Stepping Down
A Novel by Michelle Stimpson
Mark has been pastoring New Vision church for six years now, and all his hard work is about to pay off as the church nears mega-church status. But while Mark has been busy building the church, his personal household has been crumbling to pieces. After ignoring divine guidance, Mark finds himself caught up in the appearance of a scandal that threatens to tear the church apart. And his wife’s secrets only add insults to near-fatal injury.
Copyright 2013 by Michelle Stimpson
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form, except for brief quotations in reviews, without written permission from the author.
The characters in this book are fictional. Any resemblance to actual people or events is coincidental.
Published by MLStimpson Enterprises
MichelleStimpson.com
[email protected]
Table of Contents
Acknowledgments
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Epilogue
A Note from the Author
About the Author
Other Books by Michelle Stimpson
Acknowledgments
Thank You, Jesus, for living in me and enabling me to write what You put on my heart. I hear You, God. I hear You.
Several people allowed me to run the outline for this book past then and, in turn, gave advice on the plot: Chris Howell, Dr. Denise Strickland, my great Aunt TC, Vanessa Miller, Re Richardson, Colleen White, Glenyss, Lynell Logan, and April Barker—thank you! Kudos to my writing group for the insights into being a pastor’s wife and what it means to oversee a church: Lynne Gentry, Janice Olson, Keisha Bass, Ann Boyles, Lyndie Blevins, and whoever else showed up the few times I was able to make it while writing this book! Love you girls!
Thanks to my editor, Karen Rodgers, for your editorial eye. I’m always nervous when I get edits back…but you always throw in a lump of sugar to help the medicine go down!
Thank you soooooo much to those of you who have been reading my work over the years. Can you believe it’s been almost 10 years since my first novel came out??? I believe God uses my hands to bless you. Thank you for your support. I pray that this book will be a blessing to you as well.
To God be the glory!
For my B-Kay.
The last one in the nest.
Chapter 1
Pastor Mark Wayne Carter, III cast his drooping eyes on the clock ticking away on the wall directly across from his desk. Last year his wife, Sharla, had lowered the clock so that it stared at him while he was sitting in his gold-studded leather executive chair.
“I know you’re busy doing the Lord’s work, but it would be nice to see you home before the sun goes down sometimes,” she had nagged as she pounded a nail into the wall. She positioned the clock in its new location, then put both hands on her hips. “If you can see the clock, you might actually keep track of how much time you’re spending here in your office.”
Mark didn’t like to fight with her about his devotion to New Vision Church. The church was his life’s purpose, the reason he’d walked away from his short, but well-paying career as an insurance salesman. This church had given him a sense of accomplishment he’d never experienced in all his months as top-producer at StateWay Insurance.
More than anything, Mark hoped that New Vision Church would be the reason Jesus said, “Well done, my good and faithful servant,” to him one day.
Late Saturday nights came with the territory, which was one reason he hired a very young man as his assistant and semi-mentee. At 38-eight years old, Mark was no old goat, but he wasn’t bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, either. He needed an assistant to knock on the door every hour or so and make sure Mark hadn’t fallen asleep at the computer.
A recent graduate of Southern Bible School, Jonathan Lawrence had come with stellar references and an excellent transcript. Mark wasn’t too crazy about seminary kids. Jonathan seemed eager, though, and he had been faithful to his previous mentor. Mark didn’t mind showing a young minister the ropes, so long as he learned quickly and knew how to keep his mouth shut. Jonathan would do, unless he proved otherwise.
11:45. Mark did the math in his head. It would take him at least another half-hour to finish the outline. An hour to fill it out with scriptures and examples. Ten minutes to get home. In bed by 1:45, to be up again by six and back at the church for first service at 8:00.
If only the Jenkins’ house dedication hadn’t taken so long and the visit to Mother Morris in the hospital had gone as planned, he wouldn’t be in this predicament. Lord, I’ll do better, Mark prayed silently as he logged into SermonDepot.com to browse for a ready-made message. Briefly, he thought about the problems he’d encountered this week at the church.
He couldn’t wrap his mind around anything in particular. In a church of almost 1500 in attendance weekly, the issues varied. Blessings, sin, healing, financial prosperity. Any of those topics would do.
Mark refined his search by checking the “60-minute” and “adult audience” boxes to decrease the number of results. “Lord, show me which one,” he offered briefly, though he wondered if God would actually advise him about this shortcut. His eyes landed on a generic title: Seven Steps to Success, taken from the parable of the sower in Matthew 13.
Mark clicked on his “Used Sermons” folder to make sure he hadn’t already preached this message. Six years ago, when he and Sharla founded New Vision, he wouldn’t have dreamed of downloading a sermon from the internet. As he realized the growing number of lectures he’d copied from the web, it was hard to imagine how he’d gotten to that point.
