I remember reading and committing the Prayer of Jabez to memory when it first came out a few years ago. I prayed it faithfully everyday because, believe me, I wanted my territory to be enlarged. So, I read the next of author, Bruce Wilkinson’s series, “Beyond Jabez”. There was a part in this best-selling book that I preferred not to touch. That was the phrase that instructed us to ask for “somebody to help”. I was scared of that part.
Something tragic happened to the old black neighborhoods where I grew up in the 60’s. In those days, most of the businesses up and down 31st and 35th Streets, from King Dr. (South Park) to Michigan were owned by our neighbors. There was a drycleaner and a hardware store, both owned by the parents of kids I went to school with. The Griffins owned the funeral home on 33rd Street.
On warm summer mornings, we’d sit on the stomp in front of our house and watch the watermelon man go by on his horsedrawn wagon,