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Authors: Dijorn Moss

BOOK: Men After God's Own Heart
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Chapter Two
Will
Three Weeks until the Men's Retreat . . .
 
 
Will thought of a lot better places to die than in the middle of his parents' living room. For the third time in his life, Will felt the edge of his father's .380-pistol pressed against his forehead. That equaled the amount of hugs Will had received from his father, and that surpassed the amount of kisses by three. There were two things Odell did not tolerate: weakness and disrespect. The two previous times Will's father had put a gun to his head was to drive out weakness. Tonight was for a lack of respect shown by Will. Tonight Odell planned to teach his oldest son a lesson right in front of the whole family.
“Whew. Look at those eyes, ice cold. Not even Jesus could change that.” Odell let a grin sneak out from his poker face.
Will knew his father wouldn't pull the trigger. His father was a disturbed individual, but even Odell was not sadistic enough to kill Will in front of his mother and baby sister. Twenty years of life had taught him how to react to his father's empty threats. This was a test to see who, between Jesus and Odell, had the most influence over him. Will couldn't look rattled, and he couldn't show fear.
“Go ahead. Pull the trigger.” Will eyes did not betray him.
“Do you hear that, Josh? That's how a punk talks. That's how a little boy talks. That's the sound of weakness,” Odell said to his youngest son, who sat at the table with an ice pack over his face and fear in his eyes.
“I don't need a gun to prove I'm powerful,” Will replied.
Odell's smile evaporated, and Will braced for impact. His father could never handle an intellectual debate. Odell always punctuated his arguments with his fists. A chill swept over Will at the horrors that awaited his baby sister, Elisha.
“Man, you ain't going to keep using my brother as a punching bag, neither. I promise you that.” Will balled up his fists as tightly as he could, prepared to strike.
“It's nothing, bro. It's whatever. I got out of line, and I'm straight now,” Joshua said.
Will had given his life over to Christ a year ago and had moved out of his parents' place as a result. In that short time, Odell had managed to initiate Will's brother Joshua into the family business of stealing cars. Will had sat in that same chair five years ago with an ice pack over his cheek, grateful that his father had taught him how to be a man and how to conquer the streets. Will didn't remember what he had done back then to cause Odell to teach him a lesson with his fists. In time, Joshua wouldn't remember what he had done, either, to take a beating from their father. Will knew his influence over Joshua had diminished.
A tear progressed down Will's bronze cheek, and rage overcame his father. The tear caused more damage than the threat. Odell removed the gun from Will's forehead and tucked it behind his back, into his pants. Odell hesitated for a moment before he gave Will a two-handed shove.
“Dad!” Joshua jumped up from his seat and dropped the ice pack. He made a move toward Odell but froze when Will regained his balance. Will did not need his little brother to fight his battles.
Odell had gotten weaker and slower since his release from prison. Will remembered when his father could push him from one side of the room to the other. Odell also had a right hand like a heavyweight boxer, but Will barely moved after his father's push. Odell left the right side of his chin open for an attack. Will was faster than his father remembered and could get in two punches before Odell even knew what hit him. One thing kept the surge of emotions that rumbled inside of Will at bay, and that was his faith. Which strength packed more power? Will's physical strength or his spiritual awakening? Will chose the latter and unballed his fists.
Will looked over his father's shoulder and spotted his mother's enlarged eyes as she observed the altercation. Before the argument turned physical, Will's mother pretended to be transfixed by an episode of
Good Times.
Carroll, Will's mother, usually stayed in such a drug-induced haze that Odell could fire a rocket launcher at Will and she would not even notice nor care.
Even if for once his mother was not under the influence of drugs, Carroll remained too mentally broken and emotionally bankrupt to broker a peace deal between her husband and son. She stayed high so that she did not have to face her reality.
“What kind of mother would sit there and let her husband put a gun to her son's head? Let him beat on her youngest son and push the oldest without saying a word?” Will muttered. He refused to let his mother off the hook. Her silence was a greater offense than Odell's actions.
“She ain't got to do nothing but just sit there and watch TV, because I got this.” Odell pounded his chest.
Carroll said it all when she turned away from Will and resumed watching her program. She did not utter a word, and Will's heart had an ache that accompanied each beat.
“Wow, I took care of this family when Dad was locked up, and you would rather him kill me than for once be a mother and protect your children?” Will remarked.
“She's the reason why you're so weak. All she did was spoil you and your brother,” Odell said.
“Really? When did she spoil me or my brother? When she left me alone in the house when I was five for a whole day? When she bought me a bunch of toys for Christmas and turned around and sold them for drugs two days later? And where were you?”