He took a cleansing breath and reminded himself that he wasn’t alone. There were, according to the site’s banner, thousands of paying subscribers—other pastors and preachers, presumably—who utilized the sermons. God’s word is consistent and true. It doesn’t change. No need to reinvent the wheel every Sunday, Mark rationalized as he checked the “use” box and printed the accompanying four-page document.
His laser printer hummed softly as a display of lights signaled the connection between laptop and printer.
A soft rapping at the door gave Mark a second wind. He hoisted his smile into place and sat up straight in his chair. “Enter.”
Jonathan poked his head in the office. “Pastor, you okay in here?”
“Yes,” Mark said. “Leave if you need to.”
Jonathan shook his head, “Oh no, sir. I’m in no hurry. I was thinking…you fell asleep in here last Saturday night, so…”
Mark could only laugh at himself. “Thank you, Jonathan. I’m good. I hit the gym this week. Got more energy.” Mark swiveled his chair around and grabbed the papers from the printer. “About to wrap it up.”
“Okay.” Jonathan ducked out of the room.
Aside from sore muscles, the workout had given Mark a little more energy
. Maybe, if he kept the exercise going and cut back on the fast food, he might actually feel like a 38-eight-year-old is supposed to feel. At six foot two and two hundred-twenty pounds, he’d been able to maintain a healthy weight, thanks mostly to good genes. His father had given him that much, if nothing else.
Despite the appearance of health, though, Mark was well aware that his cholesterol and blood pressure levels were higher every year. Or in his case, two years—which is about how long it took for him to actually show up at one of the appointments Sharla made for him with their general practitioner. Mark much preferred to leave his health in the hands of the Lord.
Quickly, Mark threw his parallel Bible and the pages of the next day’s sermon into the front compartment of his rolling attaché. The laptop and charger fit perfectly into the second section. He gathered the rest of the papers on his desk and the surrounding counters into one stack. He still needed to review the notes, but he could finish it at home. If he made it there before midnight, he might actually get to spend time with Sharla before she drifted off to sleep.
How long has it been?
Another tap on the door. “Enter.” With his back turned to the door, Mark switched off his printer and locked the overhead cabinets containing confidential church information. He heard the door open slightly, then close. He pivoted, expecting to find Jonathan standing there.
But this was definitely not Jonathan. All that’s good and perfect comes from God. And He knew what He was doing when He made that woman. A form-fitting red silk blouse defining her full rack. White linen skirt so tight it bunched up across her hips. Legs that must have run track in high school, maybe even college. And a pair of heels that added a good five inches to her height, accentuating her lower half even more.
It only took seconds for Mark to process her body. His eyes made it up to her face in enough time to hide his intrigue. Hopefully. Respectfully, he stood. “How can I help you?”
“Pastor, I really need to talk to you.” She sat down in the chair across from him, blocking his view of the clock.
“Um…well, if you want to set up an appointment—”
“This will only take a minute,” she pushed past Mark’s safeguards.
He sat.
“A long time ago, I made a big mistake. And now I need to fix it.”
Her perfume wrapped around Mark’s face. Sweet, but not overpowering. The whole scene reminded him of those cartoons where a bull’s eye rotates around and around, hypnotizing an unsuspecting character.
She crossed one leg over the other, revealing a good six inches up the side of her thigh. Bare, taut skin. “I just don’t know what to do. I was hoping you could help me.”
Mark was no stranger to women’s advances. Another thing he’d inherited from Mark Wayne Carter, II was good looks. Deep brown skin, a head full of short but wavy hair, and a sharp goatee could pull a woman from a mile away. But the one thing Mark could say he’d done right in his marriage was to remain faithful to his wife throughout their sixteen years together. He wasn’t going to blow it on some misguided member who’d managed to outwit his new assistant.
Mark stood again. He’d played around with this fire long enough. “My sister, if you have accepted Christ as your savior, old things are passed away. It’s late. I’m going to have to ask again that you speak with Jonathan on your way out. He can put you in touch with the counseling ministry.”
His abrupt end to their conversation obviously caught her off guard. “Um, b-but,” she stammered for words. “But you’re my pastor. Isn’t this what you’re supposed to do?”
Mark ripped the top sheet from the pad of sticky-notes on his desk. “The word of God is your counselor. Psalm one nineteen and twenty-four.” He scribbled the reference on the note and handed it to the woman.
She snatched it from his hand, a scowl on her face. Mark noticed that one of her fake eyelashes slipped out of place. He had to hold in his laughter. “Meditate on His word. Have a good night, my sister.”
Mark walked her to his office door, then past Jonathan and out to the door of the entire suite. “God bless you.”
The woman didn’t have a chance to respond before the weighted door shut behind her. With after-hours security on the church’s campus, Mark was sure she’d make it back to her car safely.
