by Pat Simmons
“Lesson number one, Noel Richardson. It’s that extra thoughtfulness that a woman always remembers.”
“Really?” I mumbled as we left the fourth specialty store within the past hour empty handed.
“Really.”
Glancing around, I spotted an unoccupied bench camouflaged by several plants in silver canisters. I steered Mackenzie to it for a respite.
“So what’s number two?” I signed, dumbfounded.
“I’ll keep you guessing.”
***
“Happy Mother’s Day to all the mothers,” Pastor greeted from the pulpit. “The Word says it’s a blessing to be a mother. Yet, I’m encouraging everybody today to get adopted.”
He picked up his Bible and began to pace. I couldn’t follow his mouth, so I looked to Mackenzie. “If you have a good mother—I mean a good mother—you try to hold onto her. She’ll give you her best. So why would you want to be adopted, saints? Because the mother you’re sitting next to today is in the flesh, corruptible flesh.
“Mothers, plan for your children’s future. Make preparations now for them to be secure in the spirit. Make sure the adoption papers are signed so they can become children of royalty.”
When he paused, I looked back at him. “Children, did you know you are heirs? Not yet,” he said, holding up his hand and shaking his head. “Where’s your connection to this King? You know how you’re related to your parents, but how are you related to God? The Lord will not claim you until after the adoption take place, the papers are signed, and the document is sealed.
“Your connection is sure in the Holy Ghost. Make sure you’ve got it because an imposter won’t get the inheritance. Romans 8:16 says, ‘The Spirit itself beareth witness with our spirit, that we are children of God.’ Get adopted today so you can collect your inheritance because 3 John 3: ‘Beloved, I wish above all things that thou mayest prosper and be in health, even as thy soul prospereth’.”
The sermon ended with Pastor Coleman inviting anyone who wanted to be baptized that afternoon to come, an appointment wasn’t necessary. So many people yielded to the call and repented.
The number was so great that ministers were submerging three people at a time in the baptismal pool once they were changed into white clothing in the preparation room.
The Lord’s power continued to explode throughout the church. Hats twirled in the air, bodies spun, rejoicing. Some men leaped from their seats and moved in a holy dance. Mackenzie’s hands were no longer signing, but were raised in praise.
God must have lifted my body like a puppet because my mouth couldn’t control my tongue. It vibrated in my mouth before stopping of its accord. Remnants of the outpouring of the Holy Ghost lingered. It took a while, but eventually most of us regained our earthly control.
I focused on Pastor Coleman’s lips as he returned to the pulpit. “Before we leave today, I want to remind you of our annual foot washing, communion, and Holy Ghost explosion revival. The weeklong services will end with a special healing night. Saints, you don’t want to miss any of this! We’ll wash one another’s feet as Jesus did in John 13:14.”
Pastor Coleman scanned the sanctuary. “How many of you can use a miracle, need a blessing or a healing? Our revival will culminate with a special healing service.”
After the benediction, I waited for Mackenzie to gather her things. Daphne and Keisha, dressed in matching outfits, hurried to my side.
“Happy Mother’s Day, Brother Noel,” Keisha signed, grinning with a gap between her front teeth.
Daphne nudged Keisha aside. “He’s not a mommy. Happy Father’s Day.” Before I could correct them, Sister Campbell and Mackenzie walked to us.
I nodded and signed, “Happy Mother’s Day.”
Sister Campbell signed her thanks.
Mackenzie stepped forward and linked her hand through mine, prodding me to the lobby. Once outside on the parking lot, she signed non-stop to the car. “I’m so excited, Noel. I always make sure I’m finished with my theatre projects in time for the special services. Will you be able to make it every night?”
“I wouldn’t miss it.” I smirked.
“You could be healed. Let’s fast and pray that God will perform a miracle. I believe God can heal you,” Mackenzie signed before I opened her passenger door. Her expression was so tender and confident that I would believe anything.
“I believe God can do anything He wants.” Shutting her door, I came around to my side and slid behind the wheel. After checking the rearview mirror, I drove off and made a detour to Dierbergs’ floral shop.
