The Pastor's Husband

by Tiffany L. Warren

  “Woman, you have lost your ever loving mind,” Greg says. “The only reason I’m not canceling the invite you made is because that would absolutely be a snub. You’ve put me in a tough spot.”

  “It will be fine. It’s not about Bishop Bowens today. He knows that. I gave them the history of our ministry, and Lady Bowens promises me that his remarks will line up with our mission.”

  “I hope so.”

  Greg and I follow Lena’s instructions and enter the pulpit area just as service is getting underway. Bishop and Lady Bowens have on matching blue ensembles. Bishop Bowens’s tie makes me cover my mouth to stifle a giggle. It’s got huge green, orange, blue, and red bubbles all over it. Next to his royal blue suit, it looks like he’s about to be ringmaster at the circus. Lady Bowens is no less gaudy than her husband. She’s got on bright red, jewel-encrusted shoes that put me in mind of Dorothy from The Wiz. Next to them, Bishop Lipford in his plain, cream-colored preaching robe looks understated and underwhelming.

  We enjoy singing by several different local choirs and a few soloists as the celebration begins. I watch Greg beam with pride at how the service is progressing and the hundreds of people in our new sanctuary. We just knew that when we first opened the doors there would only be a few more than our regular congregation, but there is an explosion of people. I don’t know if it’s because of the Suddenly Blessing message, or if people were just excited to have a new church in the neighborhood.

  Now it’s the time in the service for the words, blessings, and consecration. I feel a little nervous as our assistant pastor reads Bishop Bowens’s biography. He takes to the podium and the congregation roars with applause. He truly is a well-known face in Dallas.

  “How many of y’all are excited about what God is doing at Love First International?” Bishop Bowens roars into the microphone, and the congregation roars back.

  “I have to tell you, I believe God has planted this phenomenal couple right here in Dallas to do some kingdom building. Their youthful and relatable spirit is refreshing. My wife and I just love them with the love of Jesus.”

  I feel myself relax. So far, so good. Greg was worried about Bishop Bowens saying something crazy, but he’s doing a great job.

  “How many of you, in the audience, have heard Pastor Nya’s Suddenly Blessing message?”

  The roar is even louder than the first time, but Greg beams at me and joins in the applause.

  “Church, I am believing God with the Hampsteads, for a supernatural breakthrough in their ministry. We know that Pastor Nya flows in the prophetic, and she’s the real thing, y’all. We got a lot of imposters out here. A lot of prophe-liars, but not Pastor Nya. She is truly acting as one of the mouthpieces of God in this end-times dispensation.”

  Now I feel myself getting nervous. Partially because I did indeed prophe-lie. But more because Bishop Bowens’s brief remarks are leaving the realm of brevity and entering the realm of lengthy.

  “If you are believing God with me for this wonderful couple, I want you to do something very special right now. I feel led, in this moment, to be a blessing to them and to sow a seed into them. And I want to be very specific about this, because some of y’all might not know this about your pastors. Pastor Nya went on a preaching tour and put every penny of her earnings into the purchase of this building.”

  The applause is deafening, and if Greg had a superpower like X-ray vision, I would feel a hole burning in the side of my face from his stare.

  “The man and woman of God sitting before you are incredibly selfless. They didn’t have to use the money for that. They could’ve raised money from the congregation and had a building fund. But they didn’t. They took what God entrusted them with and sowed it back into their ministry.”

  Bishop Bowens looks back at us and smiles. Greg gives him the blankest stare possible and I’m not quite sure what my face does. I’m just afraid Greg is going to pull out the hook and yank Bishop Bowens off the stage.

  “Very, very quickly, I want you all to get an offering in your hand,” Bishop Bowens says.

  Greg’s head literally snaps over in my direction. I can almost see the smoke coming from his ears.

  “Get at least a ten-dollar seed offering, and if you’re writing a check, don’t write it to the church. Write it directly to your pastors. I want you to let them know that the burden of this wonderful building will not fall on their shoulders alone. And when you get that offering in your hand, bring it down to the altar and lay it here. To all that come, we’re gonna pray a special prayer over your life.”

  As the people pour from their seats waving their offerings in their hands, I want to burst into tears. This is why Greg didn’t want Bishop Bowens to speak, and he was so very right.

  “I’m going to turn it over to this other great man of God, Bishop Lipford, to provide the prayer over you faithful givers.”

  Bishop Lipford has a very serious expression on his face as he approaches the podium. He nods at Bishop Bowens as he takes the microphone from him, and Bishop Bowens goes to his seat next to Lady Sandy. She kisses him and pats his arm like he just discovered a cure for cancer. I see she’s definitely his biggest fan.

  Bishop Lipford looks out over the people standing at the altar, holding offerings. He is silent for a very long moment, and if I know him, he’s praying for direction. On how to correct Bishop Bowens’s wrong without disrespecting the man.

  “Saints and friends,” he finally says into the microphone. “I do believe that God is in the midst here with us this afternoon. And because He’s here, I want to honor His presence. Those of you in your seats who desire communion with God and not just a blessing, move forward to this altar. You don’t need any money in your hands, you just need praise in your mouth.”

