I agree that Lady Sandy’s actions were a little strange, but I think she’s just eccentric, and she doesn’t mean anything by it.
After listening to several well-known gospel artists sing praise and worship songs, I hear my biography being read and see my promotional picture flash across the big screen. I’ve been praying this entire time, and I don’t feel the same presence Lady Sandy says she felt. There’s a certain tickle that I feel on the inside when the gift is about to kick in, and I don’t feel it. But it’s not like I can back out, so I follow the conference volunteer to the stage entrance.
As I walk out, Lady Sandy extends her hand to me in a welcoming gesture. She smiles at me, and I try to smile back, but I’m so nervous that I know there’s more of a grimace on my face.
“I can’t wait for you all to hear God speak through this amazing woman. I knew she was anointed when she spoke a word over my life that could only have come from the throne of grace. I want everyone to point one hand toward this podium and say ‘Rhema word’!”
My breath catches in my throat as I take the microphone from Lady Sandy’s hand. She said rhema—a Greek word that means “revealed Word of God.” The deepy-deep church people only think of it as some sort of prophetic utterance. And that is what they expect from me today.
I clear my throat, and launch into my message. “Do you ever . . . sometimes want to ask God . . . why He’s taking His sweet time with your breakthrough?”
As soon as I ask the question, I get the response I knew would come. The loud roar of thousands of cries of agreement rocks the auditorium. For a moment, I am sad. So many hurting souls out there, with so many issues.
I continue my sermon and share the verses that spoke into my spirit, hoping that the women find comfort in what comforted me. I feel like I’m part preacher and part motivational speaker, with phrases like “don’t give up” and “you can make it” sandwiched between scripture expositions.
As I near the thirty-minute mark, women start to leave their seats and make their way to the altar. They’ve had enough of the appetizer, now they want the main course—the prophecies that will tell them their husband is coming (or coming back), their son is going to get off drugs, their daughter is going to come down from the stripper pole, they will make thousands of dollars selling homemade jewelry or body shapers. They want the prophecy and the promise.
I feel my heart rate increase as sweat saturates my brow. My hand trembles on the microphone and I grip it harder.
Then it happens. I feel the tickle in my midsection. God is going to give me a vision for this group of women, and I won’t get laughed out of here.
“Wait a minute, y’all. Yes, Holy Spirit. I’m listening.” I hold up one hand to hush the crowd while I try to concentrate on being a receiver.
I close my eyes and wait for God to flood me with images of the women in the auditorium—nuggets of what their lives have been, are now, and what they’ll be in the future. Instead, I’m flooded with images of myself. They fly by so quickly that I can barely make them out. I see myself wearing expensive clothes. I see myself running down the street barefoot. I see myself crying in a room that I’ve never seen before.
None of this has anything to do with these women.
When I open my eyes, a woman in all black is walking up the stairs to the stage. Security rushes in from both sides to subdue her, but when they do, she simply falls to her knees and cries out. She stretches her hand toward me.
“Pleeeeease!” she says.
The young woman is overweight by maybe thirty or forty pounds, but it looks like the dress she’s wearing is a holdover from when she was thinner. It pulls tightly over her rolls, and the buttons down the front strain to keep the dress closed. She’s wearing a long wig, and her face is pretty and a little plump.
I motion for the security to back off, and I walk over to the young woman with the microphone still in my hand.
Everyone is waiting for me to say something profound. A spiritually deep utterance. They want me to speak life into her situation, but all I can see is that broken version of myself from my vision.
I know the visions are true and from God. Rarely do I get them about my own life, and when I have in the past, they’ve only been confirmation of promises. This feels like another warning.
Then, one of the ministers in front of the church walks up to the young woman and places her hand on the woman’s back. The minister looks up at me and points to the sky.
“Speak, Lord!” she says loudly.
Then the rest of the ministers join her, almost chanting.
