The men I’ve had in my life in the past have been nothing but users and abusers. I know God has more for me in that area too. I just haven’t trusted in Him the way I’ve needed to when it comes to men.
My last boyfriend was one of the associate ministers at my old church. He wasn’t married, but he was engaged to a woman in another state. I didn’t find out about her until he brought her to the church and introduced her as his new bride. I wasn’t the only woman in the church wounded behind that one either. There was much crying and groaning about that.
It’s definitely not easy for an educated black woman to find her match, and that’s why hearing a prophetic word about relationships was an on-time message for me.
Something in my spirit tells me I need to clean house of all the relationships I’ve had in the past. I pull out my cell phone, and one by one delete every ex-boyfriend’s numbers. I chuckle at some of the entries in my address book. James, the associate minister, is in my phone as Big Fat Liar. Carl, my high school sweetheart, is saved as Demon. Graham, my college lover, is in the address book as Don’t You Dare Answer.
I feel a little bit of freedom with each deletion. Every time I press that button, it takes me one step closer to my destiny. I’m ready for greatness. I’m ready for my suddenly blessing.
CHAPTER 4
NYA
“That woman pressed her way through the crowd because she knew Jesus was present.”
Greg grips the sides of the podium as sweat pours from his forehead. He doesn’t need a microphone. The acoustics in our small sanctuary are good enough for his voice to carry to the very last pew.
“She knew the solution to all her problems was right there, within her grasp. All she had to do was stretch herself. She had to push through the hordes of folk. Get them out of her way,” Greg says. “Don’t you know that sometimes the only thing standing between you and your blessing is people?”
I rock back and forth in my seat, because I feel that familiar tingle. Someone here needs a word from the Lord, and He’s about to whisper that word into my spirit.
I really and truly believe that if everyone took time out to seek God and listen for His voice, there would be no need for prophets and prophetesses. We’d be unnecessary. I think God wants this. He wants to speak to us one-on-one.
I bite my bottom lip and close my eyes.
A young teenage girl, maybe fifteen, sits on the side of her bed, crying. She holds a pregnancy test in her hands. The positive marking is there. She looks down at the damning piece of plastic and sobs into her hands.
Time speeds forward. The girl sits in an abortion clinic. She looks at the pamphlet and at the posters on the walls. She’s scared. Her entire body trembles in her seat.
A nurse in blue scrubs comes into the waiting room and extends her hand to the girl.
“Are you ready, Melody?”
She stands, and with tears streaming down her cheeks, she takes the nurse’s hand and touches her belly with her other.
I snap out of the vision and immediately scan the congregation. There are about two hundred fifty people here. Packed, for us. Then I spot the girl. She’s sitting in the back of the church. Her short hair is pulled into a tiny ponytail on top of her head.
Greg watches me as I stand from my seat. I give him a slight nod to let him know that God wants to reach someone in the crowd.
He keeps preaching. “When the woman touched Jesus, He felt power leave his body. What do you think that power was? That was the Holy Spirit. And immediately she was healed.”
I walk down the side of the church and as I make eye contact with the girl, she looks terrified. Maybe she thinks I’m going to embarrass her and put her business out for everyone to hear. I hold one finger up to my lips.
She seems to relax a little, but her hand feels clammy and it trembles when I reach out and pull her into the aisle.
“It’s Melody, right?”
The girl’s mouth forms a small circle. She nods.
I whisper to her. “I’m going to say some things. You just nod if it’s correct, okay?”
She nods once.
“You’re pregnant still?” I hope the answer is yes. I couldn’t tell if the vision is future or if it already happened.
She nods again. I feel a flood of relief.
“The father. Does he know?”
She breathes deeply and stares into my eyes. No nod.
“We can help you. You don’t have to take your child’s life,” I whisper in her ear.
She begins to cry.
“Are you safe at home?” I ask.
This time she shakes her head and more tears pour down her face. The woman sitting next to the girl stands.
