The Immortal Gift
Several years ago, my husband and I moved to a new city. Every time I move, I search for two things — a hairdresser and a church home. My descriptions of ideal church homes were always filled with anecdotes about the church of my youth — Liberty Baptist Church. My husband eventually declared in his stereotypically sarcastic, yet insightful tone, “It doesn’t sound like you are looking for a church. It sounds like you are looking for a place in time.”
I realized that he was right. Liberty Baptist Church represented a very special time for me — a time when I was nurtured, encouraged, challenged, and included. My Liberty family was intentional about positively impacting the lives of others.
My family of origin and I moved to Atlanta, Georgia when I was 9 years old. With the help of a family friend who lived there, Mrs. Eulabel Hocker, we quickly acclimated to our new city. We found employment, school placement, childcare, a place to live, and a new church home. Eulabel Hocker became like a grandmother to me, my “nana.” Every day after school, I walked to her house, ate a snack, did my homework, practiced piano, and lay on her bedroom floor falling asleep to the sounds of General Hospital. Nana invited us to Liberty Baptist Church which sat one block behind the legendary Ebenezer Baptist Church — the church of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr’s youth. My first memory of Liberty Baptist Church involved my family and I being at the church on a weekday and having car trouble. There were not many people there that day, but one young male church member helped us. We were so grateful that he lent us a hand. I later discovered that this young African American man was in medical school. Prior to that moment, I did not recall having ever met an African American doctor. As the years progressed, I watched him become a well-respected Atlanta surgeon. I have no doubt that my interactions with him planted a seed in me; maybe becoming a physician was an option for me, too. Years later, I did indeed go to medical school. As a first-year medical student, I was honored to shadow him as he cared for his patients.
Liberty was the type of place where everyone was invited to participate. So, I had not been attending Liberty long when I became a member of the Progressives children’s choir. The choir practiced weekly and sang 1–2 songs every Sunday. My fellow Progressives became my childhood friends. In the coming years, we would experience countless Vacation Bible Schools, church retreats, and Wednesday night suppers together. Even today, I know the general whereabouts of almost all of my Progressives colleagues. We are parents, professionals, community leaders, coaches, nurturers, faithful daughters and loyal sons.
I dutifully attended every Progressives rehearsal, mostly because Nana was my chauffeur, and she was more than happy to get me there. Nana delighted in music and the arts. She was a classically trained soprano and theatre actress. She had attended the Nannie Helen Burrough’s Boarding School for Girls in the 1930’s where her performance arts gifts were nurtured. As a young woman, she travelled the country performing in productions such as Porgy and Bess and Show Boat. She took performance art seriously. At Liberty, she sang in the Chancel Choir; her strong soprano voice rose high above all others. Even when she was in the congregation, her voice put on a show. Nana maintained all the tenets of performance art and liberally shared those pearls. “Project your voice and speak clearly,” she directed me in preparation for Easter speeches. “Enunciate your words when you sing,” she coached us all.
Nana was not the only professional performing artist at Liberty. The director of the Progressives, Mrs. Lois Penn Hocker, was a well-respected music teacher in Atlanta. She had also trained contemporary artists like Avery Brooks and the Jackson Five in her Indiana hometown. Mrs. Penn-Hocker (married to Nana’s brother-in-law) was a petite woman with a formidable presence. She was barely 5 feet tall, and maybe 105 pounds. Her fare complexion and green eyes could easily lead you to believe she was a White woman, but her soulful self always came through when she placed her fingers on the keys of that pipe organ. When she played, she made your spirit soar. She did not speak much, and she did not smile much. She directed and we followed. A glimmer of her smile or even her brief cackle was a sweet reminder that she was right where she wanted to be — teaching us music.
Because my attendance at Progressives choir practice was so impeccable, the inevitable eventually occurred. One day, I was the only choir member to show up for practice. I was certain that rehearsal would be cancelled. But instead, Mrs. Penn-Hocker taught me 2 songs and declared that I would sing a solo on Sunday. I couldn’t believe that I was there practicing with her by myself, and I certainly could not fathom singing a whole song alone in front of the entire congregation. While I have never been shy, I knew that singing was not my gift. I was scared.