“I was playing my hand. Everything you are now and everything you believe in was given to you by the white man. I ain't saying what I did was right, but I didn't have a choice in the matter, now did I?”
“We all got a choice, and you should let Joshua decide who he wants to be with,” Will said.
“Joshua, get over here!” Odell's eyes did not move away from Will.
Without hesitation, Joshua made his way over to his father and brother.
“Josh, tell your brother that you don't want to go anywhere,” Odell said to Will's baby brother.
“Bro, I miss you being here. I wish you were here and that we were a family again.” Joshua's voice cracked under the weight of his words.
“Oh yeah? Let's be a family again. Let's let Pop use us as punching bags while Mom shoots up. Let's all go on a lick together and get caught by the pos, and when Elisha is out of her training bra, let's put her on the pole and make our family complete. One big dysfunctional family.”
Will could not harbor any ill feelings toward his brother. Joshua was scared, and Will wished Joshua could see that there was another way.
“You know I can't, Josh. I'm trying to get my life together, and I can't live like this anymore.”
“Then go. Bounce!” Odell gestured for Will to leave.
“Please, bro. I need you here,” Joshua said.
“I'm always going to be here for you, Josh. Just call me if you need me.” Will gave his brother a hug, and fear transferred from Joshua to Will. “I love you, Josh. Stay up.”
Joshua did not say anything, and Will remembered another one of his father's creeds: the word
love
was said by women and sissies. Love did not have to be said if it was shown.
Will broke from Joshua's embrace and sidestepped his father, who looked too annoyed to say anything. He walked over to his baby sister Elisha's crib. Positioned next to the flat-screen TV on the opposite side from where his mom sat on the couch, Elisha lay sound asleep. None of the family's melodrama disturbed her slumber. Will leaned in and planted a kiss on her forehead.
Will then walked over and kissed his mother on the cheek. The kiss he gave his mother was not the same as the one he gave Elisha. Elisha's kiss was spawned out of the love Will had for his baby sister. Will kissed his mother out of habit. Once again Carroll remained passive when Will needed her to play an active role in his life.
“Bye, Mom,” Will said before he slid between Joshua and his father.
“Don't ever, so long as you live, think that you can come up in here and tell me how to raise my seed. You hear me!” Odell said.
Will did not break his stride as he headed for the door. Before he opened the door, he took one last look back at his dysfunctional family portrait. Will then opened the door and closed it in a swift motion.
Once outside, Will tried to recall everything that had just transpired. He wanted to call child protective services, but a judge shouldn't have to decide on family matters. Will wanted Joshua to stay with him, and Joshua wanted Will to move back home. If Will's life was a game of chess, then he and his brother had just reached a stalemate.
As Will walked along the second-floor balcony, he noticed that a former member of his gang, the Untouchables, stood in the parking lot, next to a red Honda Accord. D-Loc had vowed to get even after Will turned his back on his set to follow God. Every time Will came anywhere near his father's place, he was in danger, so he had to minimize his visits and make sure to leave before anyone noticed. It was easy to do with a black and silver Ninja ZX-10R, a gift from a fellow church member, Quincy, and it came in handy in tight situations. The question now, however, was, would Will make it to his bike before his old comrade called in reinforcements?
Chapter Three
Titus
“I won't be needing this anymore.” Pastor Lemont Dawkins handed his black leather-bound Bible to his son, Titus.
Despite his reluctance, Titus accepted his father's Bible. Titus also accepted that his father no longer loved his mother and that Lemont Dawkins would leave the confines of his family for the love of another woman. Lemont packed his bags and placed them by the front door. Titus was all that stood between him and the front door.
In Titus's worldview, his father was one sermon short of being a god. Titus often repented for his idol worship of his father, but he could not find fault in either his father or his pastor. Pastor Lemont Dawkins's sermons served as a stain remover to the wearied sinner. He embodied charisma and conviction, but the man who Titus wanted to be like was only a fraction of the man Lemont truly was. There were sides of Titus's father that played out only within the sanctity of the master bedroom.
“I have no more use for that book, and its lies,” Lemont declared , referring to his Bible, which was now in Titus's hands.
“That's just the devil talking. Don't give in to his lies, Daddy.” Titus fought back the tears. At fifteen, he possessed a firm grasp on the obvious: the family in the portraits and pictures and on the bulletin boards was not the family that dwelled in this postmodern three-bedroom flat.
His father had kept a lot of secrets, and Titus could no longer turn a deaf ear to the murmurs or a blind eye to the evidence.
