Mama B - A Time to Mend (Book 4) (15 page)

But once we got over there
and got to picking through for items the homeless might actually need, you
would have thought Henrietta had deemed herself the less fortunate. “Ooh! I
like this bag!” she exclaimed when she found an oversized green tote bag with a
shiny gold buckle.

Matter of fact, LaTonya held
a Coach bag at her side while we was scrambling through. She asked me if I
minded her offering Michael some money for the bag.

One of the professional organizers
was standing within hearing distance jumped in, “It’s probably best that you
don’t give that bag to the homeless. Carrying an expensive purse might put
someone in danger.”

 Later on, she and
Michael made a deal for the bag, and he turned around and handed the money to
me. “Give it to the church or whatever it is you’re donating this stuff to.”

I grinned. “I certainly will,
thank you kindly.”

We was all tired and hot by
the end of the day. We had piles of trash bags and boxes full of blankets,
pillows, clothes, coats, and shoes to give away. As it got close to dark, I
called Frank and asked him to come on over with the people from his church so
they could load stuff into the van.

I really hadn’t thought
through how Frank was gonna avoid Michael and vice versa. We also hadn’t
thought about how heavy those boxes and such would be. We’d overstuffed them
for sure. So when Frank got there, even with his help, it was clear that he and
Michael were gonna have to work with together to coordinate the assembly line.

And at the end of their
hauling all that stuff onto the truck, my husband thanked Michael.

“You’re welcome.”

They shook hands.

“Hallelujah! Look at this
necklace!” Henrietta screamed and started shouting right there on the sidewalk.

Lord, help us.

Both me and Frank was sore
that night. We sat on opposite ends of the couch rubbing each other’s feet
while watching television. I have to admit, though, I think he was doin’ a better
job than me, ha!

“You sure looked handsome out
there lifting those boxes,” I said to him.

“Well, I checked you out a
few times, too,” he smiled back.

Any other time, we might have
leaned in for a kiss, but I’m sure his back was screaming for mercy just like
mine. We savored the moment.

“Baby, I hope Julia gets
herself together,” I said. “She the one thing that didn’t quite work out the
way I hoped.”

“Well, HoneyB, His ways are
higher than ours. Maybe your job was just to plant or water, you know?” He rubbed
the ball of my right foot with expert precision, easing my tension with words
as well as action.

“Yes,” I agreed. “I’ll pray
for the Lord to send more harvesters in her path. Maybe somebody in her family,
somebody she’ll work with, or just somebody she meet at the store. There’s
believers everywhere sharing the good news.”

“God is faithful. He always
answers, even if we don’t get to see it,” Frank assured me.

On second thought, my back
wasn’t so tight after all. I crawled up to Frank’s end of the couch and
squeezed up next to him. “I owe you an apology.”

“For what?” His voice
vibrated through his chest, sending a vibration through me.

“For overstepping. For not
bein’ all the way honest with you about my involvement with Allens. Did you
know Michael and Julia wasn’t even married?”

“I suspected.”

I thumped his chest. “Then
why didn’t you say somethin’?”

“Did I
need
to explain
all that man’s business before you would listen to me?”

That Frank remind me of the
Lord, sometimes. He don’t do a whole lot of extra talkin’, but when he do talk,
it makes a whole lotta sense. “I guess not. But I’mmo need you to give me some
slack on bein’ a wife again.”

He laughed. Kissed my
forehead. “We’ve got time, B. We’ve got time.”

If you enjoyed Mama B,

You’ll love this excerpt from the novel
Stepping
Down
by Michelle Stimpson

* * *

Chapter
1

Pastor
Mark Wayne Carter, III cast his drooping eyes on the clock ticking away on the
wall directly across from his desk. Last year his wife, Sharla, had lowered the
clock so that it stared at him while he was sitting in his gold-studded leather
executive chair.

“I
know you’re busy doing the Lord’s work, but it
would
be nice to see you
home before the sun goes down sometimes,” she had nagged as she pounded a nail
into the wall. She positioned the clock in its new location, then put both
hands on her hips. “If you can see the clock, you might actually keep track of
how much time you’re spending here in your office.”

Mark
didn’t like to fight with her about his devotion to New Vision Church. The church
was his life’s purpose, the reason he’d walked away from his short, but
well-paying career as an insurance salesman. This church had given him a sense
of accomplishment he’d never experienced in all his months as top-producer at
StateWay Insurance.

More
than anything, Mark hoped that New Vision Church would be the reason Jesus
said, “Well done, my good and faithful servant,” to him one day.

Late
Saturday nights came with the territory, which was one reason he hired a very
young man as his assistant and semi-mentee. At thirty-eight years old, Mark was
no old goat, but he wasn’t bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, either. He needed an
assistant to knock on the door every hour or so and make sure Mark hadn’t
fallen asleep at the computer.

A
recent graduate
of Southern Bible School, Jonathan
Lawrence had come with stellar references and an excellent transcript. Mark
wasn’t too crazy about seminary kids. Jonathan seemed eager, though, and he had
been faithful to his previous mentor. Mark didn’t mind showing a young minister
the ropes, so long as he learned quickly and knew how to keep his mouth shut.
Jonathan would do, unless he proved otherwise.

11:45
. Mark did the math in his head. It would
take him at least another half-hour to finish the outline. An hour to fill it
out with scriptures and examples. Ten minutes to get home. In bed by 1:45, to
be up again by six and back at the church for first service at 8:00.

If
only the Jenkins’ house dedication hadn’t taken so long and the visit to Mother
Morris in the hospital had gone as planned, he wouldn’t be in this predicament.
Lord, I’ll do better
, Mark prayed silently as he logged into SermonDepot.com
to browse for a ready-made message. Briefly, he thought about the problems he’d
encountered this week at the church.

