Put Down the Hurt: Take up the Word

© 2013 by Pastor Russell Morgan. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse   10/25/2013

ISBN: 978-1-4918-3073-4 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4918-3074-1 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2013919274

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CONTENTS

DEDICATION

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

CHAPTER 1    Where it all Began

CHAPTER 2    Leaving Waterloo

CHAPTER 3    Pastor Clement Clarke

CHAPTER 4    Ye who found a Wife

CHAPTER 5   Life After Marriage—We’ve Only Just Begun

CHAPTER 6    Another Blessing—My Own Home

CHAPTER 7    The Start of my Ministry

CHAPTER 8    My Faith in Action

CHAPTER 9    Prevailing through the Storm

CHAPTER 10  My Quest for a New Wife

CHAPTER 11  God’s Blessing Through Others

CHAPTER 12  Don’t Limit God

CHAPTER 13  Don’t Underestimate The Devil

CHAPTER 14  What a Theme it was

CHAPTER 15  Put Down the Hurt

CHAPTER 16  Waterloo—I am Longing for you

CHAPTER 17  The Church

CHAPTER 18  Sister Claudette Reid Fearon

CHAPTER 19  My Prayer Life

CHAPTER 20  Prophesying—A Part of the Plan

CHAPTER 21  Bus Ministry

CHAPTER 22  My Second Wife—Jennifer Candy Morgan

CHAPTER 23  Focus on Elijah

CHAPTER 24  How I Felt Cheated

DEDICATION

T his book is dedicated to Bishop Fearon Blake, who upon our first meeting told me that The Lord said to him that I should write a book.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I must make special mention of Andrine Campbell-

Grant, who took on the task of transcribing my words into this work. I want to commend her for having the patience and tolerance week after week, to assist me in this work. Thank you so very much and may God bless you for all that you have done for me.

CHAPTER 1

Where it all Began

A lady told my mother that I would be a blessed child. Apparently, little did she know how blessed I would turn out to be; A servant of our Lord and Master, Jesus Christ, an enemy of the devil and an inspiration to my fellow brethren. I am Russell Irvin Morgan. At birth I was given the name Tassie by my siblings. My registered name, however, is Russell given by a lady from my district called Irene Clarke. I know that I was brought into this world to fulfill a purpose, which at that time, was known to God Almighty and hidden from the regular man. The island of Jamaica, Red Ground district—called Waterloo in the Parish of Manchester was my place of birth on February 27, 1950 to Promozetta Zeketa Robinson Morgan otherwise called Aunt Dell or Miss Dell. I was the sixth child of my mother, and was followed only by another child, Jennifer (called Daughter). My other siblings were Keith, Leslie, Trevor, Rennell (now deceased) and Stefanie also called Puncie. I was the only child for my mother to be born with sight impairment (I was near-sighted). Due to the challenges I encountered, I was confined to the home. Thus, I did not know many persons in the area, not even the closest major town to my home—Harry Watch. I depended on Jennifer to bring me stories from places she had visited and things she had seen. The near-sightedness did not prevent me from being an ordinary child—playing and exploring around the yard was done but in moderation.

