I Played Jonah and The Prodigal Son

My journey began in April 1954 when I was seven. My younger sister and I were waiting for our father to return home from work. I was excited because our father had just purchased a new 1954 Pontiac. It was dark green with a white top and sun visor over the front windshield. “Mother!” I shouted. “Where is Dad? He is late getting home from work.”
“Wait, Stanley,” she said as she stared out the living room window. “Just wait.” I knew that something was wrong, because Mother just sat and stared out the window. The doorbell rang. We ran to the door, expecting to see our father, but there stood our uncle with a strange look upon his face. “Where is Dad? Where is Dad?” I asked.
Mother said, “Would you take Stanley and explain to him what has happened? Because I am not able to.”
I stood there, looking at mother, and for the first time, I saw the tears in her eyes. I wondered why Mother was crying; I had never seen her cry. “Stanley! Stanley!” called my uncle in order to get my attention and keep me from staring at Mother. “Come with me, Stanley; come with me.” We entered mine and my sisters bedroom, and he said, “Stanley, sit down. I have some bad news to tell you.” I just stood there, trying to understand what he had said. All of a sudden, my world was turned upside down as he explained, “Your father was involved in an automobile accident last night. His car ran into a viaduct, and he was killed.” I just stood there; mute, trying to comprehend what was said.
The next statement changed my life forever! “Stanley,” my uncle exclaimed, “your father is dead! And you are now the man of the house; you must look out for your mother and sister.” There I was, a seven-year-old boy, told that I was now the man of the house. The insurgence of myself would emerge.
I want to make this perfectly clear—no one is responsible for my behavior, and I do not charge my uncle for the attitude I developed the day I discovered my father was dead. I take full responsibility for everything; therefore, I am solely responsible and accountable.
There I was at seven—stubborn, obstinate, and pursuing my own wishes and aims—all because I thought I was a man. Thank God for the mother that he gave me, who would not subject herself to a child who viewed himself as a man at just seven years old. At twenty-eight, she was a widow with two children—a son of seven and a daughter of five. Mother took us to church and Sunday school every Sunday. I was exposed to the truth that Jesus Christ was the Savior—the only begotten Son of God. However, I was not saved. I simply had an intellectual knowledge of God, but I did not have a personal knowledge and relationship with God until midnight on May 25, 1979.
“For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life” (John 3:16).
Mother ruled us with an iron hand. She had a difficult task—to raise two children without the help of her husband. Mother was not aware that her son refused to accept the role of a son but embraced the idea that he was a man. We were taught to respect elders early in life by a few spanking sessions. Discipline was necessary for me; without it, my life would have been completely destroyed. I never dishonored Mother openly—I knew better. I loved her deeply and felt her pain. I wanted so desperately to remove her anguish, not realizing that my own behavior was a contributing factor. I was a sinner, and that was a problem.
“Behold, I was shapen in iniquity; and in sin did my mother conceive me” (Psalm 51:5).
Imagine the impact on a seven-year-old who was given the responsibility of taking his younger sister to school all the way across town. We lived in southwest Detroit and went to school on the east side of Detroit (New Center area). St. Phillips Lutheran School was located on East Grand Blvd. between Brush and John R. Our journey began at 6:30 a.m. We left home and walked to the Fort Street bus stop. We boarded the bus at 6:45 a.m., arriving downtown at 7:25 a.m. Then we walked over to the Oakland bus stop located at Broadway and Gratiot Ave. We boarded the Oakland bus at 7:40 a.m., arrived at East Grand Blvd. and John R. at 8:05 a.m., and walked to school, arriving at 8:15 a.m. School did not start until 8:30 a.m. Praise the Lord! We lived in the era when adults watched out for children. The adults were astonished and truly amazed that we were able to accomplish our journey. We would leave school at 3:05 p.m. and arrive home at 4:30 p.m. safely.
Unfortunately, this could not happen in today’s society. There are sexual predators who are out there, lurking around, trying to seduce our children in order to have sexual intercourse. Many of the children are murdered. Today you have to keep your children within your eyesight when out in public, because of the impending danger.
Mr. Jones, our neighbor, fueled my self-will when he greeted me by calling me “Stan the Man.” I already thought more of myself than I should.
“For if a man think himself to be something, when he is nothing, he deceiveth himself” (Galatians 6:3).
I was a child, not a man. But everywhere I went, people said, “Stan the Man.” Our mother never drove an automobile. This is the reason we had to catch a bus to school. Naturally, my sister looked up to me. After all, I was her big brother. We bonded as children, and we never argued or fought, because it simply was not allowed. After all, I was the man of the house, and I needed to look out for my sister. Our mother was a lady of culture who instructed me to be a gentleman. The fact that she was not prejudiced was a blessing. I was taught to respect everyone, regardless of his or her color. I learned early to respect women. Mother instructed me to always open doors when I was in their presence, allowing them to enter first. I still remember their responses. “Thank you, young man.” Of course, I only focused on the word “man.” My ego was fascinated by the idea that these women viewed me as a gentleman.
Everywhere I went, I looked for the opportunity to open doors, give up my seat, or even let a woman go ahead while waiting in line. My enthusiasm efficaciously illuminated the enormous ego that propelled me into a driven personality. I was driven by what I thought, because I truly had accepted the idea that I was, in fact, “Stan the Man” and that I was in control.
Webster’s Concise College Dictionary says control means “to exercise restraint or direction over; dominate, regulate or command.” I have come to the painful conclusion that God is the only one who is in complete control. The rest of us truly are out of control if we do not allow the Lord Jesus Christ to be the head of our lives.
“Fear ye not, neither be afraid; have not I told thee from that time, and have declared it? Ye are even my witnesses. Is there a God beside me? Yea, there is no God, I know not any” (Isaiah 44:8).
Assemble yourselves and come; draw near together, ye that are escaped of the nations: they have no knowledge that set up the wood of their graven image, and pray unto a god that cannot save.
Tell ye, and bring them near; yea, let them take counsel together: who hath declared this from ancient time? Who hath told it from that time? Have not I the Lord? And there is no god else beside me; a just God and a Savior; there is none beside me.