While Mackenzie waited in the car, I walk inside to pick up two bouquets. Take that, Miss Norton. I do know how to make a woman feel special, I thought, mentally patting myself on the back.
The next stop was Mackenzie’s house. She had insisted on preparing a meal for her “almost mother-in-law.” Considering, she never offered to cook for me, I had to see and taste this food for myself. Together, we carried warm dishes and placed them in my trunk.
Once Mackenzie and I were officially engaged, my family insisted Fred be included in every holiday gathering, so he was riding with us.
Leaning on my car, he folded his arms. “This is the first time, young man, that I’ll be a passenger in a car with a deaf man driving it.” He didn’t hide his hesitation. “Just remember, Mackenzie isn’t the only precious cargo.”
“Yes, sir, I’ll guarantee you, I’m safer than riding with or following your daughter’s car,” I tried to assure him as I placed the last dish in my trunk.
“You’ve got a point,” Fred replied as he opened the back door, jumped inside, and latched the seat belt.
A half hour later, we parked in front of my parents’ home. I ushered Mackenzie inside, refusing to allow her to carry anything except the box she had gift-wrapped at the mall. I still didn’t know what “we” got my mother.
My brothers and Dad greeted us in the foyer. After they shook Fred’s hand and hugged Mackenzie, the men trailed me back to the car for the food. Once I took the last dish from the trunk, I got the flowers from the backseat.
Balancing a pan in my arm, I checked the sidewalk. It would be just my luck that I would get run over by a skateboard, fall, and feed the ants.
After I walked through the door, everyone was crowded in the kitchen, rolling back aluminum foil from the pans. “Mackenzie.” When she looked my way, I signed, “Did you give Momma our gift?”
Excusing ourselves, we escorted Momma into the living room. No one noticed our retreat, since my brothers were grabbing plates and utensils as my dad and Fred talked. Mackenzie and I sat on the sofa with Momma in between us.
“Mrs. Richardson, I look forward to the day to be called mother. This is from Noel and me. I hope you enjoy your gift. Happy Mother’s Day.”
It looked like a hat box to me, and my mother accepted it with reverence. She removed the lid, and I leaned closer to get a peek at our gift. So far, all I saw was plenty of colorful tissue paper.
Digging deep in the box, Momma pulled out three envelopes. Frowning, I glanced at Mackenzie who winked. Each contained a gift certificate for day spa, manicure, and pedicure. Well, that was creative. I could’ve bought those without wasting that big box, I thought.
With misty eyes, she was about to hug us when Mackenzie stopped her. “There’s one more.”
“Oh?” Momma fingered the bottom until she found another envelope.
So far I wasn’t impressed, until her eyes widened, her lips curled into a smile, and she blushed. When I tried to peep, she hurried and stuffed it back into the envelope.
“What is it, Momma?”
She shooed my hand away. “Oh nothing, it’s just a gift certificate.”
I lifted my brow in curiosity. She lifted hers higher in superiority. I let the question drop as I presented her with flowers. She sniffed them and smiled.
Then I looked at Mackenzie and scooted closer. When I grabbed the remaining bouquet, my mother took that as her cue to give us so
me privacy. “It is my desire to make you the mother of my children.”
Her eyes misted as she hugged me.
“All five of them,” I added as she swatted me up side my head.
CHAPTER 32
God’s Grace Church made a big deal about the communion service as if it was a holiday celebration. Everyone was dressed for the occasion.
The women were in gleaming white dresses while the men were confined in suits, and the congregation had complied with Pastor Coleman’s fasting request. The service was lively, considering we hadn’t consumed water and food for twenty-four hours.
I couldn’t recall many churches that practiced foot washing. My parents’ church performed the special service, but I had never seen it. Pastor Coleman came to the podium, “Our feet kiss the ground every morning. Some blister from overuse and abuse. Unless your feet have pedicure maintenance, usually they’re dirty, crusty, smelly, and even ugly. They’re the lowest part of your body.”
