I Know I Been Changed

"I know I been changed"

Growing up, I remember hearing converts who had “graduated” from the Mourner’s Bench being led in the singing of an old Negro spiritual that went, “I know I been changed,  O I know I been
changed. Yes, I know I been changed because the angels in heaven done signed my name!” It was a song of conviction and triumph, I had no doubt. The mourners ranged in age from early
teens, many forced by a parent or grandparent to that Bench at the  front of the Church, to “This may be my last time” older people, who had been flirting with “Giving their hearts to God” for years.

Pastor had presented a Palm Sunday message of love that centered on Jesus’ triumphant
entry into Jerusalem on a colt “on which no one has yet sat” (Luke 19: 28-40).  A teaching
Pastor, her exegesis instructed, challenged, and inspired. As is the custom that closes a Sunday service, Pastor invites all who choose, to come forward for prayer.  She explains that we believe in the “Laying on of Hands,” and extends an invitation, first of all to guests or first time attendees, and then to the rest of us.

Just before the invitation this Palm Sunday, however, Pastor asked a woman seated near the
back to come up.  Pastor explained that this Sister vociferously praises God, not only on
Sundays but as consistently, at Wednesday Midweek services. She wanted her to share a Praise Testimony.

The woman slowly came up and faced the congregation.  She began, “It was difficult for
to come to Church today, because today marks the first anniversary of the murder of my
Granddaughter.”  A gasp rippled throughout the sanctuary. Thus began one of the most moving praise exhortations I have ever experienced---anywhere, anytime, in any Church service---and I’ve lived in many, many cities and attended innumerable Services across the United “States. I doubt if there was a dry eye in the place.

While the prayer line wraps around the perimeter of the Church, Pastor imparts and prays for
all. I often marvel at the depth of her love and stamina! As I stood in line, I flashed back to
childhood when invited Sunday dinner guests were served first in our home.  But I had been
oddly moved by testimony of the Sister, to the point that I began crying as I walked up the
aisle. I never cry!

In fact, I had been so touched, so moved, so stirred that I cried.  Really cried! Seriously, I never cry!

For the first time in two years and four days, I sobbed, I wailed, It must have been my voice I
heard keening! I had not cried at the hospital on that early Sunday morning when three kind
doctors tried to tell me as gently as they could that they had been unable to resuscitate
Courtney, the younger of my two daughters.  I did not cry, shriek, or scream. I did ask to see
her and one of them escorted me back where she lay. I could not talk. I had become as mute as a rock.

However,I could (and did) intellectualize, having served as a Grief Counselor for two decades.  Shock and disbelief. The anger didn’t come until later, which further cemented my feelings inside, as if it existed in a crypt.  I didn’t cry that Sunday, nor when relatives and friends came to pay their respect and try to console. I literally shut down, which did not mean that I didn’t function, didn’t continue volunteering at a Women’s Shelter.  Nor continue to appear to be alright. I can play a mean game of acting, of going through motions, of dissembling.

"They that sow in tears shall reap in joy" (Psalm 126:5).

Now, two years later on a Sunday morning, dear friends of mine who sat in the same section
as I, wrapped me in embraces as they prayed for or shushed me.  Then I felt an almost timid
touch on my shoulder. I turned to see the face of a young woman I have known for close to a
decade. She dubbed me “Mama” shortly after we met.  She is not a member and really should have been closer to the front as a visitor.  But there she stood, a soft, loving, and understanding smile all over her face! Much shorter and leaner than me,nevertheless; she wrapped me in her arms, and we stood there and cried together.

After receiving wise words from Pastor, I made my way to the “Exhorting Sister,” who also is a dear friend of mine.  We joke that we share the same Grandson, since she and Kennedy worked together at the U.S. Post Office for around couple years.  She had been attending our
Church prior to then; I just hadn’t known her. I leaned toward her, placed a palm on each side of her face, thanked her for releasing the tears that had been dammed and jammed in and through me for two years! Like the converts who had sat on the Mourner’s Bench when I was a child, “I know I been changed. O, I know I been changed, Yes, I know I been changed, because the angels in heaven done signed my name."

Praise the Lord God Almighty!

PLEASE NOTE: I am re-sending yesterday's Blog because I inadvertently lost the very first line because my picture was a bit too large.