Plenty Good Room

by Cheri Paris Edwards

  The greatest irony was that Tamara’s anger about her own discomfort had made Sienna run away, and yet now she understood that the uneasiness she had been experiencing was simply part of the necessary adjustment to change; and without change, life would be stagnant, lacking growth and substance.

  “Church, let us rise for the prayer.”

  Tamara stood, and lowered her head, and closed her eyes.

  “Lord, we praise Your name today . . . and just like my precious wife, Sister Walker, said earlier, we thank You, Lord, for all of the hardships that we have faced and will face in our lives, for we know all is in Your plan. Lord, we ask that You help create in us a clean heart—a heart that is free of deception and open and transparent for the world to see. We know that You know us fully and that You have already forgiven us for any sin we may have committed, and that You love us just as we are. Oh, what a blessing it is, God, to be loved just as we are.”

  Tamara whispered, “A clean heart, God, that’s what I want.”

  “Lord, we thank You for Your love, and each day we ask that You show us how to love others just as You do us: unconditionally, fully, and without reservation. Amen. You may be seated, church.”

  She sat back down and then turned her swollen eyes up toward the minister.

  “Church, for the past few months we have been talking about learning to walk in love, and over the past few weeks we have learned that this is no easy stroll. But, if we are striving to be like Jesus, we must learn to love others like He loved us.”

  The minister looked out into the congregation and said, “You know it’s easy to love folks that are close to us. When we look at our children, they look like us and they often talk like us; they remind us of ourselves, and if we are good parents, we find it easy to give them love. But oh, church, it’s not so easy to love folks that aren’t in our family—is it?

  “Turn in your Bible to Romans eleven. I’m gonna show you somethin’ here that will just blow your mind when you think about it. You see, salvation was not really for us in the beginning; salvation was for the people of Israel, and they rejected it. Read Paul’s words with me beginning at verse fifteen: ‘For if their rejection is the reconciliation of the world, what will their acceptance be but life from the dead!’

  “See, it was then, when the people of Israel rejected the salvation that God turned their rejection into good, when He offered to the world the salvation that had only been for them:

  “‘If the part of the dough offered as the first fruits is holy, then the whole batch is holy; and if the root is holy, then the branches are also holy . . . ’

  “Now, listen here, church, keep in mind, the root is God, ‘ . . . and the branches are made holy by the root.’”

  The minister told them, “Now, stay with me, church; let’s move on down to verse seventeen:

  “‘But if some branches were broken off, and you, a wild olive shoot, were grafted in their place to share the rich root of the olive tree, do not boast of the branches. If you do boast, remember that it is not you that supports the root, but the root that supports you.’”

  He stopped there for a minute. “Church, this verse is a warning for us. It reminds us to stay humble, lest we get bigheaded, as we can do sometimes, thinking that everything stems from something great we have inside ourselves. We are here because of God, because He loved us enough to graft us onto the tree and feed us His Word. God does not treat us like stepchildren because we got in the game late, either; He treats us like His own, because He made us His own.”

  Tamara looked up, thinking how amazing it was that God’s love was so consistent, strong, and unconditional.

  The minister removed his glasses in his customary manner. “Now, church, we have seen that we have been made a part of salvation through God’s love for us, and now let’s read how we as Christians should claim that salvation for ourselves.” He replaced his eyeglasses and said, “Turn your Bibles to Philippians three, verse twelve.

  “You know, at the time Paul wrote this, church, he was in prison. In fact, this book is comprised of letters he wrote to the people of Philippi while he was there. So he wrote about difficult times from personal experience. In other words, Saint Paul could relate to what he was talking about here, ’cause Paul was livin’ it, too! Brothers and sisters, Paul was talkin’ the talk while he was walkin’ the walk!”

  “Amen,” said several members of the congregation, amid a smattering of laughter.

  “Y’all understand that, huh? Y’all must know something about that, then,” added the pastor with a chuckle.