Stopping, he bowed his head and I looked to Mackenzie for further interpretation. After a few minutes he looked out into the crowed. “Is anybody listening to me?”
Many nodded. Mackenzie’s brows were tight as she focused until the pastor spoke again.
“Tonight, let us do as Christ commanded in John 13. Remember, without humility there is no conversion for salvation. If you can bend your knees, let’s pray before the Lord.”
I had never equated humility with salvation. Weren’t all Christians humble? If not, did that mean they weren’t Christians? I pushed the soul searching to the back of my mind to be considered later. Mackenzie stood and walked to my pew. Reaching for her hand, we linked fingers as we slid to our knees and prayed together.
Shortly, Mackenzie tapped my hand. “It’s time for foot washing.”
The mood was reverence as members filed out the sanctuary. No one pushed, shoved, or rushed. Once we were in the vestibule, Mackenzie and I separated. Women turned toward the fellowship hall. I followed the men in the opposite direction.
Clutching my Bible, I prepared my mind for this portion of the service. I jerked my head around when I was slapped, not tapped, on my back. Nick’s hands flew in surrender, mimicking sorry.
That’s when the men’s line slowed at the entrance of a chapel with chairs setup in rows. Since Pastor Colman instructed us not to wash friends’ feet, I chose a seat a good distance from Nick.
A young teenager limped toward the chair in front of me. I nodded. He returned a quick smile. Formality done, I unlaced my expensive leather shoes and slipped them off before peeling off my silk designer socks. He did the same with tennis shoes that were worn, but clean. His attire wasn’t a suit, but faded tan khakis and a white shirt.
In the confined space, he knelt and scooted a rubber baby size bath tub toward me. With surprising tenderness, he lifted my feet one by one and placed them in the warm water.
My feet weren’t crusty, ashy, or dirty, but the act was humiliating as it was humbling. He didn’t scrub them, but scooped up water and poured it over my feet as he appeared to pray. He finished in minutes, and never looked up.
While on my knees, I tried to grasp the magnitude of this ritual as I watched the young man’s feet. Afterwards, I was awestruck. I couldn’t believe I had washed another man’s feet and he washed mine. Only for Christ would I participate in such a task.
When I stood eye-to-eye with the young man, we patted each other on the back. “I’m Noel Richardson.”
“Brian Tandy, but I’m not a member here. I saw the sign outside the church, welcoming everyone to the weeklong service. Years ago, I heard about something like this and sometimes wondered about. I wasn’t looking for a church, but here I am.”
Soon, we parted. I walked back and he limped back to the sanctuary. It felt exhilarating. Mackenzie met me in the aisle. Her eyes were bright. Her smile was radiant and it pulled me into a trance. I nearly tripped over my newly cleaned feet, which would’ve been more embarrassing.
“Well?” Mackenzie signed.
“I’m glad I’m here and experienced it for myself.”
***
Days later, I greeted Mackenzie at her front door with a kiss and a bulging bag of meat lasagna, spaghetti, and ziti—the ultimate platter sampler. Of course, no meal would be complete without hot buttery breadsticks from Fazoli’s, a chain of Italian restaurants in various states. “Hey, baby.”
“I love a man who brings me food and flowers,” she said, snatching my offering and rewarding me with an afterthought hug. She carried our meal, which included enough food for her father, into the kitchen, leaving me to shut the door and find my own seat. Mackenzie returned in minutes with plates laden with spaghetti and breadsticks.
Reaching across the table, I nestled Mackenzie’s soft, moist hands securely into mine, I prayed and blessed our food, then added, “Lord, do something special for Your people tonight at church. Amen.”
When I looked up, Mackenzie replied, “He will,” before seizing her first bite. It didn’t take long before we had scraped our plates.
I checked my watch. Although it was five-thirty, it felt more like eighty-three. Mackenzie and I were tired. For the past three nights, our bodies had labored double-duty, attending church service in the evenings and being sleep deprived the next day at work.
With a stack of papers awaiting me on the table, I felt like a substitute teacher without the pay. I agreed to help Mackenzie check her students’ homework so that we could go every night.
