Latter Rain

by Vanessa Miller

  Latter Rain

  Vanessa Miller

  www.urbanchristianonline.net

  All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Also by Vanessa Miller

  Acknowledgments

  Dedication

  Prologue

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  Part Two

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  29

  30

  31

  32

  33

  34

  35

  36

  37

  38

  39

  40

  Epilogue

  A Note to Readers

  RAIN STORM

  About the Author

  Latter Rain

  UC HIS GLORY BOOK CLUB!

  What We Believe

  Copyright Page

  Also by Vanessa Miller

  Former Rain

  Abundant Rain

  Rain Storm

  Through The Storm

  Acknowledgments

  My daughter, Erin, is one of my biggest supporters. I am so grateful for her love and support. My family and friends have helped spread the word about the Rain Series, and I want to thank them for that. But most of all, I have to thank my mother. Mrs. Patricia Harding is my road buddy. We’ve traveled through hurricanes and tropical storms. We’ve had a car battery die on us in Nashville and in Indianapolis. We almost drove into oncoming highway traffic one sleepy night en route home from New Orleans. I couldn’t have made it without you, Mom. So, are you ready to get on the road again?

  I would like to thank my pastor, Paul Mitchell, for preaching those radical messages that I keep writing about in my novels. To my reviewers: Seana Reeves, Lucinda Greene, Marva Williams, Kelly Adams, Carla Green and Jacquelin Thomas, thanks for your kind words and feedback. My readers will be grateful for your diligence.

  My editor, Joylynn Jossel and the whole crew at Urban Books/Kensington who do an awesome job with editing my books and designing my book covers. They make it so much easier for me to get out there and promote my books once they’ve been printed, and I just wanted to say that I appreciate it. I’d also like to send a shout-out to my friend and publicist, Rhonda Bogan, and my agent, Natasha Kern. A special thanks to you all.

  Numerous book clubs hosted meetings and invited me to their meetings; I had tons of fun. I’m looking forward to reviewing Latter Rain with you also. In other words, invite me over. Come on, I don’t eat that much.

  Seriously though, I am so grateful to the thousands of people who pick up my books and read them from cover to cover. I truly hope the books did not just entertain you. My prayer is that you have been inspired to live a better life in Christ. For what could be better than to live in the midst of God’s perfect will for your life?

  The book is dedicated to my five beautiful nieces. Their names are listed here in alphabetical order:

  Derricka, Diamond, Jonae ,

  Kivonna and Taijah

  May you know the peace that only a life lived for Christ can bring, in Jesusname, I pray this prayer for all of you.

  Prologue

  Isaac lay on his cot rubbing his chin. This was his final wake up. His last morning as a federally mandated, underpaid license plate maker. Most would have been elated. But Isaac needed time to think. Time to put together what his new life outside of prison would look like. So, as the morning bell shook the prison walls, and hundreds of men stood to be loosed from the cells that held them bound, Isaac continued to rub his chin and ponder. He stretched his well-toned chocolate body and exhaled. Isaac was in an uncomfortable place. He’d given his life to Jesus and meant every word of his declaration. But did he really have what it took to live for the Lord outside the confines of prison?

  Two things Isaac wanted—no needed—more than the air he breathed were to walk upright before the One who claimed his soul, and to be forgiven by the one who had claimed his heart oh so many years ago. Sweet Nina Lewis, his baby’s mama. He thought he was strong, until she taught him how to withstand the storms of life. Thought he had all the answers, until she taught him how to bow his knee, and wait on God to bring the answer.

  The bell stopped ringing and his cell unlocked. In about an hour, he would be released. Time for him to teach Miss Nina Lewis a few things. Isaac made up his cot, and then got on his knees. Most of the inmates joked about Isaac’s morning routine. But Isaac could find nothing routine about his relationship with Jesus.

