“Precisely,” Gabrielle said. “I’ll just have to figure out what to do. And now that I have a chance to possibly be part of the dance ministry at church, I’m sure rehearsals will be at night. That’s just one more night I need available, which is yet another argument for not getting a part-time job. I’ve been praying to God to help me, but so far, nothing’s changed. The bills keep rolling in, and all my money keeps rolling out. There’s just not enough to go around. I don’t know what else to do except to keep doing what I’m doing, and to keep praying, believing, and waiting on the Lord.”
“Now, that’s faith,” Fatima said. “In fact, that’s great faith. You’re working those faith muscles, aren’t you, woman of God? Getting stronger and stronger every day.”
“Well, God gives each of us a measure of faith. It’s up to us how much our faith grows. Since Jesus came into my life, I’ve been hungry for the Word. I have thirsted after His righteousness. This is not a game for me, Fatima. I’m for real about my walk with the Lord. I don’t want to just talk the talk like so many others. I want to walk the walk. If it says it in God’s Word, I’m going to stand on it. I’m for real about this.”
“I know that. I’ve seen you grow by leaps and bounds.”
Gabrielle stood up and began bouncing up and down as though she’d built up too much energy inside and she needed to shake some of it loose. She then just as quickly stopped. “I just want everything God has for me. I want to know Him and all that He desires of me. I want my purpose on this earth to be manifested. I’ve lost so much time I could have spent with Him already. I just want my gift, the gift God gave to me, to be used for His service. And I know it’s more than just the gift. That’s why I’ve been deep in His Word the way I have. And if I have to lose houses and land and cars for His sake, I’m willing to do that, Fatima. I’ll absolutely do it.” Gabrielle started to cry.
Fatima stood up and hugged her. Gabrielle started to pull away, but Fatima wouldn’t let her. She was hearing God speaking to her heart. “Hold her,” she heard a small, still voice say. “Hold her.”
Gabrielle stopped struggling and just let it all out. “I don’t want to do anything that would displease Him. Not now. Not after knowing Him the way I have grown to know Him. I love Jesus so much!”
“I know. I love Him, too. And you know what? He loves us. And I can hear Him saying right now that everything is going to work out. For you and me both. We just need to keep trusting Him. No matter how things look. No matter how hard it might get. I hear Him saying right now for you to hold to His unchanging hand.”
Chapter 13
Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, and cometh down from the Father of lights, with whom is no variableness, neither shadow of turning.
—James 1:17
Gabrielle waited for her time to audition. She paced outside the conference room, praying as she walked. “God, please. I know none of this is a coincidence. I know this is all from You. You have been ordering my steps along this life journey, even when I didn’t recognize it. Please, Lord—”
“Gabrielle Mercedes?” a woman called her name.
Gabrielle stopped and smiled at the woman calling for her to come into the large conference room for her audition. “In the name of Jesus, Amen,” Gabrielle said quickly under her breath as she went toward the conference room door.
Gabrielle walked into the room filled with sunlight that flooded through a large window. Sitting at a table was Johnnie Mae, Minister Denise Johnson, and a beautiful young woman Gabrielle wasn’t familiar with, dressed in a dance outfit, who appeared to be in her late twenties, maybe early thirties. Johnnie Mae introduced her as Ebony, the owner of her own dance studio.
“You look excited, Gabrielle,” Johnnie Mae said.
“Oh, I am!” said Gabrielle, trying hard to keep from grinning too much.
“Well, we’re ready whenever you are,” Johnnie Mae said with a nod.
Gabrielle composed herself, then nodded to the sixteen-year-old working the CD player. Gabrielle stood frozen, like a statue, as she waited for the music to begin. The song she’d chosen to dance to was “God Is Here,” the Karen Clark Sheard version.
When Gabrielle finished her move to the final beat of the song, everyone in that room—including the person handling the CDs—was crying, shouting, and praising God. Johnnie Mae was on her feet, bouncing up and down, before she fell to her knees and began lifting her hands toward heaven. Ebony walked around the room waving her hands as she looked skyward. Minister Denise remained seated at the table, shaking her head and praising God as she wiped away tears that steadily flowed.
After five minutes of attempting to pull herself together, Johnnie Mae finally stood to her feet and walked over to Gabrielle, who was crying and also on her knees, thanking God for His goodness and His mercy. Johnnie Mae hugged Gabrielle and helped her to her feet. Standing now, Johnnie Mae hugged her even more. And Gabrielle hugged her back.
“Well,” Ebony said with a quick and audible exhale, “that was some audition!”
“No. No disrespect to what you just said, but that was ministering right there.” Johnnie Mae shook her head as she seemed to smile and frown at the same time. “That was pure, unadulterated ministry right there. That was a Spirit of Excellence coming through ministry. I’m almost speechless.”
“Thank you,” Gabrielle said, dabbing her eyes with tissue from the box the young woman working the CDs had gone out and brought in for them.
“Whew!” Minister Denise said, shaking both her hands as though she was trying to air-dry them. “Wow. Glory! Hallelujah! I wish now we had taped that so I could have taken a copy home and experienced that all over again. Gabrielle . . . woman of God, that was powerful!”
