I always thought that I got my writing talent from my mom, but my dad is also a great storyteller and writer in his own right, too. He wields a mighty pen that crafts the tales of family tradition and history that sustain you in good times and tough times. I always learn something when talking with him or reading correspondence from him. James Jordan, Jr. is definitely one of the mighty griots in the family, for sure.
This story is a beautiful one, written on the passing of our uncle, Langston Jordan, affectionately known to us as "Uncle Lank". The most powerful revelation was what he shared about his dad, James Jordan, Sr. I was a little girl when my grandpa passed, but I have a vague memory of when it happened. I remember all of the men standing on the porch, and the ladies standing in the front hallway of my grandparent's house, not their faces, but their legs, and that everyone was dressed in black. I didn't understand at the time what was going on, but I knew it was something serious and all of the grown ups were sad. His dad passed right before Christmas, and that was something I never knew but I learned from his homily, which I typed up to send to my cousin, Jackie, and was read at Uncle Lank's Homegoing by my Aunt Cat. My mom used to talk about how her dad passed during the Christmas season as well. She was more vocal than my dad, who walks softly but carries a big stick. I had a moment while typing the story where I just was overwhelmed by the generosity and wealth of my parents' hearts, who always made Christmas such a magical time of year for us, full of mystery, delightful family traditions, and joy, so much so that I still look forward to the magic of Christmas just like a big kid myself. We also were grounded in the true meaning of the holiday, the advent of the Prince of Peace, and I remember coming home from church after Christmas Eve services and looking towards the pasture by our house, to see if the cows truly were kneeling to welcome the coming of the Christ child born in a lowly manger stall. As I shed a few tears, I thought about how truly blessed I am to be born to such beautiful, strong people, who unselfishly put aside what I know had to some very sad memories of losing a parent at Christmastime to create the most awesome memories and experiences for me and my siblings, every year, without fail, which has got to be one of the greatest gifts of all. Thank you, Mommee and Daddee. I love you infinitely, always, and forever.
Without further ado, the following words are from my dad. I hope you enjoy!
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Greetings cousins, nieces, nephews, sisters, brothers, and friends, I regret I cannot be present at this time, as we celebrate a Family Gathering Remembering Langston Jordan on his homegoing. I hope you all will also unite your hearts, minds, and spirit together in paying a tribute to a family who by all odds is not supposed to be here. Langston was the last of the first generation of siblings born to Pomeroy and Carolina (Carrie) Jordan who were to become the first Oxford Jordans.
We are a family who
by all odds, should not be here. I am
reminded of the first Biblical family account of people of color found in the
book of Genesis. This mother, Sarah,
along with her son, Ishmael, was put out of the household from which she served
with no place to go. There was no place
for them to go or lay their heads. As
God would have it, Abraham, the Biblical father of all nations, promised and
kept his promise of survival for them.
So it goes with our family roots who were put out from Charlotte in Mecklenburg County and from Morganton in Burke County, both in western North Carolina. Likewise, God in all His Providence had a place for them to lay their
heads. The place was Grant Asylum in Oxford, now known as Central Children’s Home.
A little boy named
Pomeroy Jordan and a little girl named Carolina Shade along with her slightly older sister
Mary Shade were brought to Oxford
in the mid 1890s. It was a rough and
rocky road for them. But as God would
have it, Pomeroy and Carolina successfully survived their childhood and teen years and they fell in
love and married once they became of age.
One of my childhood
grandmothers always prayed and blessed everything and everybody—IN ALL
WAYS! One thing she always asked in her
prayers was for the Lord to make us a blessing.
As a child, I thought she meant the Lord would give us lots of things. Much later in life I realized that was not it
at all. What she was asking was for the
Lord to make us, (you and me), all hearing her prayer—to make us a
blessing for someone else, not things.
I feel the Lord blessed Langston with long life into his eighties. Langston was the youngest sibling and was
blessed with a life longer than any sibling or even his parents. Langston was a blessing to our family.
Personally, Langston’s
transition falls during Christmas week and I can’t help but remember and feel
Christmas week as it was in 1969, over 45 years ago, when my own daddy, James
Sr. known as “Jack”, “Shorty”, “Chuck-a-Luck”, passed away. Daddy passed on December 19th, Langston
on December 18th; Daddy’s service was on December 23rd, Langston’s
service today, December 22nd.
These events will give Christmas Week a deeper meaning for me and I hope
for you also; not just today, but in years to come. In paying a family tribute and remembrance of
Langston’s life, let each of us pay a deep reverence and thanksgiving to God
from our family.
We are still
here. We are still standing. We beat the odds. I hope each of you will ask yourselves, “Where
are you now [point toward and around the room] Ishmael who was put out? Can you say we are still here and
standing?” I believe you can say, “Yes.”
Be thankful for Langston’s
gift of longevity from God and for the promise of Abraham that our helplessness
can be turned into hopefulness. Thanks
be to our Savior for Langston’s life as he now completes the unbroken circle of
the first generation of Oxford
Jordans.
May God richly bless
our family.
In remembrance of Mommee, whose spirit is always present at every family gathering.