  “Oh, Father, here I am, the one you cleansed. Thank you for being so faithful. Thank you for loving me in spite of all the things I’ve done. You’re great and mighty, Lord. Help me to walk upright before you—you are a holy God. And you require your servants to be holy. May my life bring you glory. May I never grieve the Holy Spirit you have placed in me.”

  For some odd reason, he looked at his hands. Hands that had caused mass destruction. Hands that had destroyed not-so-innocent lives. “This is my pledge to you, Lord. I will never use these hands to destroy your people again. In Jesus name I pray. Amen.”

  After communing with his Savior, Isaac walked through the morning mechanically. Didn’t even notice the plaster falling from the walls, or the scratchy soap as he showered and shaved. He said his final good-byes without catching a whiff of the mixture of urine, humidity and sweat that clung to the air.

  “You keep walking with Jesus,” Pete, his old cellmate, told him.

  T-bone strutted over to him. “Don’t worry about the prison ministry. I’m in this joint for another year, at least. I’ll hold it together.”

  Isaac picked up the Bible and an assortment of workbook material the chaplain had given him and handed it to T-bone. “You’ll need this stuff.”

  He walked away. No looking back, no regrets. He’d served his time and did God’s will while in prison. Time for a new chapter. He’d received letters from countless preachers over the last year. Many had heard about the revival going on in this place.

  Isaac was grateful for all that God allowed him to do while in prison. But right now, his son, Donavan, and Nina were on his mind. He wasn’t sure if Nina could let go of the past and accept him back into her life. But he would do anything to make that happen. He tried to convince her that he was different every time she brought his son for a visit. But Nina made it clear that she wasn’t interested, and was only there to provide Donavan a ride home.

  He picked up his two hundred dollar check for five years of service. Isaac owed a lot of back child support. How was he supposed to pay what he owed with two hundred dollars? His hand tightened around the check. He wanted to ball it up and throw it in the guard’s smug face, but that would go against his pledge to God. The prison doors opened. He felt like Mel Gibson in Braveheart, screaming FREEDOM!

  He put the check in his pocket and walked out. Walking up the street toward the pick-up zone, the brisk March wind swirled around him. He zipped his jacket and stuffed his hands in his pockets, all the while hoping that Keith, his best friend for more than two decades would not be late. Entering the pick-up zone, Isaac spotted a broken down Ford Taurus, a red Lincoln Navigator with spinners and a black and gray Cadillac Seville. Keith was in none of them. The guy in the Navigator got out and
headed over to him.

  His smile showed off his gold plated mouth. His jeweled hands seemed out of place with his baggy Nike jogging suit.

  “Isaac, my man. How’s it going?” He offered his hand. “I’ve been out here over an hour waiting on you to pop that spot.”

  Isaac glanced at the outstretched hand, then sucked his teeth while sizing up the hustler in front of him.

  The hustler conceded. He put his hand down, rubbing it on the side of his pants. “You don’t remember me? I’m Mickey.” He put his hands in the air, indicating someone about chest level to where he now stood. “Remember little Mickey Jones? I worked for you on Williams Street.”

  Mickey had gotten taller. At six feet, he now stood eye to eye with Isaac. Isaac remembered him, but with recognition came a flood of memories. The Williams Street turf war was the source of Isaac’s nightmares. The whole thing was wicked from the start. Isaac had been losing money on Williams Street. A quick investigation told him that a hustler named Ray-Ray had moved in on his turf. By the time the episode was over, Isaac had been shot, Valerie, one of his girls, and Ray-Ray were dead. The only good memory he had of that night was of Nina birthing his son.

  “Yeah, Mickey, I remember you.” They did the Black man’s handshake. Isaac’s head nodded in the direction of the Navigator. “I see you’ve come up in the world.”

  His gold teeth glistened as he smiled. “Well, you know, I couldn’t be a runner forever. You taught me better than that.”

  “You can’t stay in the game forever, Mickey. The game gets played out, one way or another.”