Waterloo, also called Cajon Corner or Dumpling Corner, was not to be our home for very long. My father, Shirley Morgan, who was a farmer, thought it would be more suitable to get accommodations on lands that were more conducive to farming; therefore, we migrated to the deep rural area in the hills of Manchester to a district called Newland. Our house was on the hill overlooking a large plain. The area was sparsely populated, with miles separating each household. I thought moving to Newland at the time, life would be much better. How wrong I was? The housing structure that we occupied was a thatch hut with dirt flooring. The furnishing included two small beds and a small table. When it rained, the thatched roof provided little protection from the elements. My mother used pieces of plastic and a wash pan to keep the water from soaking through our beds. After a while, my father thought that it was too much for his family to bear so he tried to make life a little better for us. A few men along with my father made amendments to the thatch through what was called day to day where persons would offer an helping hand in your project whether farming or building on work exchange basis. They stripped away the trash from the structure and replace the surrounding with daub (like wattle and daub but without the wattle) and the roof was replaced with shingles. It was not perfect but at least it provided better protection against the offerings of Mother Nature. We were a lot more comfortable and saw it as a vast improvement over the first structure. The produce from my father’s farm would form the main portion of our family’s meals. Often times, there were no meat kind (salt-ting) and the ground provisions would have to suffice. My mother loved cooking gungo peas soup during the gungo season. She would use three small paint cans (gallon pans) of gungo and some corned pork along with other items from the farm. This she combined in a big three legged cast iron pot called the Han’-A-Kimbo. When it was ready we would call it Spoon-Stan ‘up because of its thick consistency. One evening during the Easter period dinner was late. Mother had just finished preparing her famous gungo soup and was about to bring it inside the house. (I can remember the bugs popularly called may-bugs flying around) I don’t know if they were the cause of what happened next but the pot of soup slipped from my mother’s grip and went scurrying down the hill. Dinner was splattered on the ground. We all looked in amazement. Everyone was hungry and the thought of going to bed without dinner made my belly growl. Mother must have read my thoughts, she salvaged what could be scraped from the ground (which was a lot because the soup was so thick) and we had dinner and a good laugh at the memory of the pot tumbling down the hill.

Mother was a true Christian, a child of God. She taught me how to pray. In the nights and mornings I would observe my mother praying, rubbing both hands together and at times bursting into tears. I never knew the effect of those prayers until much later. The Bible states in Psalms 126:5, They that sow in tears shall reap in joy. The teachings of my mother started to bear fruit in me. Everyone in my district called me a Christian. I attended the revival church with my mother. The church was then renamed the Macedonia Baptist Church. There the musical instruments used in worship were tambourines and goatskin drums. At home I would imitate the drummers, knocking on old pans and singing my favorite hymns. It was the beginning of greater things to come.

There was neither school nor teachers in Newland. The teachers would come to our district was when it was time of the national census. They would visit every household to collect data. We had to attend school in Waterloo. This would prove difficult for me because Waterloo was five miles from where we lived. In those days, it was customary for a child to begin formal education at age seven but for me this was not so. When the teachers taking up census would pass through the district of Newland they would ask my mother why I was not attending school and she would respond by telling them that I was the half a one meaning I was not able bodied enough to take the journey to Waterloo and back without assistance. This assistance came when my younger sister Jennifer had reached the age to attend school. The year was 1960… I was now ten years old. Jennifer became my companion and guide for the journey to and from school.

Things began to turn for the better. My father bought a plot of land back at Waterloo on which he built a wall structure, (not like those built with blocks) and we went back there to live. While attending school, I was unable to read the chalkboard; however, I was able to compute arithmetic very quickly mentally and would be one of the first to raise my hand to offer a response to problems that were given to the class. After about a year in school I began to ponder what my future would be like knowing that I was short-sighted. I would hear the other children express their desires of wanting to become teachers, nurses and police officers and this at times would make me worrisome.

The Public Health Nurse would also visit the schools occasionally to ensure that children were immunized and were in general good health. I can remember on one occasion, a public health nurse was visiting from England; her name was Nurse Abdul. She asked the teacher what was wrong with my eyes and was told that I was short-sighted. She sent for my mother. I was so excited I started to run home by myself to fetch mother. I loved to run and did not miss an opportunity to do so. Each day I would run to Cajon Corner for lunch on a daily basis. I ran as fast as my legs could carry me. I was running so fast that I collided into Pastor Clement Clarke who was carrying his pan of pig feed and a very sharp machete. The pig feed he was carry was splattered on the ground and it was indeed a miracle that the machete did not severe my head. Pastor Clarke shook his head and said Lord have mercy. I apologized to Pastor and resumed my journey. Upon reaching home I informed my mom that the school nurse wanted to see her. She did not hesitate; she stopped what she was doing and returned to school with me. On arrival, the nurse told her to take me to Balinure to get my eyes tested. Balinure was the place where people go to collect money from the pauper roll (now called welfare). This would be my first time going to Harry Watch as near as it was. This was also my first time driving in a car. Can you imagine, a child my age, 13 years old to be exact and never drive in a car before? Not knowing what to expect I questioned Jennifer who had already had the privilege of driving in a car. She explained to me what driving