“What are you saying to my daughter?” she asks.
I bite my lip as it suddenly becomes clear to me. The father is her mother’s man. Not the husband, and not the teenager’s father. Oh Jesus, help me.
“Your daughter is severely depressed. I’d like to help her get counseling, if that’s okay.”
Greg pauses in the message, I guess waiting to see if I have anything to say. I give him the signal to continue. Still holding the girl’s hand, I walk her down to the altar and ask a few of our ministers to pray for her.
I take the microphone from Greg’s extended hand. “I need everyone in this congregation to pray for this baby right now. She is going through some things some of y’all wouldn’t be able to handle. She needs the prayers of the righteous.”
Greg starts to sing a worship hymn. “ ‘Reign, Jesus reign. Reign, Jesus reign. You’re the king of Zion, Judah’s lion. Reign, Jesus reign.’ ”
He repeats the song as members of the praise team sing from their seats.
“That’s right on time, Pastor. Jesus, reign supreme in this baby’s life. You are in control of her situation. Of every situation. Reign, Jesus!”
I am overwhelmed for a moment as Melody falls to her knees at the altar. The acoustics carry the sounds of her cries through the entire sanctuary. I wave my hand to signal Greg to continue singing.
The worship atmosphere is so high, and I am so glad the Holy Spirit is here. Because, so help me, Jesus, my flesh wants to walk to the back of the church and have me pull every strand of weave out of that woman’s head, then beat her to a bloody pulp.
She knows. She knows her man is abusing her child. And she’s letting it happen.
This is the kind of prophecy that no one wants. It drains me to see it, but at least I don’t have to live it. But, praise God, we’re getting that baby out of that situation.
This is what my gift is for. Redemption. Reconciliation. Relationship. Nobody wants to tour the country on that platform. It’s not shiny enough. Not blessed enough. Not sexy enough.
I remind myself, as Greg continues to sing with the praise team, that we’re just meeting the people where they are. Start with the blessing, get them to the relationship piece. I know God can do it any way he wants, but I’m praying that He uses me.
CHAPTER 5
FELICIA
Seventeen pounds off in three weeks, and I must say I look good. My hair is laid with a beautiful honey-blond weave, my Chanel suit fits perfectly again, and my makeup is flawless. I am too ready for my first day at work.
As I drive to the office, I listen to some of my favorite gospel songs. I blast Fred Hammond singing “ ‘Blessed in the city, Blessed in the field.’ ” I am definitely blessed beyond measure today.
The Atlanta Crows logo sits atop a highrise in downtown Atlanta. The blue and silver letters shine as the sunlight hits them. I get excited, happy that I chose my electric blue suit for the first day.
I walk into the office with a big smile on my face, and the receptionist smiles back.
“You must be Felicia Caldwell,” she says.
“I am.”
“I’m Sharon, the receptionist and office administrator. I was told to expect you. I can get you anything you need. Mr. Bailey is out this morning at a meeting, so I have the keys to yo
ur office.”
“My office?” I chuckle. “I was expecting a cubicle.”
Sharon laughs out loud. “Girl, this is the NBA. The last person in this job administered grants for five of the top players’ nonprofits.”
“Oh!”
“Yes, girl. You have to have somewhere nice to meet with the players and their grantees.”
I like Sharon’s look. She’s got big, naturally curly hair that seems to go in any direction it pleases. Her jewelry is big, chunky, and wooden, like it came from an island or the motherland. Her clothes are definitely cheap knockoffs of designer brands, but she makes them work. I can kick it with her.
“All right, then. Show me to my office.”
“My pleasure.”
When Sharon opens the door to my new office I almost pass out. Yeah, God!
The first thing I notice is the huge picture window with a picturesque view of downtown Atlanta. Then, the office furniture is the expensive kind. They didn’t buy this mahogany desk and burgundy leather sofa at Staples. It even smells like money in here.