  Mickey shook his head. “Nobody ran them streets like you did. You ain’t played out, Isaac. That’s why I came to get you.”

  A silver Mercedes pulled up next to the Navigator.

  Mickey continued. “I already got you a house.” He handed Isaac the keys to the Navigator. “I bought it for you. You don’t have to worry about a thing. Me and you, Isaac. We will own the city of Dayton.”

  Isaac looked at the keys and studied the jewels on Mickey’s hands. “Looks like you already own Dayton.”

  Mickey lit up the friendly skies with his smile again. “Man, there’s room enough for both of us. I started in this business because of you.”

  Isaac flinched. Life would be so sweet if only he didn’t have to think about how many dead men walking he had started in this business.

  A suit stepped out of the Mercedes. Armani down to his shoes, with a Sunday-go-to-meeting hat on his self-assured head. He trotted his well-to-do self in Isaac’s direction.

  “Isaac Walker?”

  Isaac turned toward Mr. Well-to-do, wondering if he was getting ready to be gifted with a Mercedes next. Isaac didn’t know how much of this he could take.

  “That’s me,” Isaac said and the man extended his hand.

  Isaac glanced at it, but his hands still felt like resting at his side. There was something about shaking a man’s hand. Isaac didn’t take it lightly. Shaking a man’s hand connected you with him. It said, “I agree with you.” And Isaac wasn’t agreeable all the time.

  “I’m Bishop William Sumler. Your friend, Keith, asked me to come and pick you up.”

  Isaac shook his head. He had to work on his trust issues. He took Bishop Sumler’s hand and shook it gladly. “I thought Keith was picking me up.”

  “He had some car trouble. I told him that I wanted to meet you in person anyway. So I made the trip for him.”

  Mickey got fidgety. Started looking around. “Look, Isaac, can we get going? I really don’t want to hang around this place any longer than necessary.”

  Bishop Sumler eyed Mickey as he moved a little closer to Isaac. “Is this young man a friend of yours?”

  “Yeah,” Isaac told him. “Me and Mickey go way back. As a matter of fact,” Isaac lifted the keys in his hand, “Mickey just brought me a car to roll out of here in.”

  Bishop Sumler’s high yellow cheeks reddened. “So you don’t need a ride?”

  “That’s not what I said.” Isaac plopped the keys back in Mickey’s hand and told him, “Thanks for the offer. But I’m a new man now. I can’t go back to life as usual.”

  Bishop Sumler put a possessive hand on Isaac’s shoulder. “God is pleased with you. Just keep looking to Him for answers.”

  “That’s what I intend to do.” Isaac smiled at Mickey. “Thanks for looking out for me. I’ll catch up with you another time—shoot the breeze or something.

  Mickey backed away. “All right, man. But if you change your mind, you know where to find me.”

  “Didn’t I always?

  Mickey gave a small, nervous laugh. “Yeah, I guess you did.” He opened the door to his Navigator. “Well, keep holding it down. I’ll see you on the other side.”

  “I sure hope so,” Isaac said, even though he knew they were thinking of two different sides. Mickey wanted to see Isaac back on the gang-banging drug dealing side. While the side Isaac hoped to see Mickey on had pearly gates and streets of gold.

  “You ready?” Bishop Sumler asked.

  Isaac hesitated for a moment. Something in Mickey’s eyes, in his nervous laughter, made Isaac uneasy. He wanted to catch up with him and tell him about life after the game. Let him know that there is a man named Jesus who could change his whole world in the blink of an eye. But he let it go. “Yeah, let’s get out of here. I’m ready for something new.”

  1

  Five years later

  Nine long hours on the road had beaten him down. All Isaac wanted to do was grab hold of his pillow and power nap himself into the land of the unconscious. Opening the door to his two-bedroom roach motel never felt better. Actually, he didn’t have roaches, but Isaac expected them any day now. Oh, how the mighty have fallen. If anyone had told him that accepting Jesus meant giving up everything and starting from scratch, he would have rebuked that devil. But here he was, suffering for Jesus.