“Speak, Lord. Speak, Lord. Speak, Lord. Speak, LORD! SPEAK, LORD!”
I glance back at Lady Sandy, who has both of her hands raised to the heavens. Only moments have passed, but it seems like time has ground to a halt.
I take a few more steps toward the girl and she wails louder. I don’t need God to show me that she’s at her rock bottom.
I lean in close and take her hand. “You’re going through the most difficult pain of your life, my sister,” I say, stating the obvious.
I send up a silent prayer. Lord, give me something for her! Just one thing!
“Help, Holy Ghost!” I say into the microphone, echoing my internal prayer.
As the girl continues to cry out, I make a humming sound in the microphone, as though I’m waiting for an answer—on hold from the Lord, if you will.
A hush comes over the sanctuary. It’s so quiet you could hear a fly land on a raindrop. It’s quiet enough to hear God whisper.
But He is silent.
I look down at the girl, out at the audience, and back at Lady Sandy. Silently, I repent for what I’m about to do.
“I am seeing you beneath a waterfall,” I say, “the blessings of God pouring over you like rain. You’ve been waiting for a long time. You’ve cried. You’ve been lonely—you’re still lonely, but God has not forgotten you. He says this dry season has neared its end and your rainy season is coming. Rain that causes everything in your life to spring forth and flourish. Purpose. Relationships. Vison and destiny! Get ready for it, honey. God says your blessing is coming, and it’s going to be sudden! A suddenly blessing!”
The girl is on her feet now and the crowd is in an uproar. Many women are shouting and dancing, including Lady Sandy, who is cutting a rug right on the stage.
I feel the excitement too. Energy beyond belief surges through my body. I even feel powerful.
“Suddenly!” I shout into the microphone, almost shocking myself with the growl in my voice.
Every time I say the word “suddenly,” more women fall out onto the floor. Nurses are throwing down sheets left and right.
Spent, I walk up to Lady Sandy and give her the microphone. I can’t say another word, because I am completely and totally wiped out.
The young woman is being escorted out of the sanctuary, and she’s praising God the entire way. Praising and crying. I hope that things turn around for her.
Because I’ve got a feeling things are about to turn around for me.
CHAPTER 2
NYA
“Honey, what do you think about this?”
I walk over to Greg’s desk in his study and hand him my phone so that he can look at the e-mail I just received. As he reads, he slowly strokes his jet-black goatee. I love the way his facial hair looks against his smooth, dark chocolate skin, but when he strokes that goatee it usually means he’s pondering. And not in a good way.
The e-mail says that Lady Sandy wants to sponsor a ten-city tour for me with “Suddenly Blessing” as the theme. She wants to send me to her sister churches all over the country, and I would get to keep half of all the love offerings raised at the churches.
Greg hands my phone back and exhales deeply. I know that sound. This is definitely not good.
“This doesn’t really sound like the vision we have for our ministry. Suddenly blessing?” he says. “We’ve always focused on repentance, reconciliation, and relationship.”
“I know, I know. But you were watching the streaming broadcast. You saw how the women reacted.”
“Church folk always get in a tizzy about a blessing. We know that. We could’ve been a five-thousand-member church by now if we’d gone that route.”
“So are you saying you don’t want me to do it?”
“I’m saying that you need to pray about the message you’re putting out there.”
“There’s nothing wrong with meeting people where they are. If we hook them with the suddenly blessing message, we then have the opportunity to reach them with repentance, reconciliation, and relationship.”
“The other thing is . . . we’re a ministry team. Is she sending us on this tour or is she sending you?”
Really, Greg? I know he didn’t sit up here giving that spiel about our ministry’s purpose just because he’s hurt that he’s not being invited along for this particular ride. It’s not like we’re going to preach together every single time.
“She’s making it an extension of her Women’s Empowerment conference, but I’m sure she wouldn’t mind you traveling with me. Do you want me to ask for plane tickets for you too?”
