This is My Story

I was born in 1967 in Houston in a hospital that no longer exists. (Take away all those prepositional phrases and you have the basic fact:  I was born.)

 

I left Houston in 1968. For the next 7 years, Houston would be where my Daddy worked and lived during the week. Marquez would be where Mom, my brother, and I would live most of the time. We’d spend the occasional weekend and part of the summer in Houston.

 

What I had there is what I’m looking for today in Houston. I love the town where I was born. I love so many things about this city. It’s especially comfortable for an agoraphobe. I can’t even travel to my childhood home in Marquez because of the panic the isolation of that place rouses in me.

 

But it’s where I learned the basics in life. It’s where I learned about family. It’s where I learned about Jesus. It’s where I had little in material terms, but I was never aware of it at the time. I had love. I had my MawMaw to spoil me. I had elderly ladies to teach me how to knit, crochet, and play the piano.

 

The church and parsonage were located across the red dirt road from our house. The church service always started with the Doxology and ended with the Benediction. In between, we would sing Blessed Assurance, Softly and Tenderly, and Higher Ground. The invitational was always accompanied by Just As I Am.

 

And that’s what I’m looking for in my city. I’m looking for home. If I had to state when I was the most innocent and felt the safest, it would be sitting in the pew of that church with my family singing those songs. I want that same foundation for my daughter. I want that feeling back for me. I want to find my church home from my childhood somewhere in this city.

 

My husband doesn’t believe that what I remember exists anymore anywhere.

 

I haven’t lost hope or faith…yet.