  Tamara could not laugh with the others, though. Her mood was too somber, and she solemnly waited to hear the remainder of the sermon, still feeling fluttery and off balance inside.

  “Okay, church. Read with me . . . chapter three, verse twelve: ‘Not that I have already obtained this or have already reached the goal, but I press on to make it my own, because Christ Jesus has made me his own.’

  “Remember, now, church, we are His now; He’s grafted us onto the tree of salvation, and we are connected to Him. He’s our root, our sustenance.”

  The minister continued, “Church, don’t stop reading now. C’mon . . .

  “‘Beloved, I do not consider that I have made it my own, but this one thing I do; forgetting what lies behind and straining forward to what lies ahead, I press toward the goal for the prize of the heavenly call of God in Christ Jesus.’”

  Tamara closed her Bible then, and so did the minister. The words she’d just read with him were in the forefront of her mind now.

  “We have hard times, church; yes, we do, but know that God works them altogether for the good, sisters and brothers. We can’t let life’s difficulties and hardships make us bitter or too frightened to love, because it is through love that we best reflect the Holy Spirit within us.”

  He looked into the congregation, and his voice choked with emotion. “My brothers and sisters, I know it’s hard sometimes, during those difficult times when life has been tough and it seems that no one understands or cares what you’ve been through or what you are going through, but be assured that God has His hand on you. Believe me, even if you have been through the most severe of difficulties, you can trust enough to love again. You must remember to forget those things that lie behind, and press forward toward the high calling of Jesus Christ.”

  It was as he said those words that Tamara felt something within begin to break apart. Her mind would not be still, and she couldn’t stop its movement; it was filled with swirling images of the girl and thoughts of Yvette, Isaiah Perry, Denise Jackson, and all the people she’d met in the past few months. Although she could hear his words clearly, she could only stare straight ahead unseeingly as the minister continued to speak.

  “Press forward, church . . . press forward. It’s all about love. It’s all about learning to love like God loves us.”

  He leaned on the podium, glasses in hand again. “Before I stop today, church, I want to share this prose with you. This year I found some Christmas cards. They weren’t expensive cards or made by a special person; in fact, my wife and I picked these up at Wal-Mart. But they were the most beautiful cards because of what they said. I have one with me today, and I’m going to read it to you to close the sermon.”

  He put his eyeglasses on and began to read. “It says, ‘God . . . the greatest person . . . so loved . . . the greatest degree . . . the world . . . the greatest company . . . that He gave . . . the greatest act . . . His only begotten Son . . . the greatest gift . . . that whosoever . . . the greatest opportunity . . . believeth . . . the greatest simplicity . . . in Him . . . the greatest attraction . . . should not perish . . . the greatest promise . . . but . . . .the greatest difference . . . have . . . the greatest certainty . . . everlasting life . . . the greatest possession.’”

  Tamara began to cry then. Slow tears coursed down her smooth brown face, and each time she wiped them away, more came just as quickly. She’d cried so much in the past few da
ys that truly she thought there were no tears left to cry, but she did cry now, and the tears flowed unceasingly.

  It seemed that Minister Walker was looking right at her then, and he said, “God makes no mistakes, my church . . . There is a plan for your life, and nothing, nothing, is an accident. Never be afraid to walk in love, just as Jesus walked in love for us . . . Know that no matter where we come from or where we’ve been, there is exceedingly abundant room in God’s heart to love us, and we always have room in our hearts, too, church! Plenty good room to love!”

  Then the minister began his altar call. “If anybody would like to come today and accept God into their life, come now . . . come now.”

  Tamara was crying in earnest, lost in her own emotions, and totally unaware of what was going on around her other than the sound of the preacher’s voice.

  In his low, gravelly voice, Minister Walker began to slowly sing the old Negro spiritual he’d sung at Bible study weeks ago:

  “There’s plenty good room,

  plenty good room in ma Father’s Kingdom,

  plenty good room, plenty good room

  —just choose your seat and sit down.”

