Originally posted on Facebook on Thursday, July 29, 2021.

In Week 31 of 52 Weeks of Gratefulness, I give thanks for little acts of consideration.

I'm a creature of habit. I eat the same thing for breakfast everyday: two slices of blackened turkey, two waffles, a boiled egg and a bowl of oatmeal topped with raspberries, blueberries and walnuts.

Our family usually does its grocery shopping on Friday but it's Wednesday and I don't have enough walnuts to make it to the end of the week. So, I put it on my list of things to pick up the next time I leave the house. But as our family gathers together for dinner later that evening, I notice in the kitchen a brand new bag of walnuts.

My wife saw I was running low and picked up the walnuts on her way home from work. It was a gesture that made me feel loved.

Love, I find, is often expressed in the extra and unnecessary -that is, not doing just enough but acting out of an overflow of care and affection; an unsolicited touch from your spouse, a surprise visit from a friend or a voluntary act of consideration from a stranger.

The seemingly little things are what often make up the most significant moments of our life. My wife's act indicated to me that she saw me, that she was paying attention to what I do and was willing to go out of her way to help me.

In a world that can be incredibly lonely and cruely selfish, her "little" act of consideration serves as a reminder I can tuck away in my heart that there is hope, there is good and there is evidence that someone, somewhere cares about me. And, it makes me want to be that for others. Thank you, Melissa Luckett. I'm grateful. #52WoG

Originally posted on Facebook on Sunday, July 25, 2021.

In Week 30 of 52 Weeks of Gratefulness, I give thanks for a moment of mercy.

I was traveling for work, on the way to my next service call when I hear the sudden blurp of a police siren and see blue lights in my rear view mirror. My mind was on where I was going so I didn't really know if I had been speeding or not. So, I let my window down and proceed to make sure both of my hands were visible and placed them on the steering wheel. The officer came to my window and said, "I've got you for an expired tag. License, please." I hand her my license and less than five minutes later she comes back and says, "Someone at Command says you're good and to let you go. Get that tag fixed and have a nice day." And as suddenly as she appeared, she left.

I deserved a ticket. I was given mercy. It made me want to do better. I believe that was the point. There's some good preaching in there. I'm grateful. #52WoG

Originally posted on Facebook on Saturday, July 17, 2021.

In Week 29 of 52 Weeks of Gratefulness, I give thanks for Jackson State University and their summer program for entering high school students offered through Howard Hughes Medical Institute.

My wife and I are currently binging Bill Cosby's "A Different World" on Amazon Prime Video. The show is about the life of students at the fictional HBCU, Hillman College. A recurring theme is Hillman's purpose in providing a place of belonging, support and academic rigor for students of color. This brought to mind my experience in a summer program at a school in my home town of Jackson, Mississippi -the historically black Jackson State University.

When I was growing up, college was something that was mentioned but sparingly. As you progress through school, and if you seem to do well grade-wise, it's a subject that comes up more often but still tangentially. It was when I started middle school at Bailey Magnet that my teachers, administrators and counselors started talking about preparing for college with a sense of expectation. But, the real turning point for me was a program that my counselor, Connie Griffin, signed me up for during the summer between my 8th grade and 9th grade year. The program was called Howard Hughes Medical Institute.

I remember vividly my whole family walking me into the male dormitory on the campus of Jackson State University. I remember it smelling like Lysol and bleach that the stewards had just used to clean prior to our arrival. I remember checking in at the same time as kids who were attending the Upward Bound program. I was issued a dorm room key and a JSU meal card with my name on it. I was so excited. I would be staying on campus for weeks, just like a college student! I remember riding on the elevator where there was a solitary, exposed light bulb. Sometimes, when a group of Upward Bound kids were on the elevator –for sport, someone would reach up, partially unscrew the light bulb so that it would go out and they would then commence to throwing haymakers at everyone on the elevator -in the dark. This wild melee would continue until the elevator reached its destination, which seemed like an eternity. College lesson number 1: take the stairs.

