What a Sista Should Do (26 page)
He should be wearing that suit to church. He still hasn’t been yet, even though he told me months ago that he would come. I know that sometimes it takes time for someone to make it all the way to Jesus. He has taken the first step. I just don’t want him to stop there.
“Pam, are you going to church this morning?”
“It’s Sunday, isn’t it?”
“‘Yes’ would have been sufficient.”
“Mmm-hmm.”
“Don’t you want to know why I’m asking?”
“Troy, I’m not in the mood for guessing, so why don’t you just come out and say what’s on your mind?”
“Well, I want to give you a break this morning. I’m going to take my daughters out to breakfast before I leave for the tour.”
What does he mean he wants to take his daughters out to breakfast? What about his pregnant wife? I wouldn’t want to miss service to go out to eat, but he didn’t even give me an opportunity to decide. He’s got a whole lot of nerve.
“You know, Pam, it wouldn’t kill you to back me up on this thing. Just a little.”
“Not this morning, Troy. I’m tired of talking about it. You’ve made up your mind and that’s it, right? Well, I’ve made up my mind that I don’t agree, except nobody cares about my opinion.”
Troy looks as if he wants to say something else but changes his mind. He walks out the room, and I hear him talking to Cicely and Gretchen. I can’t make out what they’re saying because for some reason they’re speaking in whispers. He’s probably talking about me.
I need to go shopping because nothing in my closet fits around my belly anymore. When I was broke, I’d be trying to spend some bill money on a church outfit. But now that I’ve got a little cash to blow, I barely go on shopping sprees. I can’t explain it.
When I finally find something presentable to wear to the house of the Lord, I emerge from my bedroom. Troy has the girls dressed up real cute in their little sundresses and sandals. He’s even made a decent attempt at combing their wild curls into something resembling ponytails.
“Mommy, am I pretty?” asks Gretchen.
“Yes, baby. You sure are.”
Gretchen throws a triumphant smile in Cicely’s direction. Cicely puts her hand on her hip and rolls her eyes.
“So what, Gretchen? I’m cute too. That’s why my dress is pink and yours is yellow.”
Apparently, Gretchen hadn’t paid any attention to the color of her dress until Cicely made a point of bringing it up. She looks down at her dress and starts to turn her little face into a frown. Time for Mommy’s diversion tactics.
“Oh but Gretchen, you look so pretty in yellow. That’s why Mommy picked that color out especially for you.”
Gretchen smiles again and marches over to the door to wait for her daddy. Cicely follows, and she no doubt has another gibe for Gretchen. They’ll be arguing all morning. I’m glad they are going with Troy. Maybe I’ll be able to get my praise on for a change.
Troy says, “You’re really good at that, Pam.”
“Good at what?”
“Making them forget what they’re angry about and getting a smile on their faces. Especially with Gretchen.”
“It comes with the territory, I guess.”
“Well, maybe I don’t say it enough, then, but you’re a good mother.”
Troy kisses me on my cheek, and I’m pleasantly surprised, even though I’m still angry with him. He’s usually too preoccupied with his music to do things like kiss my cheek. These days I’ve only gotten kisses in the context of him receiving his husbandly due. And since I’m as big as a house and not feeling particularly desirable, those times have been few and far between. Troy starts to kiss me again, but his cell phone rings. Naturally.
“That’s right. We’re pulling out at three-thirty this afternoon. I’m expecting the bus to be fully stocked with refreshments . . . No, nothing heavy like that. Just sandwiches and beverages. No barbecue. Too messy.”
Troy continues to talk on his phone and goes out on the front porch. Gretchen and Cicely follow him. I wish I could be as uninhibited as my little girls. They want to be with their daddy, so they have no problem following him around the house. My pride won’t let me follow Troy out on the porch, although I want to feel close to him too. I guess I’ll have to wait until after this little tour to mend things up with Troy.
New Faith is off the hook this morning. I didn’t have a praise on my lips when I walked in here, but I can’t help but stand up and give it up. There’s something in here today, and it feels like fire. Must be the Holy Spirit. Hey! Glory!