“It was the Spirit of the Lord,” Gabrielle said. “I told God I didn’t want this being about me. It’s all about Him.” She pointed upward. “Not I, but He who lives in me.”
“Oh, that’s scripture right there,” Minister Denise said as she jotted down something on the paper in front of her. “That’s the Word right there.”
“I know,” Johnnie Mae said. “So, it appears you’re also into the Word?”
“Yes, I am. I love God’s Word.”
“Oh, yeah,” Minister Denise said.
“Well, you’re a wonderful dancer. Where did you learn to dance like that? What school did you attend?” Ebony asked.
“I didn’t attend a dance school. But I did have a personal teacher,” Gabrielle said.
“Nice,” Ebony said, making a note on her paper. “It costs a pretty penny to have a private teacher for dance. Believe me, I know. That’s all right.”
Gabrielle shook her head. “No, it’s not what you think. My family didn’t have the money to pay for me to take lessons, private or other wise.” Gabrielle stopped, then held up one hand. “Allow me to restate that. There was money, just not money for me and anything I wanted to do, such as dance lessons like other girls my age were able to take. The woman who taught me was an angel sent by God. I know that now. She taught me everything that I know about dance. I owe a lot to her. She helped to free me. She opened my cage door and helped set me free. This is what I was created to do. There may be other things, but just as a bird is created to fly, dance is what God put on the inside of me.”
“Well, I certainly would hire that woman to work in my studio. You’re a great ambassador for her handiwork,” Ebony said.
“I appreciate you saying that about her. She certainly deserves all the great things I can say on her behalf. But I’m really looking forward to being more of an ambassador for Christ. That’s what my gift, my talents, and what Miss Crowe poured into me.”
“Did you say Crowe?” Ebony asked.
“Yes,” said Gabrielle.
“Esther Crowe?” asked Ebony.
“Yes.” Gabrielle narrowed her eyes and tilted her head a little. “You know her?”
“Who in the dance world doesn’t? She’s celebrated in the top circles.” Eb
ony could hardly contain her own excitement. “Esther Crowe was one of the best. She was at the top of her game. That’s before she was unable to continue dancing professionally. But Esther Crowe would have been a legend outside of the dance world had it not been for that unfortunate knee injury that ended her dancing career. And you say she taught you? Personally?”
“Yes. Only I didn’t know she was famous. Honestly, she never told me any of this. When I met her, she was a sixth-grade teacher, and not even a teacher at my school. She lived in our neighborhood. That is, until her car accident. I never learned what happened to her following that.”
“That is something.” Ebony shook her head and continued grinning. “No wonder you’re so excellent and precise in the execution of your movements. Well, thank you. That’s all for me.” Ebony looked over at Johnnie Mae and nodded that she was finished.
“I think you’ve about answered all of our interview questions,” Johnnie Mae said.
“Interview questions?” Gabrielle said.
“Yes. We have questions we’re asking those who are interested in being in this ministry. It’s not just about how well you can dance, it’s the entire package,” Johnnie Mae said. “As I said when we met about this ministry, it’s not merely about performing. It’s about ministering to the people. There are many who can dance, but they don’t get that it’s equally as important to know Whom we are dancing for. I must say, we’re all quite impressed with you so far. There is one other thing I’d like to ask, and this will conclude your audition/interview.” Johnnie Mae leaned forward. “Is there anything you feel we should know concerning you? Is there anything that could become a hindrance or might possibly derail your being able to carry out your position and duties in this dance ministry, should you be chosen?”
Gabrielle pressed her lips tightly together as she mulled over the question. “There is one thing,” Gabrielle said.
“Okay,” Johnnie Mae said as she thumped her pen on the table a few times waiting for Gabrielle to continue.
“No disrespect to the others here,” Gabrielle said, directing her comment to Johnnie Mae, “but is it possible for you and me to discuss this privately?”
Johnnie Mae glanced to her right at Minister Denise, and then to her left at Ebony, who both nodded their approval.
“We have about eight more auditions scheduled,” Johnnie Mae said to Gabrielle. “If you don’t mind waiting, we could talk after I’m finished here. Or we can schedule a meeting later when it’s convenient for the both of us.”
“I don’t mind waiting,” Gabrielle said. She stood up and smiled as she shook each of their hands. “Thank you for this opportunity,” she said, then she left.
Gabrielle exhaled after she closed the door behind her.
That was easy. Now for the hard part.
Chapter 14
Therefore to him that knoweth to do good, and doeth it not, to him it is sin.
—James 4:17
Johnnie Mae had met privately with Gabrielle Mercedes. She’d been impressed with her audition and blessed by the words of her interview. Gabrielle had been genuine when it came to her heart toward the ministry. Johnnie Mae felt she wasn’t trying to manipulate her answers to what she felt they were looking for, especially since she’d answered any questions they’d planned to ask her prior to her ever being asked.
Gabrielle told Johnnie Mae everything, deciding not to hold anything back. Her telling was not fast in coming in the beginning. But Johnnie Mae was patient—pleased she hadn’t forced this discussion immediately after Gabrielle’s audition or in front of the others. This way, both were granted the time they needed.
