Picking up the receiver on the fifth ring, she answered with a cautious “Hello?”
“Aunt Bell, this is Jermaine.”
She blinked, her mind processing what she thought she had heard. Was her mind messing with her again? The caller had just said his name was . . . his name was . . .
“Did you hear me, Auntie? You remember me, right? Jermaine.”
Oh my sweet Jesus . . . “Y-yes, Jermaine. I know’s you. Been . . . been long time since I’s talked to you last.”
“I know. I’m . . . I’m sorry about that, Auntie. I should have been spending some more time with you. I’m . . . I’m sorry about a lot of things.”
“S’alright, son. S’alright.”
“Yeah. Yeah, well I just wanted you to know something. And I wanted to tell you myself.”
“S’alright, son. I’s listenin’.”
“I . . . I don’t know how best to say this, but here it goes. I met Him, Auntie. Jesus.” He took a deep breath and made a sound like he was either laughing or crying. Or both. “I met Him . . . and He saved me.”
Bell was completely speechless.
“Auntie, did you hear me? The same Jesus you taught me about when I was a kid, but I just wasn’t ready to listen. Well, I’m listening now. And He’s talking to me.”
Warm, wet tears began streaming down her wrinkled face. She felt like—no, she was the most blessed person in the world right then. Her reward. Her son. Her promise.
“Thank you, Jesus,” she breathed. “Jermaine, I’s so . . . I’s so happy . . . you’s made me so very happy.”
INSTANTLY, JERMAINE’S ENTIRE life began changing in new and exciting ways that caused him to be both happy and hesitant at the same time.
What’s happening to me?
He had heard people talk about being born again, but he really didn’t know what that meant. He couldn’t have known what that meant.
Why didn’t they tell me it would be like this? As wonderful as this?
He awoke now with a peace and gratitude that he would never have even fathomed existed months ago. It was as if those binding spirits of depression that had ensnared him over ten years ago, shackles that had become a part of his life, had now dropped off and been cast far away from him. He had remembered Aunt Bell reading him passages from the Bible when he was much younger, and how he had thought the old book to be rather boring. Especially with words like thee and thou and references to things he didn’t understand. And as he became older, he started becoming critical and challenged the authenticity of the Bible using the wisdom he thought he had attained from his college education and growing fame.
Now, though, as he began spending countless hours and hours reading the Word, passages in the timeless scriptures seemed to leap out from the pages directly into his heart.
“But you are a chosen generation, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, His own special people, that you may proclaim the praises of Him who called you out of darkness into His marvelous light.”
As he re-read and pored over this particular Scripture, a tear sprang from his eye, slid down his cheek, and moistened the page in the Bible.
“Lord, I . . . I didn’t know . . . I didn’t know,” he whispered. He had spent all of his adult life, so-called inspiring people all over the nation with borrowed pet phrases and proven emotional tactics. But the real truth of inspiration was right here before his face. It had always been here, though Jermaine had been unable to see it.
Setting the Bible down on the desk beside him, he dropped to his knees and bowed his head. It was a position that was becoming more and more familiar to him as he communed with the loving Father. Never one to know an earthly father, for the first time Jermaine understood the unconditional, accepting love that a true Father could give. A Father who had always loved him and knew him better than anyone. A Father who could reveal to him what it truly meant to be inspired.
Chapter twenty-nine
THE LORD HAS A mighty work for you, Jermaine,” Ambrose said as the two sat together in the common meeting area a few weeks later. A Bible lay between them on a chair, opened to the apostle Paul’s second epistle to young Timothy.
“What do you mean, a mighty work? Talk like that is still over my head,” Jermaine replied with a nervous laugh. “I’m just trying to get to know this Jesus that you . . . well, that you seem to know . . . so well.”
Ambrose nodded. “And you will, Jermaine. You will.” He gestured to the open Bible in front of him. “But like Paul told Timothy, I remind you to stir up the gift of God that is in you through the laying on of my hands. You have a great gift to reach the masses, Jermaine. God has already given you the blessing of fame, which simply is the platform from which millions of people can listen to what you have to say. You can reach people in a way that not many can. So with the knowledge that God is placing inside you every single day now—I urge you to prepare yourself for that work.”
Jermaine nodded thoughtfully. “You know, I used to laugh and ridicule preachers who tried to get everyone to believe what the Bible said. And I wasn’t by myself in that thinking, either. Most people thought people like you—”
“Like us,” Ambrose gently corrected.
“Like us . . . yeah, like us. People thought we were crazy. I don’t know if I’m ready to deal with the drama of that misconception.”
Ambrose smiled knowingly before reading the next passage of Scripture from II Timothy. “For God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power and of love and of a sound mind.” He looked up then with steady eyes, which were unwavering and full of faith. “Jermaine, you have nothing to fear, because your testimony will be the thing God uses to fuel that boldness. You remember when I was talking to you about the apostle Paul’s conversion?” He pointed to the Bible. “This same man writing to Timothy right here—before his little trip to Damascus, he was the greatest persecutor of Christians the world had ever seen. And after that radical conversion, God gave Him a powerful testimony that put even his harshest critics to shame.”
