Charity Begins At Home: Grow Love

Photo cred: Higherlxng

For the past twenty-fine years of my life, I’ve always remembered my great-grandmother having this quoted frame by her front door that reads, “Charity begins at home.”

It’s an old proverb that many mistakes for being in the Bible. It is not quoted as such, but many theologians believe that the principle context and interpretation of 1 Timothy 5:8 could be the origin. The NKJV of the scripture says,

“But if anyone does not provide for his own, and especially for those of his household, he has denied the faith and is worse than an unbeliever.”

In essence, anyone who neglects to care for themselves and their household repudiates the Faith, which is almost worse than refusing to believe in the first place. Now, this may ruffle some feathers and seem a little harsh to some. As a giver, it seemed a bit unpalatable to me at first as well. However, as a woman of few words sometimes, I never heard my great-grandmother outright say this, but her actions continue to speak loudly in solidarity with this belief. And on today, April 27th (my great-grandmother’s birthday), her influence of “growing love at home first” is more imperative now than ever.

Growing up, we always kept a garden. For the spring, the ground was cultivated, and the seeds were in the ground by Good Friday with a blessed assurance that they would “resurrect” in abundance. (SN: You may find this comical, but I don’t ever remember following this ritual and the garden flopping or the family not having enough food to eat from it.)

I remember being outside in the backyard in the Texas summer heat with my great-grandmother thinning, pulling weeds, watering, and whatever else needed to be done. IT. WAS. HOT………but I parted not my lips. We didn’t talk much unless the instruction was required to be given. I might catch her humming here and there, but it was mostly working---taking in and embracing the elements. It was so serene. She would make us sun tea and give me little pep talks on our breaks. 

“Look what we did out there, Phylicxia. It sho’ is pretty, and it’s gon be sho’ nuff pretty when it’s all grown, and we can pick the vegetables from it. We have to keep working at it every day.”  

It was indeed hard work, but it was a joy to go to the garden every day and see the growth, knowing that we would reap a harvest in due season. It didn’t just end there in the garden, though. Noooooooo, no. When harvest time came, I had to learn how to cook it! 

“If you gon’ grow it, you need to learn how to cook it. You gon’ eat it, ain’t you?” 

“Yes, ma’am.”

Grandma is the culinary expert, so she was in on this part a lot. We would pick greens and shell peas and always have family dinner together with enough food for anyone who would just so happen to stop by. Somebody was ALWAYS stopping by…, and we always had enough. Even when I left home and would come back to visit for the holidays, conversations would go something like this:

Daddy: “Nannie, what are we eating for tomorrow?”

Nannie (great-grandmother): “…uh, Phylicxia, go get that cabbage out the back.”

There was no going to Walmart, HEB, or Brookshire’s. It was “straight outta Nannie’s backyard,” and I loved every bit of it! People would still stop by, and, nevertheless, we always had enough.

As an adult living on my own, my great-grandmother knew I tended to over-extend myself to others. She would call to check on me, and if it were evident that I had over-extended myself, I wouldn’t answer. She still knew. She always knew. Yet, she would love me and ask me (even in a voicemail), “What does your garden look like?” That was always the grounding point—-my garden.  

I didn’t know it then, but she wasn’t just teaching me to grow food----she was teaching me to grow love. She was teaching me to be quiet. She was teaching me to be attentive. She was teaching me to be patient with the growth process of the plants and myself. She was teaching me to endure until the end. She was teaching me to grow love. I was growing love within me. I was growing love in a relationship with God in the serenity of the garden. I was growing love in helping to feed and provide for my family. I was growing so much love that my cup was running over! But when I stopped taking the time to grow---to plant my garden---I realized I didn’t have as much to give and that I needed to return to my roots of love. She taught me that (and is still teaching me that), and I am eternally grateful. 

So on this day, in the midst of all that’s going on, while you’re at home alone or with your family, whether you are a believer of the Faith or not, I admonish you----plant your garden. Take this time to cultivate the ground in your life and plant the seeds of love. Nurture them. Water them. Pull the weeds from around them. Spend time with them. Keep working at it every day. And as they grow in love, in due time, you will be sure to reap a harvest overflowing in abundance to share with others. 

The most crucial journey begins with you.

Charity begins at home. 

Plant the seeds. 

Grow love. 

-Phylicxia J.

P.S.- Happy Birthday, Nannie. ❤