Yet Sunday arrived, and I stood in front of the church and sang.
It only takes a spark
To get a fire going.
And soon all those around,
Will warm up to its glowing.
That’s how it is with God’s love.
Once you experience it,
You’ll spread his love
To everyone.
You’ll want to pass it on.
I still recall the encouraging prompts from the congregation that helped me get through that moment. The encouragement and applause filled me.
That very same day, a church member approached my mom and me. She asked if she could be my godmother. Her name was Mrs. Beatrice Carter. From that day forward, Mrs. Carter supported me. She bought me journals and encouraged me to write (She was a writer.) She gave me a weekly allowance and made me pledge to tithe 10% of that allowance. So, every week, I pranced up to the tithe box with all the other tithers and clunked my 50 cents into the wooden box. I was always hyperaware of the clunk those 2 coins must have made. I imagined that my fellow congregants could estimate the amount of my allowance from the sound of that clunk. Mrs. Carter also purchased my Easter outfits every year for the next 8 years. Those outfits were complete with hats and gloves. Mrs. Carter was my fairy godmother.
I recently considered just how profoundly Mrs. Carter influenced my life. She was not only a writer; she owned a home childcare facility. One summer, I worked as her assistant. On the way out to her house on MARTA, Atlanta’s public transportation system, my brother and I chuckled about the train operator’s southern lilt as he announced the stops, “Oak LAND City. Oak LAND City.” Once we arrived at her house, my brother became a daycare kid, and I became a capable assistant — lifting babies out of their cribs and ushering toddlers to the kitchen table for snacks. This summer experience familiarized me with normal child development. This is knowledge I continue to use daily in my work as a Pediatrician.
My memories of Liberty are full of stories like this — stories of church members investing in me. People would bring me bags full of new and gently used clothes. I would excitedly model my new fashions when I got home from church that day. Another Liberty tradition that sticks with me was the Women’s Mission meetings. These meetings were held monthly at the home of a church member. Although I presume there was some sort of meeting for the grown-ups, what I remember most is the food. Mac n’ cheese, string beans, potato salad, roles, fried chicken, and more lined every wall of the host’s home. We teens took our plates to attics, basements, and Florida rooms to eat, gossip, and laugh. Another favorite Liberty tradition was the Christmas Bonanza. One church member, Mrs. Cennie Wade, orchestrated an annual Christmas event with donated gifts for everyone. The excitement was palpable as giddy kids and adults scurried downstairs to claim their goodies. One of the highlights of this event was the arrival of a handsome, brown Santa (my surgeon mentor).
Today, my good friend from the Progressives called me. She told me that Mrs. Penn Hocker had passed away. While I was aware that her time would probably come soon, this awareness did not keep the tears from falling. Those tears dropped effortlessly as I considered Mrs. Penn Hocker’s deposits into my life. Not only was she our Progressives choir director, but she was my and many of my fellow Progressives’ piano teacher. We went to her home for lessons, weekly. We practiced on keyboards and played music games in her sunroom as we awaited our individual lessons in the big piano room. The annual culminating event was our Spring piano recital. We would all dress up for this event and get into position at Liberty Baptist Church. There were usually over 50 students nervously waiting to play their solos and duets. I participated in this piano ritual for 8 years. A few years into my lessons, my mom revealed something. After watching my mom struggle to pay for lessons for several months, Mrs. Penn-Hocker made a deal with her. She agreed to give me lessons for free if my mom would design and print the programs for the Spring recital every year. Twenty years later, I can still play a piano duet with my daughters — both of whom take piano lessons today.
I cannot separate the life I live today from the lessons I learned at Liberty Baptist Church. My Liberty family taught me to journal, to tithe, to trust in God, to speak clearly, to dream big, and to play piano. More importantly, my Liberty family taught me that although we are not immortal, the investments we make in our children and their families endure well after we are gone.
