by Joy, E. n.
Silence came next. There was a long, pregnant pause that was awkward but I didn’t care.
Mrs. Hope bit some more into a hunk of her cake, chewed and swallowed. She said, “I gotta admit something to you. I know who you are, and I know about the situation with your husband and kids. I’ll admit, I ain’t never heard anybody go through anything worse than that. I’m not gonna sugar coat it. It had to be painful to lose your kids.” My blank stare must have been the reason her eyes widened. “Don’t it make you cry anymore?” she asked.
I bit into a piece of my cake to avoid answering her question. What if I told her that I hadn’t shed a tear in these past weeks? Don’t think I knew how to anymore−to show emotion that is, because I was empty on the inside. Would she think I was a bad mother who didn’t love her kids, when really I loved Jo J o and Tricie more than I loved air? I loved them more than life; more than I loved myself. I cursed inwardly as I chewed, because the cake didn’t have the same affects on me that it had on her. She was already cutting herself a second piece while I pushed mine away.
She finished off her last piece and said softly. “Well you already made the first step.”
My head shot up. “First step in what?”
“My daughter works with them girls down in juvenile hall. She talks about stuff like what you’re dealing with: Loss. She taught me this.” She chuckled and slapped her knee. “Isn’t that something? My daughter teaching me? It should be the other way around. Anyhow, she used to call it the steps to healing.”
“Really?” I said sarcastically. You couldn’t be healed from something like this.
“Yes. Disclosing is the first step. The next step is grieving.”
Did she really think I was going revisit the pain I felt that night all over again? For what? Just to be hurt again? Wasn’t nothing about confessing and grieving gonna bring my babies back to me. It was a waste, so I cut her off when she attempted to tell me the next step.
“The third thing is−”
“Mrs. Hope,” I stood to my feet and said, “I don’t want to be rude, but I was wondering if you need me to do anything for you? Chores? Cook? Buy groceries? Because if not, I just want to be left alone so I can go back to sleep.”
She looked at me grimly, gave me one of those smiles where her lips were outstretched but she showed no teeth. It was a pity smile.
She nodded. “Go ahead and relax…Shortcake, right?”
I nodded. “Thanks for the cake.” I left the barely eaten piece on the table and left her sitting there alone. I walked quickly to the bedroom. I was a few steps shy of grabbing the doorknob when she stopped me.
“I was gonna say forgiveness is the next step.”
Thinking she was about to go into preaching about how the Lord forgives, I was about ready to curse her out. The last thing I wanted to hear about was God. But she didn’t.
She surprised me when she said, “Forgive yourself.”
I kept walking, ignoring her words and grabbed the door knob. I turned it and opened the door. Before I stepped inside I turned back to her and said, “I don’t know if I can.” And truly I didn’t know. If I hadn’t been so weak and had forbidden my husband from coming to our home in the state he was in, this would have never happened. The first time Joshua became violent towards me, I should have went to the police and filed a restraining order against him and not allow him back into our home until he got the help he needed.
My mind was full of woulda, coulda and shoulda’s. So much made sense to me now that did not before. Before, I thought if I went to the police it would make Joshua feel like I had given up and turned my back on him. Now I realize that if I had it may have pushed him to get the help that he needed, and my kids, they would still be alive. They were dead, all because I had been weak and stupid. As long as I lived I could not and would not forgive myself. It was like I had been the one to pull the trigger. Not enough praying or church visits could rid me of the guilt and pain that I felt.
The last words I heard before closing the door to my room were, “Forgiving is what’s gonna ease your soul. You can’t start healing until you do.”
The next morning, yet again, Mrs. Hope switched the light on in my room. I sat up in the bed quickly.
“Lord, I done forgot your name, or did you even give it to me? Yep, you gave it to me but just that fast, I done forgot it.” She chuckled to herself. Well, either way, it’s time to get up for church.”
She was telling me what to do again? I sat up in the bed and stared at the old woman. “I should have told you this beforehand. I don’t go to church anymore.” I glared at her and waited for a response. She was probably going ask why. And I really didn’t feel like getting into it. Maybe I should have just taken my chances out on the street.
She didn’t question me but stated firmly, her hands clasped together, “If you stay in this house, no matter how long, you go to church or you can go back to the streets. And as much as I don’t want to send you out there, for the Lord, I will!”
She tossed a dress my way and sat some heels at my feet. “You can fit that. We’re leaving in twenty minutes.”
Chapter Nine
As we walked into the church that I used to faithfully attend every Sunday that I could, I felt utter disgust. I didn’t want to be there. I was grim as Mrs. Hope introduced me to people she knew, most who commented about seeing me at church before. I didn’t utter a word to her or any of them. I just sat down next to Mrs. Hope and prepared to listen to what no longer meant anything to me: The Word of God.
The choir started singing my favorite song by Yolanda Adams, “Hold On To Your Dreams.” I sat blank-faced, refusing to give in like others around me that were screaming and crying, jumping up and down, and waving their hands in the air looking like fools. I couldn’t believe that I used to be a fool right along with them. There was no God. He was an illusion. I knew that now for sure, and they couldn’t convince me of anything different. My son Jo Jo had been right all along about this so-called God. I was so into my thoughts that I didn’t notice the choir had stopped singing until the pastor, Todd Jones, took the podium with his Bible in hand.
