“This is Joshua Junior’s story.”

Josh Jones (image credit: Joshua Jones, Jr.)

Josh Jones has lived through poverty, dysfunction, disability and homelessness. He’s one of the most resilient, determined, positive,  helpful and loving people that I know. We met when I was a case manager in a church-based assistance ministry and he was my client. But he very quickly became my friend and my encourager.

Josh wrote a book, Joshua Jones Jr. Story, dedicated to his mom, whom he takes care of. Proceeds from the book will help both Josh and his mom. I just ordered my copy. I hope you will, too. Here’s an excerpt that has me eager to read more:

Hi! My name is Joshua Jones, Jr. This is Joshua Junior’s story.

I’d like to tell you a little bit about myself.  I was born May 15, 1967, to Christine Harrelson and Joshua Jones, Sr. of Mebane, North Carolina.

We have a very dysfunctional family.  We have five children, two girls and three boys.  I’m the knee baby. All five children’s names is Tony L.  Jones, Angela Patricia Jones, Demetrious Flythe, Marvin Ray Jones.

We lived on Highway 49 in Mebane, North Carolina, where we were a farmer’s children. We didn’t have much.  We were poor, and we had to work like human slaves at my daddy’s farm, Amy Crawford’s farm.

My mama was a housewife.  She made sure that we had something to eat.  She was the world’s bestest cook that you could ever meet. She always helped people; she always fed every body.  She got up every morning at 5:30 seven days a week.  We had fatback meat, molasses gravy, grits, oatmeal–whatever was in the refrigerator, Christine Harrelson cooked it. By the way, she divorced Joshua Jones, Sr. in 1989 and went back to her maiden name.

Well, she left him several times, so we had to go live with Lavinia Harrelson and Coy Harrelson which are both deceased now.  They stayed at 3916 Lawson Road, Cedar Grove, North Carolina.  Well we did that for a long time.  The last time she left him, I think it was in ’78, we left that morning.  She said, ‘Y’all get some bags. Go in there and get some Byrd’s bags, we got to go, I’m leaving your daddy.’ We said, ‘Oh, Lord.’  Every time we left our daddy, we’d get to the road and get down the road, Reverend Hal Brooks would pull up: ‘Y’all need a ride?’  She always left on a Sunday.  I never understood that.

I look forward to reading more of the story of my friend Josh. Even in the dark, he always sees the light. I love you, Josh. I’m grateful to be your friend.