Shenanigans aside, I met a number of wonderful, smart and talented black people during my stay. I explicitly say "black people" because in a number of spaces where access for black people is limited, there's a pervasive and pernicious notion that if you're smart, talented, present well or are well spoken, that you're somehow "different" -a unicorn. But, on Jackson State's campus, I was surrounded by them. The first one I met was my brilliant roommate, Flynn Wallace, who was already settled in the room. He had his bed made, clothes arranged and hung neatly in the closet and food stuff stacked tidily on the counter. We became fast friends. Another that comes to mind, but her name I can't recall, was a poet whose work was already being published. Having heard her work, I'm sure she's well on her way to joining the ranks of Maya Angelou.

There were a series of amazing experiences during that program but two stand out. The first being where I and my fellow camp participants were dissecting live frogs in the biology lab. We had to first anesthetize the frogs and remove a portion of its skull to expose the brain. We would then move an electronic probe to different sections of the brain to observe its effect on motor response. Well, one student had not quite fully anesthetized her frog and the lobotomized amphibian starting hopping around the lab and jumped straight into one girls chest. She bout died!

The second notable experience was with a professor named Dr. Love. Dr. Love was the only instructor that gave homework during the camp and it was substantial. She was a drill sergeant who conducted our classes as though we were already college students. More than any other instructor, she gave a number of stern, lengthy and impassioned lectures. I didn't like it at the time but what I got from her was that excellence was fully expected because we were fully capable of it.

This camp was pivotal and imparted to me three things:
1. Higher education is and should be challenging, but I can do it.
2. College is a place where I belong and can excel.
3. I am not alone.

These ideals are what sealed the deal for me and moved college from a concept to certainty. These ideals are the heritage given to the black community by historically black colleges and universities. So, especially for people of color, whether you attended a PWI or an HBCU, we all owe an enormous debt to historically black colleges and universities like Jackson State University. I'm also thankful for the vision and grossly understated influence Dr. Bill Cosby had in creating shows like the aptly named "A Different World", that offered a glimpse into a different world of possibility through television for people who might not have imagined that such wonderful options were possible for them. I'm grateful. #52WoG

Originally posted on Facebook on Saturday, July 10, 2021.

In Week 28 of 52 Weeks of Gratefulness, I give thanks for reuniting with loved ones.

The past few weeks of this summer has been such a blessing because I've been able to embrace people who are dear to me and that we've not seen for more than 13 months out of precaution for their safety and that of the community at large due to the COVID-19 pandemic.

Every hug was more tender, each laugh richer and every meal shared together more precious.

I thank God for the science that made safer reunion possible and for the men and women who dedicated themselves to the discipline -pulling off nothing less than a medical miracle, developing an effective vaccine in months, not years, for a newly emergent threat and creating the supply chain necessary to deliver it on a massive, global scale.

Thanks to these brilliant people, I was able to embrace my loved ones with the confidence of knowing that I was giving love that does no harm. I'm thankful. #52WoG

Originally posted on Facebook on Saturday, July 3, 2021.

In Week 27 of 52 Weeks of Gratefulness, I give thanks for Lannie Spann McBride.

“I am a promise. I am a possibility. I am a promise with a capital ‘P’. I am a great big bundle of Po-ten-ti-ality…”

Many may know Lannie Spann McBride as an award winning singer, musician, writer and actress, but I came to know her as my music teacher at G.N. Smith Elementary school in Jackson, Mississippi. And, one of the things I remember most vividly was her kind, warm spirit as she taught our class the tune "I am a promise."

Even as I hum the tune today, an involuntary smile stretches across my face. I can still see Mrs. McBride in that music class. She would often snatch her hands away from the piano between chords and motion with both hands, drawing a big smile across her face, instructing the class to smile as we sung -all without missing a beat. She told us that smiling affected the music. But in truth, as I’m sure she knew, it affected us more. It was her influence that led to my playing piano in elementary, violin in middle school and competing in classical voice as a junior and senior in high school. Though my path would not ultimately lead to music, she forever changed the trajectory of my life. Because, she made me believe the words of that song. I'm grateful. #52WoG

Originally posted on Facebook on Sunday, June 27, 2021.

In Week 26 of 52 Weeks of Gratefulness, I give thanks for my Granddaddy James Johnson.

My grandfather James passed when I was very young but despite not having very long with him, the time I did have left wonderful memories that are impressed on my soul.