  Three steps into his apartment the floorboard creaked. Another five steps, creak. Two more steps, creak, creak. His slumlord promised to fix that months ago. Isaac pulled at his tie as he shook his head. “You can’t trust nobody but Jesus.”

  Isaac set his mind to endure the lean years. He knew that once he was pastor of his own church, things would get better. Bishop Sumler had promised him that. So he’d moved to Chicago to work in the ministry at Bishop Sumler’s church after getting out of prison. He’d been going from town to town with Bishop, learning the ropes of evangelism ever since.

  On the road, he was king. Traveling with Bishop Sumler gave him privileges a young struggling preacher wouldn’t have normally had. Bishop Sumler wasn’t a Motel 6 kind of man. When a congregation put him up for the night, they had to dig deep in their pockets. And if meals were included, even Isaac, the armor bearer, had steak that night.

  Unbuttoning his good as new, but-still-used-tobe-somebody-else’s, Italian knit shirt, he stepped into his bedroom and flicked on the lights. He’d asked Cassandra to check on his apartment while he was away, to make sure the TV and DVD player stayed where he’d left them, and to water the one lonely plant that had bothered to stay alive in this dump. But he did not ask her to warm his bed.

  “Cassandra!”

  She jumped. The cover fell off her body as she stretched and yawned. “What took you so long?”

  Had he given a nutcase the keys to his apartment? Something had to be wrong with her. She was in his bed, acting as if this was where she belonged. Talking ’bout, “What took you so long?” like they had been married for ten years and had five kids already.

  “Um, Cassandra, can you tell me why you slept over?”

  She wiped the sleep buggers from her big brown eyes, then looked at him as if to say, you know-what’s-up. “I’ve been waiting for you, baby. Now, I know you’re tired.” She pulled the cover back as she scooted over.

  His eyes feasted on her black silk, low cut negligee.

  “Climb on in, baby. I warmed that spot just for you.”

  His mouth opened.
No words escaped, but a little drool did swim down his chin. Wiping his unsanctified mouth and turning toward his bathroom, he told her, “I’ll be right back.”

  He buttoned his shirt as he stepped into the bathroom. Looking to heaven he asked, “Lord, why have you allowed this? How much temptation does one man have to endure?” He fell to his knees, elbows touching the toilet seat lid, hands entwined, head bowed. “Oh God, my Lord and my King, You know that I am just a man. I can’t handle this kind of temptation, yet it keeps coming my way.

  “You know me, Lord. I want to go out there, toss Cassandra up and repent later.” He waited a minute to hear what God would say to that. No answer came, but Isaac knew. He was born to do God’s will, even when it conflicted with his own.

  He stood, shook off the old man and slowly opened the door. He hated feeling like a peeping Tom in his own house. But there he was, door cocked open, peering out at the woman sprawled across his bed. Lying on her stomach, the roundness of her backside was in full view. He closed the bathroom door like a punk and fell back on his knees. “I can’t do this, Lord. How can you allow me to suffer like this?”

  Isaac closed his eyes as his mind turned to Jesus, bruised and beaten, hanging on a cross for the sins of the world. “I am not worthy to suffer with you.” He hung his head low. “But if you could endure death by crucifixion, surely I can crucify my body.”

  This time when he stood, his old nature was truly under subjection. He opened the bathroom door with boldness. “Cassandra, you’ve got to go.”

  Cassandra jumped as Isaac’s words vibrated off the bedroom walls. “Wha ... what’s wrong?” She giggled nervously. “It’s still dark out, Isaac. I can’t go now.”

  Isaac grabbed her ankle length skirt and turtleneck off the dresser and threw them at her. “Get your clothes on, you have got to go.” She opened her mouth to protest. “I’m not throwing out jokes, Cassandra. But I will throw you out, if you’re not dressed and gone in two minutes.”