He
couldn’t wrap his mind around anything in particular. In a church of almost
1500 in attendance weekly, the issues varied. Blessings, sin, healing,
financial prosperity. Any of those topics would do.

Mark
refined his search by checking the “60-minute” and “adult audience” boxes to
decrease the number of results.  “Lord, show me which one,” he offered
briefly, though he wondered if God would actually advise him about this
shortcut. His eyes landed on a generic title: Seven Steps to Success, taken
from the parable of the sower in Matthew 13.

Mark
clicked on his “Used Sermons” folder to make sure he hadn’t already preached
this message. Six years ago, when he and Sharla founded New Vision, he wouldn’t
have dreamed of downloading a sermon from the internet. As he realized the
growing number of lectures he’d copied from the web, it was hard to imagine how
he’d gotten to that point.

He
took a cleansing breath and reminded himself that he wasn’t alone. There were,
according to the site’s banner, thousands of paying subscribers—other
pastors and preachers, presumably—who utilized the sermons.
God’s word
is consistent and true. It doesn’t change. No need to reinvent the wheel every
Sunday
, Mark rationalized as he checked the “use” box and printed the
accompanying four-page document.

His
laser printer hummed softly as a display of lights signaled the connection
between laptop and printer.

A
soft rapping at the door gave Mark a second wind. He hoisted his smile into
place and sat up straight in his chair. “Enter.”

Jonathan
poked his head in the office. “Pastor, you okay in here?”

“Yes,”
Mark said. “Leave if you need to.”

Jonathan
shook his head, “Oh no, sir. I’m in no hurry. I was thinking…you fell asleep in
here last Saturday night, so…”

Mark
could only laugh at himself. “Thank you, Jonathan. I’m good. I hit the gym this
week. Got more energy.” Mark swiveled his chair around and grabbed the papers
from the printer. “About to wrap it up.”

“Okay.”
Jonathan ducked out of the room.

Aside
from sore muscles, the workout had given Mark a little more energy. Maybe, if
he kept the exercise going and cut back on the fast food, he might actually
feel like a thirty-eight-year-old is supposed to feel. At six foot two and two
hundred-twenty pounds, he’d been able to maintain a healthy weight, thanks
mostly to good genes. His father had given him that much, if nothing else.

Despite
the appearance of health, though, Mark was well aware that his cholesterol and
blood pressure levels were higher every year. Or in his case, two
years—which is about how long it took for him to actually show up at one
of the appointments Sharla made for him with their general practitioner. Mark much
preferred to leave his health in the hands of the Lord.

Quickly,
Mark threw his parallel Bible and the pages of the next day’s sermon into the
front compartment of his rolling attaché. The laptop and charger fit perfectly
into the second section. He gathered the rest of the papers on his desk and the
surrounding counters into one stack. He still needed to review the notes, but
he could finish it at home. If he made it there before midnight, he might
actually get to spend time with Sharla before she drifted off to sleep.

How
long has it been?

Another
tap on the door. “Enter.” With his back turned to the door, Mark switched off
his printer and locked the overhead cabinets containing confidential church
information. He heard the door open slightly, then close. He pivoted, expecting
to find Jonathan standing there.

But
this was definitely not Jonathan.
All that’s good and perfect comes from
God.
And He knew what He was doing when He made
that
woman. A
form-fitting red silk blouse defining her full rack. White linen skirt so tight
it bunched up across her hips. Legs that must have run track in high school,
maybe even college. And a pair of heels that added a good five inches to her
height, accentuating her lower half even more.

It
only took seconds for Mark to process her body. His eyes made it up to her face
in enough time to hide his intrigue. Hopefully. Respectfully, he stood. “How
can I help you?”

“Pastor,
I really need to talk to you.” She sat down in the chair across from him,
blocking his view of the clock.

“Um…well,
if you want to set up an appointment—”

“This
will only take a minute,” she pushed past Mark’s safeguards.

He
sat.

“A
long time ago, I made a big mistake. And now I need to fix it.”

 Her
perfume wrapped around Mark’s face. Sweet, but not overpowering. The whole
scene reminded him of those cartoons where a bull’s eye rotates around and
around, hypnotizing an unsuspecting character.

She
crossed one leg over the other, revealing a good six inches up the side of her
thigh. Bare, taut skin. “I just don’t know what to do. I was hoping you could
help me.”

Mark
was no stranger to women’s advances. Another thing he’d inherited from Mark
Wayne Carter, II was good looks. Deep brown skin, a head full of short but wavy
hair, and a sharp goatee could pull a woman from a mile away. But the one thing
Mark could say he’d done right in his marriage was to remain faithful to his
wife throughout their sixteen years together. He wasn’t going to blow it on
some misguided member who’d managed to outwit his new assistant.

Mark
stood again. He’d played around with this fire long enough. “My sister, if you
have accepted Christ as your savior, old things are passed away. It’s late. I’m
going to have to ask again that you to speak with Jonathan on your way out. He
can put you in touch with the counseling ministry.”

His
abrupt end to their conversation obviously caught her off guard. “Um, b-but,”
she stammered for words. “But
you’re
my pastor. Isn’t this what you’re
supposed
to do?”

Mark
ripped the top sheet from the pad of sticky-notes on his desk. “The word of God
is your counselor. Psalm one nineteen and twenty-four.” He scribbled the
reference on the note and handed it to the woman.

She
snatched it from his hand, a scowl on her face. Mark noticed that one of her
fake eyelashes slipped out of place. He had to hold in his laughter. “Meditate
on His word. Have a good night, my sister.”