“You're talking to the devil right now.” Victoria, Titus's mother, emerged from the master bedroom with a handful of collared shirts, which she did not hesitate to throw at Lemont in her effort to aid him in his departure. Lemont used his forearm to defend against the assault from his wardrobe, courtesy of his wife. Victoria had already arrived at a place that Titus still grappled with, that he might not ever see his father again after this night.
“You're a mighty fine one to talk. You never accepted the fact that I'm a man and I have needs.” Lemont picked up his clothes from the floor and draped them over his arm.
“I was a good wife to you. I followed the scriptures, and if that's not enough for you, then I know it'll be more than enough for the next man.” Victoria stormed back into the master bedroom and slammed the door.
Titus knew that his mother had retreated to her room because she would not give his father the satisfaction of seeing her cry. His mother was often criticized throughout the church for her rock-like nature. It did not seem ladylike in a traditional church for a woman to carry the rigidness of a man. What most people misunderstood about Victoria, Titus knew perfectly well. He compared his mother's nature to that of a solid rock. She had to endure the scorn and shame that accompanied being the pastor's wife. Titus mother's greatest affliction was being in love with a fool.
“Dad, you can't turn your back on God and your family like this!”
“Son, I've come to the conclusion that God has turned His back on me. I've tried. I've fasted, prayed, and poured over the scriptures, and nothing. No deliverance, no breakthrough. Do you know how hard it is to watch people get delivered, while you remain a slave? This desire in me doesn't let up. I didn't even want to get married, but your granddaddy and the church forced us to and told us that it's better to marry than to burn. Well, I'm through taking God's advice and the church's advice.”
Titus had heard the rumors, but it was in his nature not to listen to them. Titus stayed focused on getting closer to God and his promising basketball future. Titus stood six foot three inches tall. The whole town was ecstatic about his future. There was not a corner in the church Titus could go to where he was not confronted by a mother of the church and her daughter. Even fathers who were vehemently opposed to their daughters dating did not mind if their daughter dated a well-mannered preacher's kid with a formidable jump shot.
“Do yourself a favor, son, and don't become a preacher. That pulpit and that book”—Lemont pointed at the Bible he had just given Titus—“have destroyed the men in this family.”
Bishop Samuel Dawkins, Titus's grandfather, had for years carried on an affair, which his grandmother had accepted.
She harked back to a time when folks did not get a divorce, because it was a sin, and so Titus's grandmother tolerated her husband's infidelity for the sake of her salvation. Titus's mother was not that way. She would rather be alone and happy than married and miserable.
“Dad, don't do this!” Titus clasped his hands together as if to pray.
“As far as I'm concerned, I don't owe nobody nothing! I don't want forgiveness, neither, except from you. I hope you can forgive me for what I've done. And take my advice. If you want to be happy, then stay away from that pulpit.” Lemont made his way toward the door.
“No, Dad!” Titus tried to impede his father's progress, but a punch to the solar plexus brought a swift end to Titus's campaign.
“I'm sorry,” Lemont said in a tone that lacked compassion.
Those were Lemont's last words. Once the pain subsided, Titus went into his mother's bedroom. While she pretended not to cry, her face told a different story. Titus did not know what to say. In truth he had borne witness to something a fifteen-year-old should not have to experience, the self-destruction of a first family.
Titus was pulled out of his sleep by the sound of the television, which meant one thing: Grace had fallen asleep with the television on again. Titus got up and walked around to Grace's side of the bed, where he always found the remote.
This act repeated itself every night, and whether it was a bad dream or the sound of the TV, Titus Dawkins knew that he would not be able to go back to sleep for the rest of the night. The clock showed 4:15
A.M.
, and Titus was amazed that he had even gotten fifteen more minutes of sleep than resulted from his usual routine of in bed by midnight and up by four.
Grace, on the other hand was sound, asleep. For Pastor Titus Dawkins, how a person slept told him all he needed to know to determine whether that person was at peace or having a conflict. Grace didn't mistreat people, she didn't harbor bitterness or unforgiveness in her heart, and as a result, Grace slept with a head light of affliction. Titus, on the other hand, wrestled with his past and operated off of minimal sleep.
Titus slipped out of his bedroom and walked down the steel spiral staircase. Titus had two offices, one at the church and another in his three-bedroom condo with an ocean view. But neither could compare to Titus's kitchen table. The two offices were more like storage facilities than a place for studying. With the rapidly changing times, the paper and pen had become ancient tools of the past. Titus now composed both his sermons and his notes on his iPad.
Titus wanted to start a series on King David and focus on why God said he was a man after his own heart when it was clear that David was deeply flawed. How did a flawed person win God's heart? Through the years, Titus had preached on the story of David backward and forward. To have a deeper understanding of the text and bring new revelations was what separated Titus from other pastors.