“Yeah, but everyone knows about the life I led. The depression, all those women, the hypocrisy . . .” Jermaine’s voice trailed off as he stared down at the floor.
Ambrose placed his hand over Jermaine’s. “And that is exactly why your testimony will be even that much more powerful, my son.”
MYRA FINISHED TYPING the last words of the e-mail, then pressed the period key. She whispered a quick, “Thank you, Jesus,” as she moved the cursor over the send button. With one click, the e-mail was sent to seventy new distribution outlets for Song of Solomon magazine, outlets that would firmly position the magazine as the leader of the urban market share.
“God, you are such a good God,” she said aloud.
The ringing of the phone jolted her for a second, but after checking the caller ID, she smiled broadly.
“Xavier, how are you?”
“You know that I am blessed, Myra. You are, too, from what I hear. What’s this about getting new subscribers by the hundreds every day?”
“Oh, Xavier, isn’t God so, so good! You’re hearing right—we’ve had to expand our subscription department by hiring new customer service reps and drivers. I don’t even know how this all happened, especially after what we went through with that whole Jermaine Hill interview, but Song of Solomon is selling faster than fried chicken at Uncle Po’s family reunion!”
Xavier was silent for a moment. “Who-who’s Uncle Po?”
Myra laughed. “Never mind, that wasn’t the point. You know, God’s blessings toward this magazine and ministry are more than I could have ever asked for. So much more than I could have ever asked for.”
“Well then, if it’s even possible, I might have some news that might even top that.”
“I don’t believe that, Xavier. No, not for a second,” she replied teasingly. “And besides, I’m not sure that I could even handle more good news. I’m fit to burst right about now, anyway.”
“I hope you don’t mean that literally, b
ecause listen to this: I’m hearing through some very reliable sources that Jermaine Hill has recently accepted Jesus Christ as his personal Lord and Savior.”
Myra tried to answer, but her mouth couldn’t seem to function just right.
Xavier continued speaking. “He’s been at Atascadero, but an old evangelist who’s also being treated there has supposedly led him to the Lord.”
“S-supposedly?”
“Well, as I said, my source is extremely reliable, but then again, we both know how the media grapevine can get things distorted sometimes.”
“Oh, Xavier, but if this . . . if this is true—how awesome that would be! To have one of the most famous celebrities in the nation become saved . . .”
“The effects would be tremendous,” Xavier agreed. “I think the most important thing that we need to do—and all of Song of Solomon’sprayer team, as well—is to have around-the-clock prayer for Jermaine, that he might be strengthened to be a light and a voice to reach this country in ways not many others could.”
“Yes. Yes, you’re right.” As you usually are, prayer warrior . . . “I’ll get the word out to our prayer team.”
“To God be the glory.”
“Amen to that, Xavier. Amen to that.”
Chapter thirty
TWO WEEKS LATER, Jermaine’s early release from Atascadero State Hospital received top billing and exposure from media outlets nationwide. He had become strong enough now to walk out of the hospital without the use of a wheelchair or crutches, albeit moving slowly. The questions posed by everyone from the beat reporters to the prime-time anchors centered on how this once-revered motivational speaker would now integrate himself back into society. On the heels of almost two months of psychiatric treatment, would he dive back into speaking at his usual four to five engagements a week? What was his current mental state? Was he still suicidal? Would the country readily accept him again as one of their beloved icons and heroes?
Mario Jordan had, of course, prepared neatly wrapped press statements to answer all such questions. Seamlessly painting a glorious picture of Jermaine’s mental state as being fully recovered and better than ever, he had let it be known with great pride that his client was prepared and ready to once again “get America excited and inspired about life!”
“We did it, J!” Mario now said, excitedly waving a piece of paper over his head like it was worth all the money in the world. The two were in their morning agenda meeting in the executive conference room.
“Did what?” Jermaine asked as he nonchalantly glanced up from the pocket Bible he had begun reading as part of his daily morning devotional. His highly unexpected foray into Christianity naturally had piqued the interest of his agent. At first Mario had feared his star speaker might be turning into a right-wing fundamentalist, but Jermaine had assured him the only thing that had so far changed was his personal relationship with God. And since Jermaine was actually now arriving at his engagements on time, and there were no more all-night parties with strange girls, Mario really didn’t care about Jermaine’s newfound spirituality. As far as Mario was concerned, his client was simply a better, new-and-improved person since his release from the hospital.
“We got ninety-eight percent of the public appeal rating! Once again, we are at the top of the circuit! People better take notes—messin’ around with Super Mario will leave you shining his shoes and washing his cars before too long!”
“Your excitement is almost scaring me, Mario. So what if I’m at the top of all the polls? I’m still no higher than the God who gives me the breath to speak.”
Mario rolled his eyes as his client once again found a way to insert his religious jargon into the conversation. Oh well, at least he wasn’t trying to jump off a cliff anymore.
“But J, take a look at these figures—we’ve got the kind of ratings the networks would kill for.”