“Girl, close your mouth before something flies in there,” Sharon says. “This is nothing! You ought to see Mr. Bailey’s office.”
Tears form in my eyes, and I quickly wipe them away. Sharon hands me a tissue.
“I’m sorry. I just got overwhelmed for a moment,” I say as I dab my eyes. “I don’t know what I did for God to bless me like this.”
“Girl, go ahead and give God glory. This job was a blessing to me too. I don’t usually share this with people when I first meet them, but I like your spirit. I have a couple of felonies, and it seemed like nobody would give me a second chance, but God used Mr. Bailey to bless my life. He’s gonna bless yours too.”
I can’t remember ever feeling this happy about a job. That evangelist Nya is definitely anointed, but she didn’t do this. God did it.
“You can get settled in,” Sharon says. “I will send for some coffee if you want.”
“Do you have chai?”
Sharon laughs again. “They have whatever you want.”
Sharon leaves and closes the door behind her. I spin around in circles and squeal. This is my office! My purpose!
I walk over to the desk and ease myself down into the soft leather office chair. I close my eyes and inhale the heavy woodsy scent. I imagine myself making moves and connections, and being invited to red carpet events, hobnobbing with Atlanta’s elite.
A soft tap on the door pulls me out of my fantasy. I sit up straight and smooth out my skirt.
“Come in,” I say.
The door opens and Lance Jarvis, one of the starting players of the Atlanta Crows, walks in. Of course he’s tall. He’s in the NBA. But his skin is so dark that it glows, and his jet-black curls are slicked back into a long ponytail. Honestly, he looks like he should be on the cover of a romance novel.
“Are you the new grant coordinator?” he asks.
I nod and stand to my feet. “Yes, I’m Felicia Caldwell.”
“I’m Lance Jarvis, and I need your help.”
I give a little flirty giggle. “I know who you are. What can I do for you?”
“There’s a Boys and Girls Club in my hometown that’s about to close and they need a grant from my organization. I told them yes, but we need to go through the process. Can you hold their hand for the paperwork?”
“Of course.”
“Good. You are a lifesaver.” He genuinely looks relieved. “I hope I didn’t disturb you.”
“No. It’s my first day, and I was thinking about how to approach everyone to let them know about my arrival. Then suddenly you appeared and you made it easy.”
Lance laughs, and I love the sound of it. “Suddenly I appeared?”
“Mm-hmm. When things like that happen, I pay attention. It usually means something.”
“Like I was destined to be the first player you met.”
“Yes, exactly!” He gets it. He completely gets it.
Lance bites his bottom lip and takes in my ample cleavage, which is benefitting today from a very snug push-up bra. He gives an approving head nod. I feel my heart flutter.
“Suddenly I want to take you for a late breakfast.”
I glance down at the jewel-encrusted band on his ring finger. He follows my eyes to his hand and twists the ring.
“Do you have a problem having breakfast with a married man?” he asks.
“Only if you’re happily married.”
“I wouldn’t say that. I wouldn’t say that at all.”
I pause for a moment. I do have a problem having breakfast with a married man, but an unhappily married man might end up divorced. Maybe his wife doesn’t appreciate him. I would.
Since he’s here, I’m going to believe he’s part of my blessing. There’s just a process to this thing, and I’m going to trust it. He’s ordained everything perfectly so far. I’m not going to question His methods.
“Why don’t we order in?”
This comes out in a sexy purr. I can’t help it. He’s looking at me with hunger in his eyes. Shoot, I’m hungry too. For more than breakfast. It’s been a long while since I’ve been fed.
“I like the way you think,” Lance says.
I feel butterflies in my stomach, because this is all coming together. Career in order? Check. Body together? Double check. Meeting the man of my dreams? I think I’m about to check this off too. Shoot, for all I know he married a groupie or his high school sweetheart. If he’s ready for an upgrade, then I am here for it.