“Let us bow our heads and pray,” he said. Everyone did except for me. My head was upright and my eyes were focused on the ceiling. Maybe I was trying to find this God everyone in there seemed to have so much love for.
“Father, we ask that you bless us in your house today,” the pastor prayed. “Father, we ask that if there is anyone in need of this prayer that they embrace it. Father, we ask if there is anyone that needs your spirit within them, that they open up. Father, we ask that if anyone in here needs the Holy Ghost today, that they receive it.”
“Yes, Lord,” Mrs. Hope said. She gripped my hand so tight I couldn’t pull away from her.
“And finally, Father, we want to let you know that we feel really fortunate to be able to be in your house to praise you. We thank you for giving us food and shelter. We thank you for health, Father God. Amen.”
A ton of Amen’s were said throughout the church. I twisted my lips to the side.
“Now, everyone open your Bibles and turn to the book of Job,” the pastor instructed.
Finally, Mrs. Hope freed my hand so that she could open her Bible.
The pastor took a sip of water before continuing. “Now, people of the church, you know Job. A wealthy man. He was from the land of Uz. But more important than his wealth was his righteousness. He was blameless. He was upright. He was a true servant of God. For his righteousness, he was blessed. He had seven sons and three daughters. He owned 7000 sheep, 300 camels, 500 yoke of oxen, and 500 donkeys. Job had a large number of servants. He was the greatest among all the people of the east. Now, ahhh…” The pastor took off his glasses and stared down at us. “Y’all know what happened to Job?”
“Yes, Pastor,” Mrs. Hope yelled. She smiled at me like being in church filled her with so much delight.
I turned my head.
“Go on, Pastor,” a woman who look
ed about my age yelled out.
Pastor Jones dried his face with a silk cloth while he talked. “The devil. Now, y’all know Satan got a problem with those serving God.” He put his glasses back on. “Satan wanted to test Job, test Job’s faith in God. So he did. Job lost everything; his wealth, his kids, his health. He had boils all over his body. And when his wife told him to curse God, you know what he said to her?”
I had heard enough. I stood to my feet. “What did he say Pastor? Did he say no, no, no, I’m still going to honor my God even though he took away everything that meant something to me’?” I demanded angrily. I snatched away from a shocked Mrs. Hope who grabbed my arm in an attempt to pull me back down to my seat.”
The pastor smiled at me and said calmly, “Yes, young lady. Job told his wife, ‘You’ve lost your mind. You’re not my wife talking like that. I’m going to serve God regardless.”
There was mumbling in the church when I didn’t sit back down. Instead, I squeezed between people seated next to me and Mrs. Hope so that I could get to the middle of the aisle to confront Pastor Jones. I ignored the shocked faces and the mumbles. I marched towards the pulpit.
“You really expect me to believe that after he lost his flesh and blood?” I beat on my chest. “He was still able to believe in God?” A sob escaped me. “You’ lying, Pastor! You’ lying! The reason how I know you lying is because I am Job. I came in this place on Sundays, and day in and day out I prayed. I remained a faithful servant and got nothing in return. I suffered. My kids suffered. And now I’m supposed to believe in God? If there was a God, I wouldn’t have had to struggle, sell my body and a part of my soul just to put food in my children’s stomachs. If there was a God, He wouldn’t have taken my kids from me.” I looked around at all the shocked and confused faces. My voice got louder. “Don’t y'all get it, or are y'all all a bunch of praising fools? There is no God!”
Someone grabbed my arm. I snatched away and screamed. “No! Listen to me! I lost my flesh and blood! My babies! My life. They were the only reason I got up in the morning. Both of them, Tricie and Jo Jo. So I could give a crap about a God! I don’t have faith in God. I curse God. I hate God! He took my life away from me. I believed in Him. I pulled my kids in with my faith and look how God repaid me!”
I dropped to my knees on the carpet and beat on it with closed fist. I bawled like a baby and tears poured from my eyes. I humped over and continued to cry pitifully as if I was in that moment again, the one where Jo Jo shot Tricie and then turned the gun on himself. I was reliving all that pain yet again. The moment was there clear in my head and I could not do anything to get out of it.
That’s when I heard several feet tapping on the floor around me. Soon I felt crowded. People formed a circle and I was in the center of it.
At first I thought they were going to scoop me up and throw me out of that church. Maybe even put me in jail. I mean, I had caused a big scene there and challenged not only the Pastor, but also God.
But instead of being thrown out of the church, I felt several hands all over me. Their open palms were being laid on my flesh. It had to be at least fifty hands that I felt. And then the Pastor led them all in prayer… for me.
Chapter Ten
Six years later.
I smiled and took a deep breath while laying a hand on my chest. I had been a member of this church for so long. But still, when I approached the pulpit I got nervous. Maybe it was chills I felt and I confused them with nervousness. That was God resting on my shoulders. I knew the Lord lived within me, and He was not going anywhere. He seemed to take a walk with me wherever I went.
