.
© Daveda Buckman-Reed