Now, I’m not the shouting type, especially in my condition, but I like to watch the folk that do shout every week. Some of these folk feel like they haven’t praised God until they’ve run a few laps around the church and cut a step down the middle aisle. I ain’t mad at them, though. I enjoy their enthusiasm, if nothing else.
Yvonne comes and sits next to me, and I’m glad. I feel kind of naked without Cicely and Gretchen clinging to my hips, like I don’t know what to do with my hands or something. Yvonne looks good today. She has a youthful appearance. Funny, I don’t remember her smiling this much when she was married to Luke. She’s got a cute little gap in her front teeth that I didn’t even notice before.
The other day Yvonne thanked me for bringing her and Taylor together. But that whole thing wasn’t brought about by nobody but God. I was just His instrument. I’m just glad that He wanted to use me. I needed them as much as they needed me. If it wasn’t for the two of them, I would’ve gone crazy over Troy and this baby and everything else not right in my world.
Pastor knows he’s preaching today. His subject is “His Grace Is Sufficient.” Isn’t that the truth? I know I go around getting mad at the Lord all the time for not doing the things that I ask of Him, when He’s already done enough. His grace. You better go ahead and preach, Pastor. One of these ushers needs to bring me a fan or something because it’s getting hot in here.
After preaching up a storm Pastor makes an altar call like none that I’ve seen in a long time. Folk that claim they been saved from birth are running down to that altar for prayer or for a touch or for healing. That’s what good preaching can do. Rouse the people.
I usually don’t even look at the people coming down to the altar, because I’m praying for them. But something, I think it was the familiar smell of Troy’s cologne, makes me look up the center aisle. Sure enough, Troy is limping toward the altar with his daughters at his side. There are tears in his eyes, which, of course, starts the waterworks for me.
Yvonne has to hold me up when they take my husband downstairs to get him dressed for baptism. Some of Troy’s artists are at church too, and when Aria sidles up next to me in the pew, I’m speechless. She just smiles at me and holds my hand. I must be feeling the Spirit or going nuts or something, because I squeeze her hand and smile back. This is to a woman who is about to be on the road with my man for two months. The Lord must be doing a work in me.
Thank you, Jesus
.
After a few moments Troy emerges wearing white baptism clothing. He’s flanked on either side by ministers. Troy has a peaceful smile on his face as he walks up the baptism steps and into the pool. Pastor Brown says the baptism prayer, and the entire church says, “Amen,” as Troy is immersed into the water. When he comes back up, Troy lifts his hands and face to heaven.
They take Troy back downstairs, and Pastor Brown closes out the service. He calls Troy to stand in front of the church and have all the members come up and welcome him to our congregation. Everyone lets me be the first to hug Troy, and we embrace for what feels like an eternity.
When Yvonne comes around to hug Troy, she whispers in my ear, “See what God can do. He’s able, girl.”
“Yes, He . . . oh my . . .”
Yvonne shouts, “Jesus! Her water broke!”
Troy says, “What? You’re in labor now?”
“I guess so.”
“Well, I guess we can postpone the tour for at least one day.”
My head is reeling, and it’s funny, because I’ve done this before. But these pains are coming back-to-back, and I just don’t remember it hurting so badly. I must’ve been in labor all morning, but I thought it was false labor. Soon, Troy is driving like a maniac, and I want to tell him that we’ve got time, but I’m not so sure. I’ve been told that things go quicker with the third baby. I just hope we get to the hospital before my son decides to make his appearance.
We get to the hospital, and the first stop is the nurse’s triage. This is pure torture. This woman is asking me stupid questions while I’m in the most excruciating pain of my life.
“Are you experiencing contractions, Mrs. Lyons?”
Since I’m right in the middle of a contraction, I just glare at the nurse and grit my teeth. I hope she takes that as a yes.
Finally, they take me to the birthing room. By the time they get me undressed and on the table, I’m ready to push. No time for epidurals or that cute little birthing ball in the corner of the room. My son is ready to be born.
I give three good pushes like a veteran, and my son’s head has crowned. I faintly hear Troy and the nurses encouraging me to push again, but I need to catch my breath. I bear down with all the strength I have left, and I feel little Troy’s head push its way out.