  Tamara’s sobs became louder, and she lost all control. It was as if a dam had burst inside her, and she was unable to hold back the emotions she’d suppressed for so very long.

  “I can’t take it anymore,” she cried as she sobbed loudly and sat down hard in the pew. “Oh, God, I just can’t take it anymore. Help me, God, please help me,” and through her tears she continued to say those words over and over until Denise Jackson ran down from the choir stand to help her out of the sanctuary.

  49.

  Finding Faith

  Isaiah Perry almost had to carry a weakened Tamara from the church before putting her into Denise Jackson’s car. While unsure of why Tamara was so upset, they both knew that in her state of mind she was obviously in no position to drive herself home.

  Isaiah Perry’s husky voice was heavy with concern when he asked Denise, “Do you want me to come with you?”

  Denise looked at the young man. “No, I think it will be better if I take her alone, Isaiah. Now, you try not to worry, baby, and I promise I will call you as soon as I get her calmed down a bit.”

  “Please don’t forget, Mrs. Jackson,” he said. “Good-bye, Tamara,” he added, glancing over at her, but the young woman showed no sign of having heard him and instead just continued to wipe away the silent tears still flowing down her cheeks as she stared out the window.

  Once in the apartment, Denise Jackson gently led Tamara into her bedroom, opened her drawers, and picked out some comfortable clothes. Tamara had finally stopped crying and now stared straight ahead, as if she were in a daze of sorts, clearly still very upset and suffering through some sort of severe inner turmoil.

  Denise Jackson pulled back the coral comforter on the bed and plumped the pillows. “Baby girl, I’m gonna make us some tea. Now, you get comfortable and then just get right up in the bed until I get back,” she added as she patted the pillow.

  When she returned a few minutes later with two cups of steaming Red Zinger herbal tea, Tamara was sitting upright in the bed. Her legs were crossed in front of her, and she continued to stare ahead blankly.

  “Baby girl?”

  Tamara’s eyes were swollen so tightly closed that when she turned to look at Denise, they were like mere slits in her round face.

  “Oh, baby girl . . . ,” said the older woman sadly as she set down the cups of tea.

  “I’m okay,” Tamara said hoarsely, but her sad expression clearly did not match the words coming from her mouth.

  “Baby, is there something else going on? I know that you are upset about little Sienna leaving and all, but it seems like more. What did you mean, you ‘can’t take it anymore’? What did you mean when you kept saying that, Tamara?”

  Tamara did not reply but instead slowly stretched out first one leg and then the other and got down from the bed. Almost mechanically she walked over to the closet and opened the metal door. Standing on her toes, she pulled out an old, green duffel bag from the corner of the back top shelf. Without looking at Denise Jackson, she wiped the dust off the top of the bag almost lovingly before she opened it and reached inside. In a moment she’d retrieved a worn black Bible, and with it in hand she walked back over to the bed and sat down.

  Denise Jackson looked at the girl curiously but, for once, kept quiet. She could sense that whatever this was that seemed to be eating at the girl’s insides, it would have to be handled by her in her own time and in her own way.

  Tamara pulled her legs up under her again and said in a voice that was so quiet, it was little more than a whisper. “You know, I had a friend who knew a minister that preached at a church called Hope Temple—just like the church we go to now. It was a long, long time ago, but it’s still pretty ironic, huh?”

  Denise gazed at Tamara straightforwardly and answered, “It’s not ironic at all. Remember, our God is not one of irony, Tamara! Your friend might have gone to the first Hope Temple founded by Reverend Davis, God rest his soul. He was Minister Walker’s stepfather—took care of him just like he was his own, though.”

  “Reverend Davis?” she said in a surprised voice.

  “Yes, baby, Reverend Davis. He was a good, kindly man.”

  She closed her eyes, then opened them again and said quietly, “Yes, he was good and kindly . . . He took care of my friend, too.”