The revival, aka Holy Ghost Explosion, was the buzz around St. Louis. Mackenzie informed me that some people had attended last year and witnessed a powerful Spiritual stirring. People were healed one night and doctors verified it the next day. Addicts were delivered of drugs and alcohol. It was like Bible mania.
Latecomers were directed to the cramped quarters of the balcony. The sanctuary wasn’t mega-church spacious, so it didn’t take long for every seat to be claimed. Evangelist Sara Langham, nicknamed Sister Dynamite, preached until the Holy Ghost released her.
People worshipped God. The young and some of the older people danced in the Spirit with uncommon energy.
I couldn’t wait for tonight’s service. As I reached for a red marker, Mackenzie stopped me. “I really do appreciate you. You didn’t have to offer to help me grade these papers so I could attend, but...” She paused. “Please be careful tonight. These are final tests to determine if the students will pass to the next grade.”
“Yes, teacher,” I said, smirking.
“You’re the sweetest, sexiest, and most wonderful man I’ve ever met.”
If I was eight years old, I would’ve blushed. Instead, I released the cocky man inside of me. “I like the sweet and saved part, but I’m especially feeling the sexy. I squinted. You’re buttering me up for something.”
“I am because you made a mistake on a student’s paper for two nights in a row.”
I lowered my head and started to check off the answers. Without making eye contact, I owned up. “It wasn’t a mistake. Moses should’ve put periods behind his whole numbers.”
Mackenzie tapped her pen on the paper in front of me to get my attention. “How did you know I was talking about Moses?”
Gritting my teeth, I shrugged. “Lucky guess?”
Her eyes told me she wasn’t buying it.
An hour later, after Mackenzie had made numerous mistakes herself, she called it quits. “That’s enough. I’m too excited to concentrate. Let me freshen up and I’ll be ready for my free ride to church.”
I balled up a used napkin and threw it at her back, but she had already made her escape. Mackenzie’s excitement continued to build on the ride to church. Each stoplight was an opportunity for her to spill another thought. After six lights, I turned to her, waiting for her next comment.
“Noel, tonight could be our night—your night. The evangelist said God is going to work miracles that many will talk about for generations to come. I remember the anointing she was under when the
words were spoken, and I believe it.”
Smiling, I turned and focused on the road as the light changed. When the next light caught me, I placed my elbow on the steering wheel and glanced at her. “Well?”
“Well what?” She wrinkled her nose and her eyes widened with excitement. “I believe you’re going to get healed tonight.”
My heart skipped a beat. “Sweetheart, I feel fine. Did God tell you I’m sick?” The light change before Mackenzie could answer. Driving under the speed limit and hoping for a red light so that she could explain, it was just my luck that the lights were now synchronized. The suspense was getting the best of me so I pulled into a McDonald’s restaurant lot.
Mackenzie tilted her head. “I know you’re not hungry. We just stuffed ourselves with all that pasta.”
Turning off the ignition, I twisted in my seat to face her. I didn’t misinterpret her lips or hands. “Okay, baby, talk to me. What sickness?”
“I’m talking about your hearing, Noel.”
I stared at her until realization hit. “Baby, I have to be sick be healed. I’m not sick, I’m deaf.”
“What are you saying? You don’t believe God can heal you—I mean restore your hearing?” She swallowed and her chest fell in a frustrated exhale. Mackenzie looked away before turning back. “Maybe that’s why you haven’t gotten healed all these years.” She slapped a hand over her mouth and then signed, “Sorry. I didn’t mean to say that.”
But you thought it, I wanted to reply, but I held my peace while my heart stopped. Is this what she was secretly hoping and praying?
An argument was simmering, and like a wildfire I had no problem in striking a match. This wasn’t one of our regular tit-for-tat disagreements. “Mackenzie, I love you, but you’re crossing the line,” I spoke and signed.
My nostrils flared as I squinted. “Miss Norton, you know the scripture, ‘Faith comes by hearing and hearing by the word of God,’ He hasn’t spoken healing to me yet!”