I can remember his smell -earthy; a mixture of wood, dirt and iron that was in his skin from years of working a farm. It was a smell highlighted by a pleasant smokiness; sweet with a spice that made my nose tingle -a fragrance imbued by the tobacco from an old carved wooden pipe that he often chewed or carried but was never lit, which I suspect was for my sake and done at the behest of my parents. I was little but remember that his smoking was a regular point of tension with my dad. Nevertheless, when our family would make the then weekly trek to Canton, Mississippi, they would entrust me to his care.

He was keen on taking me for rides. Sometimes it would be in his old pickup truck where he would sit me in his lap and let me "drive". As we approached a corner, he would say, "Turn. Turn." and I struggled to rotate the steering wheel even though his hands never left it. But my favorite rides would be in the horse drawn buggy. There was a small pig pen besides our grandparents house. Occasionally, Granddad would let me help slop the pigs -pouring a sour concoction of old vegetables and rotting table scraps into their troughs. Ever so often, he'd load a pig on the back of the wagon, hoist me into the seat box and drive into town. Everything about that experience was surreal; from the click-clacking of the wheels of the wagon and the hooves of the horses, to pulling into the back of Piggly Wiggly where the pig was weighed on a giant, white and bloody scale. I remember my Grandfather talking briefly with another adult. Shortly thereafter, he'd count his money in the shadow of the doorway and we'd make our way home with a brown paper bag of hog head souse.

My grandfather was not a talkative man. He said one of a few phrases;

"Whatcha got there?"
"Whatcha been doing?"
"You been good?"
"Tell Granddaddy what you want."

These and a few other memories are all I can recall. But what I remember most is how they made me feel. Being with Granddaddy James made me feel loved, wanted and adored. The short time I had with him, he deposited in me a sense of belonging and value that no one can take away. I'm grateful. #52WoG

Originally posted on Facebook on Saturday, June 19, 2021.

In Week 25 of 52 Weeks of Gratefulness, I give thanks for Kim Moreland.

"We can do better than this."

I didn't know this woman from Adam's housecat but these are the words that follow a direct message to me on Facebook. The message is dated October 18, 2018. She's the owner of Moreland Inc. and was, at the time, Vice Chairman of the Oktibbeha County Republican Party. Her comment is aimed at the heart of the deep, divisive political polarization that is swelling across the country. She continues,

"It's dumb to think that people of different political parties can't work together. Sure, there are areas where people disagree but there is still plenty of common ground where we can work together. I look around Starkville and see problems we're not addressing because we won't work together. I'm tired, Paul, of being accused of hating black people simply because I'm white or that you're against me because you're black. We're smarter than this. We're better than this. We can do better than this and really put Starkville on the map if we can work together."

And from that time, I've witnessed Kim Moreland actively looking for areas of common ground and putting in the work needed to make good things happen. What impresses me most about Kim is that she doesn't busy herself with the pageantry of charity. She doesn't write a check, make a donation or volunteer simply so she can say that she's done a good deed and go back to life as usual while the rest of the world is on fire. She invests towards a specific outcome and doesn't stop working until the outcome is achieved. The work I've seen her readily give herself to, often at great expense, is making sure barriers are removed and the necessary infrastructure exists for anyone who is trying to do more with their lives.

I could talk ad nauseam about the many ways she has contributed to the betterment of our community but one in particular stands out. There had been weeks of meetings with a particular group of potential donors about the investments needed to bring the facilities at the J.L. King Center up to par for our youth development and adult education classes. The meetings had all but stalled and my appeals, as a black man to a white audience, seem to have fallen on deaf ears. But a few weeks later Kim Moreland requests an audience, and these are the words that she spoke during that meeting,

"There are not many projects that I just believe in. I get approached a lot. But the day I walked into that building and you see a 50 year old man working on getting a GED… It's something I fully believe in and we need to better support that building for the whole community."

That meeting, with the same people we'd met with before without success, yielded thousands of dollars in investment. Kim Moreland did not just give her time or money. She used her name, influence -her identity to speak on behalf of others and to bridge the divide between US and THEM so that there would just be WE.