  “Your friend?”

  Tamara said, “Yes, my friend . . . For a long time now I’ve been trying to help this friend of mine. She’s someone I knew a long, long time ago. This friend’s struggle was the reason that I became involved in Child Welfare—because I knew what she’d gone through and I wanted to make a difference, you know?” Slow tears had began to course down the girl’s face again as she clutched the worn Bible close to her.

  Curious, the woman asked, “So where is your friend now?”

  Tamara continued speaking just as if she had not heard the woman’s question. “This past year so very much as happened. And finally, after so many months and years of searching, I was able to find them.”

  “Them?”

  “Yvette’s parents—my friend Yvette’s parents. I’ve met her grandmother and her aunt and found out that her mother is dead,” she said as she choked back a sob. “Her mother, Jannice Bailey, died of a drug overdose . . . all alone.” She wiped her newly flowing tears with the back of her hand almost angrily. “Then, I met her daddy . . . I met her daddy,” she repeated.

  Uncomprehending, Denise Jackson asked again, “So, do you know where your friend is now?”

  Tamara slowly brought the Bible down from her chest into her lap and opened it to the first page. She read the words that were written on the inner sleeve aloud. “‘God loves you. Never forget that.’

  “Yes, Mrs. Jackson,” said Tamara, and tears were streaming down her face again. “I know where she is.”

  Denise Jackson was concerned that Tamara once again seemed so distraught. “Baby girl, I just have to say this to you. I don’t know what is going on, why you are so upset, but I want you to think about Minister Walker’s words today. Tamara, everything works together for the good, baby girl—everything.”

  Between her hiccuping sobs, Tamara said morosely, “B-b-but, Mrs. J-Jackson, I’ve made such a mess of everything. S-Sienna was trying to be kind to me in all the ways she knew how; she l-l-liked me and I wouldn’t accept it. I expected t-too much of her, and I said things to her that I thought I meant, b-but now I know I did not.”

  Denise Jackson pursed her lips and said, “Shhh! Just hush now, baby girl. You are a sweet and loving person, and you are being way too hard on yourself. Truth be told, you should’ve given Sienna a good talkin’-to a long time before you did.”

  Tamara glanced up at the woman and said in a rush, “I’m not a good person; I’m not; I’m not. Everyone thinks I took Sienna in because I’m so good. The truth is, I took her in bec
ause I was afraid to tell my boss that I would not.”

  Denise Jackson sat on the bed by her and rubbed her back gently. “Oh, Tamara, baby, no. That is just a deception of the enemy. God put it into your heart to open your home to little Sienna, and even if you were afraid and you did it anyway, that makes it so much more of a wonderful thing for you to have done. You were submitting to His will without even knowing it.”

  For the first time that day, hope appeared in the girl’s eyes when she looked at her. “God was with me then?”

  “Baby, God has been with you all the time. Even during those times you thought you were alone, you were not, because He was right there watching you and loving you all the time.”

  “But, Mrs. Jackson, it was so hard sometimes . . . and I felt so alone.”

  “Baby, all of us have difficult times, and I don’t know what you’ve been through, but I know that all of it was a preparation for this moment, this time, this day, and the plan that God has just for you. Baby girl, you didn’t feel Him with you, because you didn’t stop and listen to His quiet voice inside. But He was there; He was there.”

  Tamara wiped her swollen eyes and said quietly, “All things work together for the good . . . all things.”

  “Yes, baby,” said Denise Jackson. “All things work together for the good. God doesn’t make mistakes, and you and your life were no accident. He was preparing you then for this moment, now. Be assured that you’ve had a profound effect on that girl, and I know that she will be back.”

  “Oh, Mrs. Jackson, do you really think so?”

  With certainty Denise Jackson replied, “I think so. Sienna’s probably just somewhere with a friend, and when she gets tired and misses you enough, she’ll be back. Sienna loves you, Tamara, so she has to come back . . . Love will bring her back.”