“Giving honor to God, Pastor, and everyone in our church,” I spoke then cleared my throat. “It seemed like it was only yesterday that I was in here acting a downright fool. Cursing God and complaining about my sad, sad life. In all that time of arguing and being stubborn, I should have been listening, because in the story of Job there is a message, during that time, I missed.”
Mrs. Hope said, “Go on, honey!”
“Preach, sister,” a man yelled.
A woman said, “Let’s hear it.”
With all those words of encouragement, I continued. “What I learned about Job was that no matter how much he had lost, and he had lost a lot, he still remained a faithful servant of God. And in being a faithful servant of God, couldn’t nothing break him. Y’all don’t feel me.” I waved my arms and felt myself getting teary-eyed. “When you remain a faithful servant of the Lord, you also hold on to the belief that things are gonna get better. You hold on to your faith, your belief.” I pointed towards the ceiling while saying, “In Him. If you don’t, then I’m sorry to tell you, but you ain’t no faithful servant. That’s what Job was. That’s why he didn’t just regain what he lost, but the Lord flourished him with twice as much-ten times as much. And the Lord did the same thing for me.” The church cheered and clapped for me.
I gestured towards my husband, Thompson, who was holding our six-week-old twins, Faith and Honor while their older three and a half year old sister, Taylor Jan’et, sat next to them with her thumb in her mouth. Her name represented Jo Jo and Tricie. No matter how much time passed, how great my life got, they would forever live in my heart. I gave myself permission to forgive myself for their deaths, while still at the same time still holding them there in my heart.
“God is the reason for all of this. He is the reason I was at that shelter, and I met Mrs. Hope who could have let me leave and fend for myself on the streets. But she didn’t, y'all. She opened her home to me, no questions asked. She didn’t know me. I could have been a criminal, a drug addict, a murderer. But she didn’t care. She let me in. And after my tantrum in church, instead of y'all putting me in handcuffs-” The people in the church laughed. “Y'all prayed for me.” I smiled at Mrs. Hope. “Sister, you don’t know how much you helped me see. I had given up on the Lord. When I lost my kids, I felt like I had no one. Not even myself. Then I realized something I hadn’t realized before, something I once told my beloved son Jo Jo years ago. When you ain’t got nothing or no one, you always got God. In my pain I didn’t realize God was always there.”
I dropped to my knees in the very same spot six years before where I had cursed God. I hit the carpeted floor with my fist. But this time not in anger, but in joy. I was rejoicing in the Lord for everything He had done for me. I was blessed because I knew He was with me and always would be.
The End
Born Sinners
By Charles Alexander
When he grabbed my neck,
I kicked in protest of being brought from my mother’s womb.
I knew something wasn’t right, cuz I was born at night, a month too soon.
The world was shady, and unlike other babies born of an innocent birth,
I had two little horns the day I was born, and this was my hell on earth.
My mother’s womb should have been my tomb.
The cradle should have been my grave.
When her water broke she should have been on dope,
smoking crack back in them days.
Or Cowboy killaz, Camel non-filters and blunts for the whole nine months.
And 187 proof, Gin with no juice, Absolute with no fruit punch.
Cursed instead of killed. Hurting as I live, cuz I know one day I’m gonna die.
And I don’t know if I’m going to that party they’re throwing up beyond the sky.
Tired of losing, I came to the conclusion that living is part of life’s curse.
Had I been born when man was being formed,
me and God would have had to converse.
I would have declined being part of mankind and resisted this plan of life.
I would have protested creation, Heaven and Earth separation,
and the giving of Adam a wife.
I would have said, “No, Lord! If Adam is bored, give him angels as friends.
Give him wings and infinite being, and remove his will to sin.
Restore the spir
itual plane from whence he came. Return him to his dust.
For you showed him love bonded by blood, and he still violated your trust.
As a result, man is engulfed by murder, fornication and wars.
From the highest creation he degenerated lower than those on fours.
He’s a major hater and a thief by nature, for he robs people of truth.
And acts upon a lie, could cause one to die, so that makes him a murderer too.
He’s an unbeliever and a mass deceiver, B.K.A. An Indian giver.
He does as he pleases, even sold out Jesus, for only thirty pieces of silver.
This son of b#$%! is strangely mixed with half truths and a lot of falsehoods
After he failed, you should’ve sent him to hell, for he became no earthly good.
Not even the devil has stooped to his level; man is overzealous.
He has broken his vows and remains unbowed. This punk is too rebellious.
He breeds hatred, lewdness, rape and rudeness, inconsistency,
arrogance and theft.
Slander, regression, class oppression, murder and everything else.
After knowing the truth, he claims he’s you, even saying y’all look alike.
This religious crook has distorted your books. He claims that Jesus was white.
You already said Jesus wore dreads and His skin was copper-Hue.
They changed His color to a blond from a brother
and his eyes from brown to blue.
It’s hard to believe you allowed these thieves to have their heaven on earth.