Kim Moreland is a shining example of the hope and potential of our community. We can, in fact, do better. She's proof and I'm grateful. #52WoG

With – Friends of J L King – The J. L. King Center

Originally posted on Facebook on Friday, June 11, 2021.

In Week 24 of 52 Weeks of Gratefulness, I give thanks for Mother Martha Vaughn.

Pastor Jones, Rev. Moore and I are bidding farewell to congregants leaving the sanctuary after Sunday's worship service. Mother Vaughn walks toward us leisurely but deliberately. She looks up to me with a grin that's just short of a smile, moves her left hand slowly past my side and rests her arm around my back. As I place my arm across her shoulders she says to me, "You're getting fat!" The vestibule bursts into laughter.

From the first day I step foot in Greater Ebenezer Missionary Baptist Church, Mother Vaughn has been a fixture more familiar to me than the wood paneling that adorned the bottom half of the church walls. She sat faithfully at the end of the second-to-last row of the Mother's pews. Mother Vaughn was at an age of experience, having seen and endured more than most, that earned her the right to speak matter-of-factly. And, speak matter-of-factly she did.

When ministers would attempt to preach whom had not adequately studied or prepared, as a seasoned student and teacher of the Bible, she'd readily discern it and would subtly register her objection by quietly leaving the sanctuary. It was the unspoken test of every minister who has come through Ebenezer and was keen enough to know they were being proved.

Mother Vaughn would vocally register her objections as well. As she gripped the back of the pew in front of her to steady her as she slowly took her stand, some would groan in anticipation of the remarks that were forthcoming. But she was a woman who had faced the scourge of segregation head on and who not only achieved an education (a bachelors and masters) in the midst of it, but purposed in herself to provide an education to others and for four decades taught through it. So, she was not one to shrink back from curled lips and furrowed brows. When Mother Vaughn saw a problem, she spoke on it. Her common refrain was, "Where are the children?"

To the very end Mother Vaugh was a teacher. Her concern was firmly set on the youth -having them in church and them being taught. She believed that was key to a successful life, church and community. Proverbs 13:24 say, "He who withholds correction hates his son, but he who loves him disciplines him promptly." Even though correction is not often what we want to hear, Mother Vaughn did not withhold it. Whether she was telling me to watch my weight or how we needed to parent better, she did it in love, she did it for our good and provided opportunity to correct a potentially destructive course. I'm thankful. #52WoG

Note: I just learned that Mother Vaughn transitioned to her eternal home. I am grieved to hear she is no longer with us and am sorry we were not able to participate in the celebration of her life. Our heart is with her relatives and our Greater Ebenezer Church family. We love you, Mother Vaughn.
-Paul and Melissa Luckett.

Originally posted on Facebook on Friday, June 4, 2021.

In Week 23 of 52 Weeks of Gratefulness, I give thanks for Dr. James Harold Smith.

As I prepare to lead communion this Sunday, I consult my handy Star Book for Ministers. Though I've led or participated in this sacrament many times to the point of memorization, I find comfort in the book's compact form, its sturdy binding and text that is carefully culled to be appropriate for every occasion. It has been a faithful companion to my Bible for nearly 20 years.

If my house were on fire and my family were safely outside, there are only three earthly possessions I'd dare to brave the fire to save: my Bible given to me by Pastor Gregory Jones (which contains a bookmark made for me by my son), paintings made for me by my by boys Chris, Devin and Roman, and this Star Book for Ministers given to me by Dr. James Smith.

Most people know Dr. Smith by his long and decorated career as an educator and administrator with Oktibbeha County and Starkville School Districts. But, I knew him as a deacon and a faithful steward of the finances of Greater Ebenezer M.B. Church. Dr. Smith was kind, a man of few words but the words he spoke carried weight. I remember after I was confirmed and had delivered my first sermon, Dr. Smith walked up to me, put this book in my hand and said, "God bless you, Reverend."

This gift from he and Mrs. Smith has been a faithful companion for many the funeral, wedding, communion and baptism. It is a gift that helped and equipped a young minister to be prepared for every good work. My ministry -who I am is made possible by the grace of God manifest through the kindness and investments of people like Dr. James Harold Smith. I'm grateful. #52WoG