What a Sista Should Do (19 page)
“All right, y’all. Read with me. ‘But I would have you without carefulness. He that is unmarried careth for the things that belong to the Lord, how he may please the Lord: But he that is married careth for the things that are of the world, how he may please his wife. There is difference also between a wife and a virgin. The unmarried woman careth for the things of the Lord, that she may be holy both in body and in spirit: But she that is married careth for the things of the world, how she may please her husband.’”
How many times, as a single churchgoing woman, have I heard this scripture? I can quote it in my sleep. Can somebody please find a text that doesn’t make us feel guilty for wanting to get married?
“Now, y’all probably think you know what I’m about to say, and I guarantee that you do not! I am not against marriage. I was happily married to the only woman I’ve ever loved for fourteen years. Marriage is a beautiful, honorable thing. Now let’s go back to those lists you were making. I’m sure plenty of you had companionship on your list. Some of you have been trying to keep chaste, so even if no one admits it, I can guess that fulfilling physical needs was on most of your lists. Many of you want families or already have children and want help. I can sympathize with that too. When my daughters hit puberty, I wished several times that I’d gotten remarried. Lastly, I’m going to assume that someone in this room feels like they’re incomplete without a spouse.
“I’m here today to tell you all that there is nothing wrong with getting married. But that’s only the first part of my message. The second part starts like this: In the meantime . . .”
Minister Graham continues, “The Word of God says, ‘He that is unmarried careth for the things that belong to the Lord.’ The word ‘careth’ in this verse is translated from the Greek word
merimnao
. This word does not mean care like, ‘I really, really, really care about you, sweetie.’ No. Care in this verse denotes worry or anxiety. Plug the word ‘anxious’ into that verse. It would now read, ‘He that is unmarried is anxious about the things that belong to the Lord.’
“When I am anxious about something, I waste no time or expense taking care of it. I’m not satisfied until that thing that is causing me anxiety is taken care of or resolved. When is the last time you were anxious about something?
“Singles, the key to being saved and single is to get anxious about the things belonging to the Lord. Let the work of the Lord consume your mind to the point that it’s keeping you up at night and waking you up in the morning. Do not be satisfied with the status quo. What is the most precious thing on earth that belongs to the Lord? That’s right. The Lord bought each and every human life with the price of his blood. There are unsaved souls out in the world. Get anxious about their salvation.”
This message is really hitting home with me. I don’t know about anyone else in the room, but I know that I haven’t been about God’s business. My loneliness has preoccupied me to the point that I don’t even know what God wants me to do.
“I have some homework for you all, before you start your street evangelism and prison prayer and deliverance teams. Because I know that all of you are about to be on fire for the Lord. Right? For all of those that sincerely want to get married: Sisters, go home and make a list of characteristics that a wife needs; brothers, go home and figure out what a husband needs to be. Sisters, if you need some help, read Proverbs 31; brothers, read the Gospels and pay close attention to how Jesus treated his followers.
“Most of the time, we spend so much energy figuring out what we want in a mate that we forget to examine ourselves. Once you get married and the storms come, there is only one person that you can change, and that is you. So make sure that you are already as close as you can be to the Bible’s standard for a husband or a wife. You all be blessed, and thank you for having me.”
Minister Graham receives a standing ovation when he goes back to his seat. I feel that my heart is lighter. Knowing that it is all right to desire a mate is liberating to me. I’m convinced that the Lord will give me what I need. I suddenly feel at ease with my “in the meantime.”
Pam
April 27
Into my second trimester, but still vomiting constantly. I’d forgotten being pregnant. Gretchen and Cicely are excited. They can’t wait to see their new brother or sister. Even Troy is showing some interest. Yesterday he asked me if the baby had moved yet.
Haven’t been doing much writing. Only in this journal. Maybe I’ll never be a successful author. Maybe it’s time to find a new dream . . .