We don’t always get who we’re destined to have on the first time around anyway. Maybe God is trying to do something in both our lives. I am definitely willing to submit myself to His will.
Yeah, God!
CHAPTER 6
NYA
The first church on our ten-city tour is Breakthrough Central, a nondenominational church in Houston, where the first lady, Cheyenne Jacoby, is Lady Sandy’s best friend. It’s a megachurch too. I wonder if being a megachurch wife is required in order to be in Lady Sandy’s circle of friends.
I don’t have to speak until tomorrow evening, at a special Sunday night service, but today I have to go to high tea at Lady Cheyenne’s house.
“What do you even wear to a high tea?” I ask Tina as I pull out different outfits.
“It’s spring, so pastel colors and a hat.”
“A hat? I don’t wear hats.”
“Well, you’re gonna have to start running with this crew. This is the big-money first lady crew.”
I roll my eyes. She sounds like Greg.
“Do you have any pearls?” Tina asks.
“Pearls? Are you kidding me? You know I don’t have any real jewelry.”
Tina laughs out loud. She goes into her bag and hands me a pretty pearl and lace necklace.
“Fake it till you make it, girlfriend.”
“Help me find something to wear in this suitcase.”
I know Tina is my “fake” stylist, but she ought to be the real deal. She reached into my pile of rags and put together a halfway decent ensemble. A white blouse, powder-blue skirt, and blue sandals.
“I still think you should get a hat,” she says. “There’s a Ross and a Marshalls five minutes from here.”
I don’t want to admit it, but I don’t have money for a hat, not even the deeply discounted ones they might have at Ross. Greg and I aren’t balling out of control like these ladies and their husbands.
“I’m not getting a hat, but maybe you can do something about my hair.”
Tina’s eyes brighten. “I know. I will give you a ballerina knot on top of your head and we can use the bracelet that goes with that necklace as head jewelry.”
I sit and let Tina do her magic. With the hairstyle, outfit, and glittery makeup, she’s got me looking like Tinkerbell or some other fairy.
“What do you think?” Tina asks as she stands next to me in front of the full-length mirror.
“I look fourteen years old on my way to my firs
t piano recital.”
“Ha!” Tina says. “Black don’t crack, baby. You do look young though.”
“I wish you were coming with me to this. What if I say something stupid?”
Tina slicks down a stray red curl. “What could you say that’s stupid? Don’t feel intimidated by those women. Shoot, you’re out of their league. Not the other way around.”
I cock my head to one side and give Tina a questioning grimace. “What do you mean by that? They’re rich, and if you hadn’t noticed, Greg and I are poor.”
“I’m talking ministry. You are light-years ahead of them. I would go to church with you and Greg as the pastors before I’d ever set foot in one of their megas.”
“I know you’re just saying that ’cause you’re my girl, and I appreciate you for it.”
Tina shakes her head. “When do I ever say anything just because we’re friends? I mean that.”
My phone lights up with a text notification. I pick it up to read the message. It’s from Lady Sandy.
“They’re downstairs waiting on me.”
“Okay, well it’s time to show and prove, mama,” Tina says. “Go impress the heck out of them. Maybe ten cities will turn into twenty.”
“Over Greg’s dead body,” I scoff. “I thought he was gonna have a coronary over the ten.”
Tina hands me a small purse out of her suitcase. “Put your stuff in here. You can’t carry that tired-looking purse you have.”
“There is nothing wrong with my Coach purse.”
Tina stares at the ceiling. “There was nothing wrong with it ten years ago when it was actually for sale in a store.”
“These bags are made to last.”
“Honey, that purse has seen better days.”
I snatch Tina’s little purse and cram my stuff in there. Then I hurry downstairs to the hotel lobby. I don’t want Lady Sandy to have to wait too long for me.
When I get outside, the car that’s waiting is a big stretch limousine. A driver hops out and opens the back door for me to get in. Immediately I feel underdressed, but it’s too late now.
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