Gabrielle talked about her life, starting from her birth, putting things in its proper context. How her mother, Constance Booker (Connie for short), and her father, Benjamin Booker (Bennie), named her Gabrielle Mercedes Booker. Gabrielle, the name her mother had fought hard to give her because she believed it was an elegant and beautiful name. It was as though her mother knew her daughter—even as a newborn—was destined to become a dancer. As though she’d known her child would require a moniker that would evoke an image of a gazelle—fast . . . agile . . . positively beauty in motion, whenever her name was used.
As for her middle name of Mercedes, that was all her father’s doing. Equally an elegant name, she would have loved it if there had been some semblance of elegance in his having chosen that name for her. It had been a compromise, she’d read—words written in her mother’s own handwriting in a journal. Her father had been adamant that his daughter would be named after his favorite car brand: Mercedes. A vehicle he was determined he would someday own. He merely wanted to name his daughter after the car he intended to possess. Her mother hadn’t totally objected—Mercedes was indeed an attractive name. When Gabrielle had read this, she had been thankful that his desired vehicle of choice hadn’t been a Lincoln, a Ford, or a Cadillac. The thought of Gabrielle Lincoln, Gabrielle Ford, or Gabrielle Cadillac Booker was too much. Gabrielle Mercedes was a good name. And had she subscribed to her father’s way of thinking, she would have been named Gabrielle Toyota Booker.
She told Johnnie Mae about her memories, as small as they were, and how grateful she’d been to have been given her mother’s journal when she was ten. Johnnie Mae could appreciate the journal since she was an avid journal keeper herself. Gabrielle loved how easy Johnnie Mae was to talk to.
Gabrielle told how her father killed her mother. How he had abused her and eventually strangled her to death. She’d seen the whole thing, although her aunt Cee-Cee insisted that Gabrielle, at the age of three when it happened, was too young to remember anything. That what she thought she remembered had been planted in her mind by others and had never actually happened that way.
But she knew what she remembered. And those memories were hers, and they were real.
With overwhelming evidence against him (excluding what she’d seen), her father was found guilty and was presently serving out his twenty-fiveto-life sentence in prison. Gabrielle told how, in spite of her aunt’s desire to take it away from her when she was a teenager, she still had her mother’s journal—though worn for wear. And whenever she read it, she could still hear the calm of her mother’s voice.
She told how she remembered dancing with her mother. As a baby, and then as a toddler, she and her mother would spin around the room together. She could still hear her mother laughing as she held her in her arms. Gabrielle didn’t care how people said that wasn’t possible. Her mother had written Gabrielle could dance before she could walk.
Gabrielle spoke of living with her aunt and uncle, growing up hearing almost every day how grateful she should be that anyone would even take her in. And then, how God sent this woman by her house one sunny June day—an angel named Esther Crowe, disguised as a sixth-grade teacher who ironically was also a Juilliard professionally trained dancer. Miss Crowe had been her saving grace. She’d taught her how to dance with technique and style. She’d taught her all of the basics, the mechanics, the art, and the moves. But most of all, she’d taught her how to love herself, who she was in this world, and to appreciate the gift God had blessed her with.
Only, Gabrielle hadn’t wanted to hear anything about God. She would hold her tongue when she was with Miss Crowe and Miss Crowe spoke of God and His goodness. Because in her young mind, she couldn’t conceive God really caring about her. Maybe He cared for others, but He couldn’t possibly care about her. She’d never let Miss Crowe know how she felt. Gabrielle told Johnnie Mae how Miss Crowe had somehow realized she was being mistreated, even if she wasn’t technically being abused. How Miss Crowe ended up tricking her aunt. Hiring Gabrielle and telling her aunt that Gabrielle would be helping her with various chores around her house. When in truth, Miss Crowe was paying her ten dollars for two hours to teach her the thing she’d loved and wanted to learn the most: how to dance and dance with grace.
Gabrielle told how when she was seventeen her uncle had come into her bedroom and tried to make a move on
her. How she’d rebuffed him only to have him try twice again. And when she’d said something to her aunt after his second visit, how her aunt had said and done nothing. The third time when she said something to her aunt about it, that same uncle came into her room and found time to inform her she would need to find somewhere else to live once she graduated from high school and turned eighteen. As it happened, her eighteenth birthday on May thirtieth was only a few days out from her having received her diploma.
Just like that, she was out on her own. No job and no place to stay.
And as though all of that hadn’t been enough for a teenager to have to deal with, Miss Crowe had been in an automobile accident the year she was seventeen. If that hadn’t happened, after that third time with her uncle, she would have asked Miss Crowe if she could live with her.
The accident had been right before Thanksgiving. Miss Crowe had come to her house and told her she had to go out of town on an emergency. There was some problem with one of her brothers and his son. She, the baby of twelve children, was going to see what she could do to straighten things out. Gabrielle never learned what happened. A neighbor, who was around when one of her brothers came to Birmingham to lock up her house prior to finally selling it, told her aunt that Miss Crowe was alive, although barely. She had hit a sheet of black ice, skidded off the road, and crashed into a tree.
Goodness and Mercy Page 10