Success also separated Titus from his predecessors. His driveway had a BMW 7 Series and a Range Rover. Titus enjoyed his success, which most men in his family had never achieved. The demons that chased the Dawkins men generally left them with a divided home, a lost congregation, and a broken pulpit. Titus lived in fear of his lineage every moment.
He was not tormented by the sins of his father, but by the temptations. Titus was always cognizant of the fact that a fall from the top was usually the hardest to overcome. He did not listen to his father's advice. Titus followed the call God had placed on his life, and for better or worse, he had no regrets.
Titus suffered from sleep deprivation, but he did not suffer from a lack of purpose. He spent a few minutes at the table in prayer before he went to the refrigerator to take out a protein shake that he had made the night before. After he retrieved his nutritional beverage, Titus returned to his kitchen table. Titus powered on his iPad and started to thumb through his sermon notes. At around 6:30
A.M.
, his staff would show up to get him prepared for the eight o'clock service.
“You can't sleep again, I see,” Grace said.
“Yeah, I'm just trying to put the finishing touches on this message for the prayer breakfast.”
“Uh-huh.” Grace took Pastor Dawkins by the hand and fixed his wedding band so that the small diamonds of his platinum ring faced up.
“You're a messenger of God, and we know that God watches over His Word, and He'll put the finishing touches to your messages while you come back to bed and put the finishing touches on me.” Grace's eyes changed from nurturing to alluring.
“Now, you know my staff will be here soon. I get to fooling around with you, and I may have to have Pastor Ford preach again.”
“And that's the last thing that I need, for your staff to look at me and think I'm crazy for having you miss another service,” Grace said.
“How about some breakfast?” Titus asked.
“I'd like that very much.”
Titus was making his way to the refrigerator when the phone rang and stopped him dead in his tracks.
“I'll get it.” Grace got up and grabbed the cordless on the counter. “Good morning? Hello? Hello?” Grace hung up the phone after a few seconds of trying to get the caller to speak. “That's strange.”
“Indeed,” Titus said.
Titus went into the refrigerator and removed half of a cantaloupe. He placed the cantaloupe on a counter and removed a butcher's knife from its iron home. Titus sawed a circle around the cantaloupe before he removed a middle chunk. He then grabbed a paper towel and placed it next to the cantaloupe. He began to scrape the seeds from his cantaloupe chunk onto the paper towel. All the while, Grace's eyes held amazement. Titus knew that it was a two-way street when it came to a woman's heart. Men who could not only appreciate a good meal, but could also prepare one were a rarity. Titus went back into the refrigerator and removed vanilla yogurt, granola, and raspberries. He filled the hole he'd made in the cantaloupe with the yogurt first, then the granola, before he topped it with the raspberries.
“Here you go, beautiful.” Titus served the cantaloupe on a plate to Grace and handed her a spoon.
“It's a crime to be that anointed, that fine, and know your way around the kitchen.”
“I consider myself a very blessed man,” Titus said.
“So I've been thinking about your problems with sleeping,” Grace said before she took a bite.
“Oh, and what's your prognosis, Doc?” Titus took a seat next to his wife.
“Maybe you should talk to someone.”
“The pastor of a thriving ministry seeing a shrink?”
“Don't be prideful.”
“Honey, it's not about being prideful. I just believe that my problem is spiritual and it's affecting my psychological state.”
“You almost made me cuss, because you know that sleep deprivation
is
a psychological problem. If it was only spiritual, then the pastor of a thriving ministry would've driven it out by now.”
Titus mustered up only a chuckle for a retort. His wife was sharp, and she did not mince words.
“Baby, I'm just saying that I worry about you burning yourself out. I don't know how you did this for so long before I came on the scene,” Grace said. “God has empowered me to carry out the purpose He's placed in my life. God has empowered me to tell you when to sit still and rest. I want to be able to wake up next to my husband and make breakfast for him for a change.”
“That would be nice,” Titus replied.
Titus and Grace embraced silence and their food. Today Titus would preach the 8:00
A.M.
and 11:00
A.M.
service at Greater Anointing and would travel to Riverside to preach at Open Doors Community Church in the evening. He savored his last few minutes of silence.
“Have you called your mother?” Grace asked between bites.
“No, not lately. I've been meaning to call her.”
“Her birthday is next week,” Grace replied.
“I know when my mother's birthday is.” Titus paused a moment to check his tone. “I'll send her a dozen Casa Blancas, along with some cash, as I always do.”
Grace did not respond immediately, and Titus was relieved that the conversation appeared to be over.
But Grace went on. “We should take her out. Get her away from that nursing home for a little while.”

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