If I’m still pushing, I don’t realize it. All of my attention is focused on that beautiful little cry. Next thing I know, the nurse is handing me my son. He’s fat and slimy, but he’s gorgeous. He’s screaming bloody murder when they lay him across my chest. He stops crying when he hears my voice, like he already knows me.
I wonder how long I’ve been asleep. Troy’s voice wakes me up. He’s holding the baby and talking on the phone.
“No, man. I need to reschedule nine concert dates . . . No, there’s no way we’re going to be able to appear . . . Right. I know how much this is going to cost. My artists are fine with it.”
Troy hangs up the phone, and he has an irritated look on his face. I pretend to still be asleep. If he’s angry about something, I don’t want to make matters worse. He’s rocking the baby back and forth and smiling at him.
“Son, you’re already costing me money! If this is gone be how things are now that you’re here, then I need to get some more artists.”
I can’t help but burst into laughter. Troy looks at me and grins. He appears so natural holding his son. I know he didn’t plan it this way, but I’m glad that Troy was here.
“Look, son. Mommy’s up.”
Troy brings the baby over to my bed and hands him to me. I don’t remember when Gretchen and Cicely were this little. Time goes by so quickly.
“So, Troy, what’s going to happen with the tour?”
“Woman, I don’t want to talk about that. I’m not going, and let’s just leave it at that.”
“I’m sorry that your son and I ruined your plans.”
Troy is immediately apologetic. “Pam, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. I’m happy that I was here. I can’t believe that I almost missed it.”
“So you aren’t upset about the tour?”
“I can’t lie. I am a little disappointed about the tour, but you know what?”
“What, Troy?”
“I love you and I love my son. Thank you.”
Well, now, that just brings everything full circle. God, I love this man.
Thank you, Jesus, for listening to my prayer
. I couldn’t have written a better conclusion to this little chapter of my life. I know that everything is not perfect, and we’ve still got some issues to work out, but life isn’t interesting without challenge. And I know we’ll make it. With God’s help.
Yvonne
S
ister to Sister is back and stronger than ever. We talk about more than relationships, but it seems like all the sisters, at some point, have a problem that includes a man. Maybe their husband is tripping or their boyfriend won’t commit. Or maybe they’re just upset because they don’t have a man. The love of money may be the root of all evil, but the love of a man comes real close.
Taylor is passing out chocolate chip cookies that she made herself. She claims that they’re from scratch, but I don’t think that breaking open a package of Nestlé cookie dough classifies as real baking, but at least she’s trying.
Pam just walked in the door. She’s got that pretty little boy with her. He looks just like her. He starts clapping every time he hears music. It must be in his blood, like his daddy. Speaking of Troy, I never thought he’d keep coming to church after he got baptized. He’s really turned his life around, though, according to Pam. As long as she’s happy, I’m happy for her.
A young woman named Danielle has finally arrived. She looks distraught, but I’m glad she came. She’s new to our church, and she’s got three kids with three different daddies. We’re not here to judge her, at least I’m not. I can’t speak for everyone in here, though.
Danielle says, “Sister Yvonne, do you mind if I sit next to you?”
“No, honey. Sit yourself on down. I’m glad you made it out tonight.”
“I almost didn’t. My baby’s daddy didn’t show up on time to get his daughter. He finally came through after I threatened to have his paycheck garnished for child support.”
She’s laughing, so I laugh too. “Whatever works, honey. I’m just glad you made it.”
Pam comes over and embraces Danielle, like she’s her sister. Danielle is holding on for dear life, like she really needed that hug. I’m not surprised when the girl breaks down and starts crying. A good hug can pop the bubble of all those pent-up emotions.
Some of the sisters see Danielle crying, and they start praying and worshiping. They don’t even know what the problem is, all they know is that it’s praying time.
I take Danielle’s hands and say, “Honey, I don’t know what the situation is, but you are going to make it. The Lord brought you this far, and He is not in the business of abandoning people. You might not be able to see your way now, but trust me, you are going to be looking back on this day wondering how you ever got so discouraged.”
I might be talking to Danielle, but I’m also ministering to my own spirit. We’ve all got hopes, dreams, fears and trials. Most of all, when we get down to it, we can present ourselves to the Lord just as we are. Once we go to Him in prayer and admit that we need Him—and each other.