Mark turned sharply to face Jonathan, who sat at his desk with a bewildered look on his face. “Sir, I-I, she said she was a frequent guest of yours.”
Mark’s eyes turned to slits as he tried to decide if Jonathan was deranged or just deceived. Since the boy was still in his 90-day probationary period, Mark would give him the benefit of the doubt. “With the exception of First Lady Carter, I don’t allow women into my office alone, especially not women dressed like her, without one of the female ministers present. Do we understand each other?”
“Yes, Pastor. I’m sorry. It’s just that my last supervisor had, you know, guests. I-it won’t happen again.”
“Jonathan, I don’t know what kind of pastors or preachers you worked with before me, but I’m not that man.”
Chapter 2
Mark was careful to watch the rear and side view mirrors as the garage lowered behind his 8-year-old Cadillac Escalade. Though his ride didn’t turn heads anymore, he still made it a habit to survey his surroundings in case somebody wanted to try him. Maybe he’d slack up a bit once they moved out of their quaint 2500-square-foot home and into the mini-mansion behind security gates Sharla had her heart set on. Until then, he would remain on high alert.
A side effect of being raised in one of the roughest areas of Houston was a keen awareness of his environment. “If you get caught slippin’, it’s your own fault,” his father had taught him during one of their rare free-world visits.
Mark had tried to teach his own son, Amani, how to look out for danger, but being raised in a fairly safe, middle-class world had distanced Amani from the lessons of living in survival mode. The boy had grown up in a world where kids left their bicycles on porches outside at night and people actually turned in lost wallets to the police.
Much to Mark’s dismay, Amani hadn’t been in a fight in all his thirteen years. Mark had been in at least ten brawls by the time he was Amani’s age. He’d won some and lost some. Gave and took black eyes and busted lips with the best of ‘em. No matter, he’d walked away each time knowing he could throw down when pushed to the brink.
This comfortable lifestyle Mark provided for his family had come at a cost.
Mark took his key from the ignition, clutched his bag from the passenger’s seat and made his way around Sharla’s bright red Benz toward the doorway of the laundry room.
The scent of fabric softener greeted him upon entrance. He wanted to be glad about the pleasant odor, but he couldn’t. Sharla didn’t do the laundry. She’d hired some older, foreign woman to do their cleaning and washing. The woman, whoever she was, did an excellent job. But Mark had to wonder exactly what Sharla did all day that warranted paying someone else to take care of the home he’d provided for them.
Sharla didn’t work. She hadn’t homeschooled Amani since he started junior high school. She’d delegated most of her previously held duties as First Lady to other women at the church, claiming that she needed to concentrate on home. Somehow, “concentrating on home” got translated to finding someone else to clean the house.
But Mark knew better than to question Sharla. The house was her jurisdiction. So long as she stayed within the family budget, he’d keep his mouth shut unless he wanted to handle the laundry himself.
“I’m home,” he announced, not really expecting a response. Just seemed like something men on TV did.
He hung his keys on one of the hooks magnetically attached to the stainless steel refrigerator. He took off his tie and hung it on a bar chair, pried his shoes off and left them under the kitchen table.
Sharla would fuss. What else was new?
Mark traipsed through the family room and up the staircase to his home office to drop off t
he materials he’d comb through later. Down the hallway, he noticed the blue glow of the big screen television coming from under the door to the media room. He opened the door and found Amani stretched across the sectional sofa.
“’Mani, go to your bed,” Mark ordered softly, shaking his son’s shoulder.
Amani gave a loud snort, scratched his head a few times, stretched, and then obeyed his father’s directive. “Night, Dad.”
“Night, man.”
As Amani brushed past, Mark noticed that they were nearly the same height. Another six months of this growth spurt and the youngest person would also be the tallest person in the house.
Mark grabbed the remote control and switched off the TV as his son trudged away to his own bedroom.
Back downstairs in his own space, Mark was surprised to find Sharla still up. She was seated in their bathroom, fooling with her hair.
Well, the hair that somebody put on her head. Granted, her style was always on point, but Mark couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen his wife’s real hair.
“Hey, babe,” he said.
“Mmm,” she moaned. To be fair, she did have several hairpins in her mouth. Apparently, the current style required her to position her mane a certain way before lying down on the satin pillowcases she dared not sleep without.
Mark stood in the bathroom’s entry admiring his wife. He loved to see her like this—no makeup, hair swept off her face, a T-shirt and loose shorts. Her skin had always been a pool of caramel beckoning him to dive in when he studied her for more than a few minutes. Though she had gained some weight over the years, a part of him actually liked the fact that there was more of her to love.
Watching her breasts jiggle as she struggled to shove the hairpins in place reminded Mark that he was indeed a lucky man.
“What?” Sharla piped up.
“I’m just looking at you.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re beautiful.”
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