“That’s an interesting way to put it. So I take it you don’t mind, then, that I scheduled an interview next week on ABC without running it by you first? I mean, I prayed about it and I just felt it was what the Lord was leading me to do.”
Mario rolled his eyes once again. “Well, if you think God was leading you to do it, then I guess it’s alright, huh?” He couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped from his mouth. “Who’s doing the interview, by the way? Diane Sawyer? Barbara Walters?”
Jermaine shook his head. “Nope. It’s their new girl. A bit ironic, I think, given the circumstances. Chantal Dixon.”
Mario gulped and almost choked in the same breath. “W-what? Who did you say?”
“You know, the reporter from StarWatch News who first broke the story about me. I’m sure you were aware that ABC hired her, right? Apparently, the network brass thinks it would give the interview an added boost if Chantal conducted it.”
“An added boost?” In mere seconds, Mario had grown angry enough to take that pocket Bible of Jermaine’s and ram it straight down his client’s little golden-voiced throat. “Have you gone crazy as well as religious?”
“No, it’s like I said earlier. I’m not religious. I just have a relationship with Je—”
“Whatever! The point is still crystal clear—you just signed a death warrant by agreeing to appear on live network television with that crazy woman! She’s willing to do whatever she can to take you and me both down. You should have known that by how she had you and that Candace Clark girl followed. For chrissake, Jermaine, you just spent a good two months in a mental hospital because of Chantal Dixon!”
Jermaine calmly eyed Mario. “What was meant for evil has turned out for my good. Spending that time at Atascadero was the best thing that could have happened to me. I was ready—and willing—to kill myself, Mario. Remember? And that had nothing to do with Chantal Dixon.”
“But ninety-eight percent, Jermaine!” Mario waved the printout of the public opinion poll over his head again. “What would possess you to want to mess up a sure thing? We practically own the motivational speaking market, don’t you see? Now, one bad interview can flush all that down the toilet!”
Jermaine smiled (with a sense of pity, Mario thought) as he rose to his feet. Tapping his Bible to his heart, he said, “A man’s heart plans his way, but the Lord directs his steps.”
“Oh, get real! What does that have to do with—”
But the star speaker had turned and was headed out the door. Enraged beyond belief, Mario could barely keep from running after him and beating some common sense back into his twisted, religious little head.
LATER THAT EVENING, as he casually leaned against the railing on his patio deck, the setting sun gloriously scattering shadows around the lights of Hollywood Hills, Jermaine paused to reflect on the unpredictable twists and turns in his thirty-one years of living.
As had mostly been the case these past few days, his first thoughts were of Aunt Bell. His fond memories of her centered on her stern but loving upbringing of him at a time when there had been nowhere else for him to go. Not only had she been the first person to recognize his natural talent for speaking, but she had also ensured that there were plenty of opportunities for him to exercise that gift in public settings.
“Look into people’s eyes when you speak,” she had always told him. “And remember that you don’t speak jus’ ’cause you want to say something. You speak ’cause you have something to say.” Dutifully and faithfully, she had prayed over him every night before he went to bed until his high school years, anointing his head with oil and pleading for God to direct his path in life. He had rejected that then, dismissing all of it as crazy and religious.
“Oh, but look at God,” he thought to himself. “Look at how God can turn everything around.”
His thoughts then wandered to the good times he had shared with Ronny and Eric. Even now, he would still contend that those two had been taken in the prime of their precious lives—lives that had held such amazing promise and potential. As far as Jermaine was concerned, there was nothing that would’ve stood in the way of them
fulfilling their dreams. Nothing, except of course for that drunk teenage driver with a blood-alcohol level of .65 who had just happened to be speeding down the New Jersey Turnpike in the wrong direction that fateful day almost ten years ago. In his recent days since discovering a relationship with God, Jermaine had repeatedly asked why his two best friends had been tragically taken from him. But there had been no answer from God. Jermaine hadn’t known how to embrace such deafening silence other than to accept the reality that sometimes there were no easy answers to life’s hard questions.
And then how in the world could he ever free his mind of the wonderful thoughts that were forever kept for Candi Clark?
God, how I miss her . . .
He had never met such an intelligent, poised, and accomplished sistah who was every bit his match and equal in seemingly every category. And he was almost certain that he would never meet anyone like her in his life again. She had, to put it plainly, the all-too-rare combination of both brains and beauty that would always leave men reeling in amazement. Jermaine hadn’t spoken to her since that awkward, infamous, and now almost-fateful night in the heat of the Phoenix desert several months ago. He had wanted to . . . even had picked up the phone and dialed the first three digits of her number, but he could never follow through. Because what could he possibly say?
“I’m sorry, Candi, for taking advantage of you. And I’m so, so sorry for subjecting you to unthinkable shame and humiliation . . .” Oh yeah, how great was that? Something along those lines would go over just wonderfully.
Still, he remained ever mindful of her description of her Mr. Right. What had she said again? That she was looking for a man who was unafraid to show emotion in any given circumstances.
I can do that . . .
Someone who was committed to exercising and eating right, and who could make her laugh.
A Man Inspired Page 18