Greg scratches his goatee again. Not a good sign. Then he shakes his head.
“If you’re going to do this, somebody has to stay behind and take care of our church. We can’t both abandon our congregation.”
“Abandoning our church? I am not abandoning our church. Don’t you see how this is an opportunity for us to grow?”
“It definitely could be an opportunity, but it sounds like you already made up your mind.”
“No. I really haven’t. But my reasons are different from your reasons.”
“How so?”
I haven’t told Greg that my prophecy wasn’t authentic and that I should be nominated for an Academy Award for my performance. I don’t think I want to tell him either. He’s sitting here acting really judgmental regarding this whole thing. I already asked God to forgive me, and maybe this opportunity proves that He has forgiven me. I won’t ever have to fake a prophetic word again. I can just preach and prophesy if God tells me to. It’s a perfect solution.
“I just don’t know if I’m ready for this,” I reply. “Lady Sandy and her friends are on another level. I don’t even have the wardrobe for this.”
“Well, that is a real concern. Maybe you can ask God to suddenly bless you with some designer clothes and fancy shoes.” Greg lets out a guffaw like this is the funniest thing in the history of funny things.
“You got jokes, I see.”
“I said SUDDENLY!” Greg imitates my message and the little growly tone that I used. I can’t help but laugh. He sounds hilarious.
“I didn’t sound like that.”
Greg laughs harder. “Yes, you did! I thought you were about to wave your hand and slay everybody in the Spirit.”
I take a peppermint candy from Greg’s desk and throw it at him. “Shut up!”
“No, but seriously, if you want to do this, you know that I’m behind you. Just don’t get caught up to the point that we miss what we know God called us to do. You’re the one who had the vision, right? Both of us preaching to thousands.”
“I did, and it’s going to come to pass.”
“I know. It sounds like Lady Sandy trying to start an all-girl crew.”
The sparkle in Greg’s eyes as he jokes with me makes me fall in love with him all over again. Every time he laughs, I remember the first time we met. It was in the chapel at our college. He had led the Bible study for the week, and he was so eloquent and passionate in his speaking. He was on fire for Jesus, and so was I.
When we started seeing each other, a different kind of fire was lit. So, in our senior year we decided to marry instead of burn (with lust . . . or in hell, as the church mothers liked to remind me). It was the best decision I ever made.
And yes, my man still gets me hot. I thank God for that too.
“She is not trying to start an all-girl crew, but I think she is very big on women in ministry. She comes from a denomination that never let women speak.”
“But she doesn’t preach though. I find that strange. She puts on these conferences for women preaching, but she doesn’t say anything herself,” Greg says. “Do you think Bishop Bowens doesn’t let her?”
This has never occurred to me, but it could be true. “Maybe she’s not called to preach. If she isn’t I appreciate the fact that she doesn’t do it just because people say she should.”
“I guess I don’t want to travel with you,” Greg says, “although it seems like it’ll be exciting. Our church needs at least one of us on Sunday and for Bible study. We’re still in growing mode.”
“This will only help us get more publicity. It’s almost like an advertising campaign.”
Greg frowns. “The commercialism of the modern black church. Hate it.”
“Ministry isn’t cheap, babe.”
“That’s because we have to have our conferences in auditoriums and arenas. We need to do like Jesus and find a good hilltop and just preach to whoever wants to listen.”
“And then feed them from five loaves and two fish?”
“Nah, we gonna need more fish than that. Especially if we talking catfish.”
I crack up. “And coleslaw too. Maybe some fries.”
“See, this is where it all starts. This how stuff gets expensive. Why can’t they just have the fish and the bread?”
“As long as they have sweet tea to wash it down with, it might be enough.”
Greg chuckles. “I bet they’re not gonna have catfish sandwiches on your Suddenly Blessing tour. That might take away from the bottom line.”
“Greg . . .”
“No, let me stop, ’cause I got you, Nya. You want to do this and I’m not going to hold you back. Just be careful with this crew is all I’m saying.”