I
put my journal down and sigh out loud. Writing a novel is a funny thing. You can have the entire story mapped out in your head and know exactly what you want to happen to all your characters. But then, when you actually start to put the words down on the paper, something crazy happens. You read back what you’ve written and wonder who in the world ever said that you had any talent.
I used to think that my prose was fresh and innovative, but I’ve been writing stuff that sounds as trite and rehashed as a formula romance. Not that there’s anything wrong with a good romance novel every now and then, but that isn’t what I’m about. I’m supposed to be the next Toni Morrison or Gloria Naylor or Maya Angelou.
Maybe it’s because I feel detached from my main character. It’s about a woman who stays with her husband in spite of his philandering ways and physical abuse. I guess I don’t really relate to that.
I tried to get a little insight into a woman in that situation by observing Yvonne. Only thing is, she’s metamorphosing into somebody strong and free. I’m ecstatic that she’s coming into her own, but it’s wreaking havoc on my novel.
Maybe I need to write about somebody like me. Shoot, maybe I need to just go ahead and write my life down. I mean, it’s got all the right elements: We’re rich, he’s an alcoholic, and I’m a struggling writer trying to find myself. Sounds just like something BET books would publish.
I don’t know what Troy has been doing about his drinking problem, if anything. He hasn’t had any other drunken binges as far as I can tell, and he’s even been coming home on time. Maybe he’s trying to do the right thing. But he’s got to be on something if he thinks that this little tour on the chitlins circuit is more important than witnessing the birth of our child. Troy is trying to show the world that he’s paid his dues in the music industry.
I will say one thing: This morning sickness is not contributing to the situation. I should say all-day sickness, because just about everything makes me vomit. I must be carrying a boy this time, because I never felt this way while I was carrying my girls.
It would help if Troy was being at least a little bit supportive. I mean, I haven’t demanded that he cancel his concert tour, and I haven’t asked him to do anything with reference to this baby in my belly. He hasn’t been to one doctor’s appointment. He’s still treating this like something I did to get back at him.
In spite of the morning sickness and my worries about the birth of this baby, I’m going to write this book. I’m going to buckle down and get this story on paper. Then I’m going to get it published, and people are going to love it. It will be a best seller and maybe on Oprah’s reading list. I name this thing and claim it.
Still, I’m afraid. What if I never reach my goals? I don’t know if I’ll be satisfied to be just a wife and mother, but what if that is what God wants for me? I don’t want to spend years spinning my wheels on something that will never come to pass.
Jesus, give me wisdom and direction.
My life seems to be speeding past. It seems like just yesterday I was twenty-one. I was full of dreams and fire. I want to get that feeling back without losing my husband and my sanity in the process.
Today is a good day for a full-body massage. Maybe it will get my creative juices flowing. Maybe it’ll help with this god-awful nausea.
Just as I get ready to make my appointment with master masseuse Gigi, the telephone rings. I glance at the caller ID before I answer it. My heart skips a beat when I read “Cleveland Police Department” in the display.
“May I speak with Mrs. Pam Lyons?”
“Yes. This is she.”
“Ma’am, this is Sergeant Jones of the Cleveland Police Department. Your husband has been in a car accident.”
My heart nearly stops. “I—is he all right?”
“He’s at Lake Park East Hospital right now, ma’am. He’s in critical condition.”
I don’t hear anything else she says.
Jesus, help me. And please let me get to my husband in time.
Taylor
I
’m sitting here trying to do my homework from the singles ministry class. Well, I am some of the things that I picked out of Proverbs 31. I’m diligent, supportive and strong. I’m loving . . . well, I’m loving when nobody is getting on my nerves. I can’t say that I’m wise, not with the choices I’ve made. I am also a God-fearing woman.
Admittedly, I’ve got a lot of work to do in the homemaker department. Pam was so right when she said that I hate cleaning. Actually, my hatred of housework is only surpassed by my disdain for cooking. If I could go out to a restaurant every night, I would. This Proverbs 31 woman is off the hook. She even sews her own clothes. I don’t even know what to do with a needle and thread.
