It's Not Where You Start, but Where You Finish That Counts

By Rev. Charles W. Quann

This book is about the power of God. God can intercede in any life, and turn it all the way around, regardless of the situation. The power of God that is working in our world today is sometimes overlooked because of all of the poverty, dysfunctional families, and violence we see every day. Yet, we know God moves with a hand of mercy and a heart of love, and brings about miraculous changes in the lives of His people.

Faith in God is one of the major factors of this book, such as the ability to rise above ones circumstances and achieve God given goals to break the strongholds of life that have enslaved so many; to really believe that God has the power to work things out according to His way and to His will, and that all things work together to the glory of God to those who put their faith and trust in Him; to gain a deeper knowledge of God as a result of the need to depend upon Him; and to never to give up but to keep on reaching and pressing on.

I invite you to visit the Bethlehem Baptist Church website, www.bbc4christ.org, to read Pastors Daily Devotions which is distributed quarterly.

• Language: English
• Publisher: WestBow Press
• Release date: Mar 16, 2017
• ISBN: 9781512768893

Rev. Charles W. Quann

I have sought to be transparent with my life journey and pray it might be a source of encouragement to our readers. It is a journey where God’s grace and mercy covered me until I recovered from some of life’s experiences. To God be the glory!

Book preview

Chapter 1

My Early Childhood

O ne of the greatest blessings God grants us is that of memory, and I realize now more than ever that it is a precious gift. Many in our society of all ages have experienced Alzheimer’s and suffered the inability to recall many of the rich experiences in their lives. I wrote this chapter not only from my heart but also from the priceless gift of memory.

I was born as the second of three children, the middle child. I have one sister, who is one year older, and one younger sister, who is now deceased. Being the only boy in the family, I was told how spoiled I was many times; of course, I don’t remember that. I grew up in an urban area and in a mixed block of Italians and African-Americans; we were one of the few African-American families on the block. There was nothing lavish about our home; it was a simple five-room home with a kitchen, dining room, living room, and two bedrooms. The street I lived on I now refer to as Home Place, and it was lined with trees. In fact, we had a large tree in front of our home, and it stood for many years until a hurricane came and knocked it down. That tree provided a lot of shade for us during the hot summers.

We lived between two Italian families, and I must admit that I knew little to nothing about racial prejudice. In fact, I remember running in and out of their homes and sitting on the steps with them; there were white marble steps I had to wash as I grew older. Those days were full of blessings as the neighbors shared their resources with us. I enjoyed the Italian meals they prepared; they would sometimes bring spaghetti and ravioli to our home on Sunday afternoons.

One Italian family across the street from us had a death in their home; they put crape on the door, and the body was brought to the house and placed in the living room. I remember going in to see it and running out with tears in my eyes, for I had never experienced anything quite like that. It was my first encounter with death. I soon discovered it was a tradition to have the body in the living room, and I was assured that there was nothing for me to be fearful about. That event made a lasting impression on my life.

My mother did the day’s work of cleaning the homes of middle-class families. She also worked for many years in a department store, which no longer exists, as well as in a restaurant, all to help put food on our table. I don’t remember too much about my father other than the fact that I was told he was part Cherokee Indian. I have a vivid remembrance of my grandmother, his mother; she had long hair that hung down her back.

I’m not sure what age I was, but I was old enough to know there was tension in our home. My mother and father were always arguing. At an early age I learned about prayer, since I had heard my grandmother speak about the power of it. I didn’t really know how to pray, but I asked God for peace in our home. I disliked the confusion and turmoil, but there was little I could do to change them. I often longed to hear the words I love you, but that was seldom said. I didn’t believe then that God would provide me with an opportunity later in my life to release myself from some of the pain.

I have learned in life that some events happen that aren’t fair, but in spite of them, God always blesses. We cannot dwell on what is unfair; rather, we must focus only on God’s goodness. We cannot continue to give excuses about how bad our childhood was or how we missed out on love. Most of us have had things happen in our lives that weren’t so good, but we cannot live in the past—we must move forward. I firmly believe we have a choice; we can decide that we want a new way of life.

My grandmother lived with us for as long as I can remember and was the matriarch of our family. I believe she was born in a different part of the state, and she, along with my mother, moved to the inner city. She affectionately gave me the nickname, Buddy, and it’s one my family still calls me today. She was crippled and did ironing for the neighbors to help provide food for our family. She was a great cook and did most of the cooking and cleaning in our house. Our Sunday meals were the blessing of the week, and I looked forward to having chicken, sweet potatoes, and greens—and the leftovers were so good on Mondays. During the week we ate our meals in the kitchen, and on Sundays we ate in the dining room. One of my favorites was my grandmother’s apple pie, which she made from applesauce.

When we gathered for our Sunday dinner, my grandmother would lead us in prayer. I never remember her attending church, but I do remember her singing hymns and praising God throughout the house. She was a woman of great faith and believed God would supply the blessings we needed. I never saw her get angry or complain; she simply gave of herself freely and willingly. She always made a fuss over me, holding me close to her bosom and making me laugh. My sisters always told me I was her favorite, which was probably true; she loved me, and I loved her dearly. My love for her was so deep, and she loved me with all her heart. I often speak of her and give God thanks for her, as she was a significant force in my life. I don’t remember anything at all about my grandfather; he was never mentioned, and he never lived with us and played very little part in our lives

Because our home had only two bedrooms, I slept with my grandmother while my two sisters shared a room with my mother. Not having my own room, I had to share a closet with my sisters. I had very few clothes, so I didn’t need a lot of space. Whenever I put a hole in my pants, my grandmother would patch them so I could wear them again. I even had to put cardboard in my shoes when I got a hole in them because we couldn’t afford to buy another