The Well Magazine Fall/Winter 2013 - Page 8

Living Well The Father’s Comfort Looking to our heavenly Father for the comfort we need I By Terrance Stevenson n high school, I was in a relationship with a young lady that happened to live in a neighborhood with few African Americans. I had met most of her neighbors and they, for the most part, treated me, a male, African-American While I wept deeply, he tried to comfort me but seemed at a loss for words. My father knew I was deeply hurt by this traumatic event but he didn’t know what to say or do to help me frame or understand what happened. teenager kindly. What I learned from my father that night escaped me for years One night, I was leaving her home after watching a movie. I until I had children of my own. drove the main streets that were well lit because I feared having One day, my oldest daughter came home upset because of becar trouble on a dark street in an unfamiliar neighborhood. ing accused of doing something she didn’t do at school. Instantly, While driving, I noticed the local police following me. I started the instance between my father and me leapt to the forefront of to panic on the inside my memory. I felt but then realized that I inadequate to was not speeding. As I come up with continued to drive, I words to offer her saw the blue and red comfort so I did lights come on and I what my father did pulled over. for me. I went to Two white officers where she was and approached my car with I held her in my guns drawn and orarms and let her dered me to exit my cry. Between her vehicle. I lay on the sobbing, she tried ground with my arms to state her case as and legs spread. I comto why she was not plied for fear of being guilty of what she mistreated by the offihad been accused cers. of and I just lisTerrance Stevenson and his daughters, Olivia and Annah. They searched my car tened. I allowed and when they found nothing, they got back in their car without her to get it all out. a word leaving me in the street. Frozen with fear, I stayed on the After she calmed down, I shared my story with her. I talked ground because they had told me not to move. After a few minabout how I was mistreated and how I felt. She asked me what utes, I realized they were gone and not coming back. did my father do about it. I smiled. She looked at me with wonIt was late, well past my established curfew. I walked into the der as if to ask how I could smile after something so tragic haphouse and my father was sitting at the kitchen table, waiting for pened. me. He clearly was upset that I had disobeyed the established I was proud to share with her how my father— with no high curfew and wanted an explanation. I began to describe what school diploma, no college degree and no training in interperhappened and in between my tears, he moved toward me, emsonal communications— knew exactly what to do. I shared with braced me and let me cry. her how my father came along side of me and offered me exactly 8 The Well Magazine Fall/Winter 2013