The virtuous wife had her money together. All I can say is that I need to get there. My finances are a joke. I’ve never been one of those women looking for a knight in shining armor to come and take care of their money woes. But I haven’t guarded what I have well enough.
Obviously, I’m not ready for a husband yet. So what shall I do in the meantime? I’ve been trying to figure out when I stopped being on fire for Jesus. Minister Graham’s message reminded me that there was actually a time in my life that I was anxious for the Lord’s business.
When I first got saved, I just couldn’t stop talking about Jesus. Everybody I met had to sit and listen to my testimony. And then I made them come to New Faith and see for themselves. I didn’t even know everything that I needed to know, but I knew that I could find it in my Bible.
When I backslid with Luke, my joy drained out of me like air from an untied balloon. Those people that I testified to, well, I avoided them like the plague. And I sure wasn’t about to invite anyone to my church, not while I was sitting in the back trying to hide a big belly.
After Joshua was born, I never found a way to get my joy back. I feel like every day I struggle is punishment for my sins. Am I only reaping what I’ve sown?
But what I keep forgetting is that I am made clean by the blood of the Lamb. I’ve been practicing giving myself pep talks when the devil starts attacking me with my past. I looked up and memorized every scripture that I could find about forgiveness and added all of these to my arsenal. Every word is like a bullet.
When that little voice tells me that I don’t have any business walking up in the church because of my past sins, I reply by saying, “He is faithful and just to forgive me of my sins and to cleanse me from all unrighteousness.” When that voice says that I have no right to try and counsel a wounded woman, I say, “Create in me a clean heart, O God, and renew a right spirit within me . . . Then I will teach Your ways to sinners and they will return to You.” When the devil tries to make me believe that I cannot raise my son without a man, I say, “I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me.” I still have bouts of depression, but I’m determined to get this mess off me.
Sometimes I feel bound to my past and bound to my mother’s views of me and life in general. I watched her struggle for so many years. We were poor, and we never had anything that we wanted, only what we needed. My two brothers and I thought it was normal to go without hot water and heat.
My mother had a lot of men come and go in our lives. She never made us call any of them “Daddy.” She took what they had to give, and then when they had nothing else to offer, she’d show them the door. I never knew a man could be permanent.
Over the years my mother became a hard and bitter woman and blamed it on every man she’d ever been with. The cheating men, the lazy, shiftless men, the abusive men. They all made her hard as flint. Those men turned her into some type of an abomination. When they got done taking her spirit, she was something other than a woman. She was trying to be husband and wife when she was married, and mother and father to three little nappy-headed kids. How could she help but pass her bitterness on to me? And I just received it, like it was a gift or something.
Joshua needs me to be the best mother that I can be, and to do that, I need myself to be healed of my broken heart. And the Lord needs me too. He’s got plans for me. I’m no use to Him or anybody else bound and chained, even if the prison is all in my mind.
My telephone rang at one this morning. A chill ran up my spine. Who would be calling me at that time of night?
“Hello?”
“Taylor. It’s me . . . Pam,” she said in a quiet, shaky voice.
“Pam? Is everything okay?”
Pam cried, “No. Troy’s been in a car accident. He’s in intensive care.”
“Where are you?”
“I’m at Lake Park East Hospital.”
“We’re on our way.”
By “we” I meant me and Yvonne, although I’m sure Pam knew that. We get to the hospital, and Pam is frantic. They’ve only just allowed her to see Troy, and apparently she was not ready for what she saw. Yvonne immediately embraces the hysterical Pam, while I talk to one of the nurses at the station.
“Can you please get her a chair and something to drink? She’s pregnant.”
The nurse nods, although I can tell she’s not interested in taking orders from me. We get Pam calmed down and sipping on a ginger ale. She’s breathing heavily, and the tears are running down her cheeks. Yvonne gently strokes her back.
Pam says, “Troy ran into a semitruck. He’s got seven broken ribs, and his left leg is shattered. One of the broken ribs punctured his lung, and now he’s going to surgery. They won’t tell me much of anything else.”