There are people who are just born kind and loving. My cousin Milton, who was called Junior by family members, was one of those rare individuals. He was always gentle and sweet and kind to everyone.
Junior was quite a few years older than me, so because we weren’t close in age he wasn’t what I would call a kissing cousin, meaning we didn’t hang out together as young kids or anything. He was more of a hero image to me because he was a handsome young man in his Army uniform and so very, very kind.
Junior had what psychiatrists call a melancholy temperament, which brings occasional dark moods to the mind along with the kindness and gentleness that he exhibited.
Prison eventually became Junior’s home for ten years. I won’t go into the details of how his dark moods led him there but suffice it to say it was a crime of passion. Years later he became an alcoholic, but he always kept a job and he had a family.
My mother was one of his mother-confessors, his emotional support. As an adult I remember her talking to him on the phone for long periods of time giving him the love and encouragement he had always needed. I had always suspected that Junior had been an abused child and my mother confirmed it to me, telling me that my great aunt had attempted to “beat the devil out of him” on many occasions.
About twenty years ago my phone rang one day in the morning at 7:00 a.m. and I was afraid that it was a “bad news” call that early in the morning. When I answered the phone, it was a long distance call, and Junior identified himself and told me that he had talked to my mother the previous night and she had told him to call me, that maybe I could help him. He began to tell me about his bouts with alcoholism and the effects on himself and his family and his body. It was a heart wrenching story and my heart ached for Junior, still the sweet, gentle person he had always been.
I had nothing to give him, but I had seen many people totally transformed by God’s power. I told him about the miracle of the new birth that my husband had experienced. He told me that that was what he needed, a new life. I had nothing myself to help him, but I knew that God could and would.
We prayed a prayer on the phone and Junior asked God for the new life that he had heard about.
After we prayed together, I suddenly knew that Junior needed a mentor, someone who could be the loving father image that he had never had, someone who would teach him about God and His love and His mercy. He lived many miles away from us but I knew that he needed a regularly scheduled Bible study group or a Bible course that would give him a firm foundation in God’s love. So we prayed together about that also, as I told him that if a name came to him, to contact that person and see what developed.
I didn’t hear from Junior for a year or more and neither did my mother, except she had heard from several of her sisters that he was doing fine.
Finally Junior called me. He sounded like a different person, full of humble confidence.
When he told me about how God answered his prayer I was flabbergasted. He said that the name Winfred Moore came to his mind. He looked the name up in the phone book and made an appointment with Dr. Moore to discuss God. and had been meeting with him regularly
My amazement was because Dr. Moore had been my pastor for a while when I was a very young girl in a totally different town. Dr. Moore was an elegant speaker and a sophisticated Southerner with a delightful Mississippi drawl. He was not one that I would have chosen for Junior, who was an ex-con and alcoholic. When I got to thinking about it, Dr. Moore was perfect for Junior, because his acceptance of Junior and his willingness to mentor him gave Junior a sense of stability and acceptance which he had always needed. I know that Dr. Moore called him Milton, his real name, and that gave him a sense of self respect.
Junior died several years later and when he died he was still free from alcohol and was a regular attendee of church.
When I was telling a dear friend in Oklahoma Junior’s story, she gasped. She remarked that she had heard Dr. Moore preach in Mississippi years ago and that her mother had always adored Dr. Moore .
We’re all connected in some way, Milton, Dr. Moore, my friend Jane, her mother, my mother and me. I know the connection is God’s Spirit and it’s mind boggling.
The first gift that God gave to Junior was a perfect mentor who would show him God’s love. I’m still in awe of God. It seems like I stay that way all the time.
Junior was quite a few years older than me, so because we weren’t close in age he wasn’t what I would call a kissing cousin, meaning we didn’t hang out together as young kids or anything. He was more of a hero image to me because he was a handsome young man in his Army uniform and so very, very kind.
Junior had what psychiatrists call a melancholy temperament, which brings occasional dark moods to the mind along with the kindness and gentleness that he exhibited.
Prison eventually became Junior’s home for ten years. I won’t go into the details of how his dark moods led him there but suffice it to say it was a crime of passion. Years later he became an alcoholic, but he always kept a job and he had a family.
My mother was one of his mother-confessors, his emotional support. As an adult I remember her talking to him on the phone for long periods of time giving him the love and encouragement he had always needed. I had always suspected that Junior had been an abused child and my mother confirmed it to me, telling me that my great aunt had attempted to “beat the devil out of him” on many occasions.
About twenty years ago my phone rang one day in the morning at 7:00 a.m. and I was afraid that it was a “bad news” call that early in the morning. When I answered the phone, it was a long distance call, and Junior identified himself and told me that he had talked to my mother the previous night and she had told him to call me, that maybe I could help him. He began to tell me about his bouts with alcoholism and the effects on himself and his family and his body. It was a heart wrenching story and my heart ached for Junior, still the sweet, gentle person he had always been.
I had nothing to give him, but I had seen many people totally transformed by God’s power. I told him about the miracle of the new birth that my husband had experienced. He told me that that was what he needed, a new life. I had nothing myself to help him, but I knew that God could and would.
We prayed a prayer on the phone and Junior asked God for the new life that he had heard about.
After we prayed together, I suddenly knew that Junior needed a mentor, someone who could be the loving father image that he had never had, someone who would teach him about God and His love and His mercy. He lived many miles away from us but I knew that he needed a regularly scheduled Bible study group or a Bible course that would give him a firm foundation in God’s love. So we prayed together about that also, as I told him that if a name came to him, to contact that person and see what developed.
I didn’t hear from Junior for a year or more and neither did my mother, except she had heard from several of her sisters that he was doing fine.
Finally Junior called me. He sounded like a different person, full of humble confidence.
When he told me about how God answered his prayer I was flabbergasted. He said that the name Winfred Moore came to his mind. He looked the name up in the phone book and made an appointment with Dr. Moore to discuss God. and had been meeting with him regularly
My amazement was because Dr. Moore had been my pastor for a while when I was a very young girl in a totally different town. Dr. Moore was an elegant speaker and a sophisticated Southerner with a delightful Mississippi drawl. He was not one that I would have chosen for Junior, who was an ex-con and alcoholic. When I got to thinking about it, Dr. Moore was perfect for Junior, because his acceptance of Junior and his willingness to mentor him gave Junior a sense of stability and acceptance which he had always needed. I know that Dr. Moore called him Milton, his real name, and that gave him a sense of self respect.
Junior died several years later and when he died he was still free from alcohol and was a regular attendee of church.
When I was telling a dear friend in Oklahoma Junior’s story, she gasped. She remarked that she had heard Dr. Moore preach in Mississippi years ago and that her mother had always adored Dr. Moore .
We’re all connected in some way, Milton, Dr. Moore, my friend Jane, her mother, my mother and me. I know the connection is God’s Spirit and it’s mind boggling.
The first gift that God gave to Junior was a perfect mentor who would show him God’s love. I’m still in awe of God. It seems like I stay that way all the time.
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