“I will. Thank you for not standing in the way, because you know I’d stop if you asked me. I wouldn’t do it without your support.”
Greg smiles and places a soft kiss on my lips. “I will always support you, babe. I got you, and you got me. Right?”
I know Greg always has my back regardless, and that even though he’s not too keen on this idea, he’s not going to stand in my way. And I’ve got a feeling in my spirit that it’s going to be good for us, even if it doesn’t look that way to Greg right now.
The beauty of all this is that my man has got me. Like I said, I fall in love with him over and over again. I’d marry him a million times.
CHAPTER 3
FELICIA
I want to shout right now.
I knew God would bless me if I pressed my way to the Women’s Empowerment conference. When I saw it advertised online, it felt like Lady Sandy was reaching her hand out to me through the computer monitor, like it was a personal invitation. I just knew I couldn’t miss it.
Even though I had to use my unemployment check to book my flight from Atlanta, it was imperative that I be in attendance. And although I had to stay in a trucker’s motel with dingy sheets and probably bedbugs too, I just had to be there. Something told me God was going to show up and He did. He’s not far from the ones searching for Him.
I almost didn’t get up from my seat when that evangelist started preaching. Nya Hampstead. I didn’t come to the conference for her. I came for a touch from Lady Sandy, but I could tell Pastor Hampstead is anointed too. Just the fact that Lady Sandy invited her was enough for me.
Then she looked directly at me, so I knew it was time to move from my seat.
I knew it was time for me to get up, but I didn’t want to, because of the most superficial thing. My clothes were too tight. I hadn’t realized how much weight I’d gained while I was sitting at home on unemployment, until I tried to put on the clothes I brought with me to the conference. I didn’t have time or money to buy anything else, so I wore the clothes. I could almost feel my back fat ripple as I made my way down to the altar. I couldn’t miss out on God because I’d been
eating crazy.
When Pastor Hampstead looked at me, there wasn’t any judgment or pity on her face. She’s a prophetess, so I know she could see all the stuff I’ve done in my life. I know she saw some things that I’m not proud about doing. Some men I’m not proud about claiming.
She didn’t do or say anything to make me feel bad about the men I’ve been with. She was so much like Jesus.
She didn’t prophesy for anyone except me, which makes it even more incredible. God chose to move the atmosphere for me and only me. And this e-mail I just received, offering me a job as a grant coordinator for the Atlanta Crows, is confirmation of it all.
I’ve been unemployed for a year, and then three weeks after the conference, out of the blue, a recruiter sets up an interview for me? Yeah, God!
When I went on the interview, I still wasn’t convinced that this was the blessing Pastor Nya had prophesied for me. I’ve got to work on my faith walk so I can be ready to move when God says move.
God could’ve just blessed me with any job. I would’ve been grateful at this point to be a bank teller, or a call center operator. At this point, I just needed something to pay my bills and keep a roof over my head. But I just got a job offer from the NBA. When God wants to open a door, He just shows out with it. That’s how you know to give Him all the glory, praise, and honor for it.
I have to get myself together and lose these thirty pounds so that I don’t look like a stuffed sausage in my business suits. I haven’t had to wear them in a while. Being unemployed only required me to wear sweat suits. But you better believe I’m walking into that building looking like I’ve got a lot of zeroes in my bank account.
I told them that I can start in three weeks. So if I do protein shakes for all of my meals and drink lots of water every day, I should be able to lose fourteen pounds by the time I start work. I’ve got to look good on my first day. First impressions are everything with the professional athletes and millionaires that I’ll be seeing every day.
Speaking of athletes and millionaires, Pastor Nya said my relationships were going to be blessed too! God knows I want a husband almost as much as I wanted a job. Okay, maybe I want a husband more, but I won’t say that out loud. He hears me in the spirit realm anyway.
The Pastor's Husband Page 2