  A slow smile starts on Greg’s face, and he does a slow clap in support of Bishop Lipford’s words.

  “It is a wonderful thing to sow into the man and woman of God, and you will surely be blessed for your joyful giving spirit. But know this. God doesn’t need your pennies, nickels, fifties, or hundreds to commune with you. He needs your heart. He needs unadulterated worship. Can y’all do that with me?”

  “‘I need thee. Oh, I need thee,’” Bishop Lipford sings. “‘Every hour, I need thee.’ ”

  Greg stands to his feet and lifts his hands in worship as Bishop Lipford continues the song. The musicians join in and so do those at the altar. As I stand, I glance over at Bishop Bowens and Lady Sandy. They’re both on their feet, but neither of them has entered into worship with the congregation. Bishop Bowens has a sour look on his face too, as if he’s been openly rebuked.

  I know Greg is enjoying every moment of this, and normally I would too. Under any other circumstances, I would love to see Bishop Lipford turn a congregation away from foolishness and back to God. But this time, I feel like we may have stepped on some toes.

  One thing we don’t ever want to do is make enemies of the other pastors in this city, but if the look on Bishop Bowens’s face is an indication, I’ve got some real damage control to do. I wonder what my next conversation with the Bowens will be like.

  CHAPTER 17

  FELICIA

  “I have the results of your preliminary blood work.”

  Lance smiles and squeezes my hand, but something about the doctor’s tone makes me tremble. Or maybe it’s his serious facial expression as he sits down at his desk.

  “Is everything all right? Is the baby healthy? I’ve been taking vitamins and drinking the protein shakes.”

  The doctor sighs. Anytime a doctor sighs, it is not a good thing.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask.

  “Well, let me first say that I want to run some more tests to be sure. But it looks like your child may have a very serious condition called anencephaly.”

  Lance’s squeeze changes to a strong grip. “What is that?” he asks.

  “It’s a neural tube defect that causes the baby to be born without major sections of the brain used for thinking and rea
soning.”

  My stomach turns. “Can he survive it?” I ask. I don’t want to lose my baby. He is a part of my blessing.

  “Most children with this condition are born without a skull, meaning the parts of the brain he will have will only be covered in skin. More than likely he wouldn’t survive the birth.”

  “But you’re not sure, right?” Lance asks.

  “What causes it? Did I do something wrong? Is it because we had sex? Lance, I told you we shouldn’t . . .” I can’t finish. My sobs punctuate my sentence for me.

  “Ms. Caldwell. Sometimes this condition is caused by a lack of folic acid.”

  “Oh, then I know your test is wrong. I’ve been taking my vitamins. I have plenty of folic acid.”

  The doctor nods. “I understand. Sometimes we’re unable to determine what causes this condition. I just want you to know that you did everything you could possibly do to make sure your baby was born healthy.”

  “So what’s next?” Lance asks. “If your follow-up tests reveal the same results.”

  “I suggest that you terminate the pregnancy. It’s still early enough to do so with only a relatively small amount of trauma to the mother.”

  I shake my head. “Absolutely not. God can do anything but fail. I’m not murdering my child.”

  Dr. Tomlinson shakes his head. “It’s not murder. This child will be nothing more than a vegetable. Not only will the child be in a great deal of pain for the short time it’s alive, it won’t know you, bond with you, or connect. Terminating the pregnancy is the merciful thing to do. Is your God not merciful?”

  I close my eyes as tears pour down my face. This is not what I came to hear today.

  “It’s not like we can’t have another baby,” Lance says.

  Another baby. He wants to have another baby with me. That speaks to a future. Our future. I feel my nerves begin to calm, even though the tears still pour down my face.

  “Dr. Tomlinson, how much time do we have to make a decision on this?” Lance asks. “I think Felicia needs time.”

  “Well, she’s eighteen weeks. It will be better to do it sooner than later. The further along she gets the more traumatic it will be. I would say no more than a week.”

  Lance pulls me to my feet. “Come on. We’ll go away for the weekend. We’ll relax and you’ll feel better about all this when we get back.”

  I know what this is. This baby was not supposed to live anyway. It’s like when David slept with Bathsheba. David got Bathsheba pregnant and had her husband killed. Their baby didn’t survive. But later, once they were married, Bathsheba had Solomon, and he became a king.

  Our next child will be someone great. Our children will be blessed and anointed. If God requires this one has to be sacrificed for our sins, then I will accept it.

  “I’m ready now. Let’s do this and get it over with so we can go on with our lives,” I say.

  “Are you sure?” Dr. Tomlinson says. “I can schedule your procedure for tomorrow.”

  I nod as Lance wipes away my tears with a tissue.

  “Go ahead and schedule it.”

  “You okay, baby?” Lance asks.

  “I am.”

  This is, of course, a lie. I’m not okay at all. I want to scream at the top of my lungs. I want to cry out to God to save my baby. But you can’t just trust God on the parts of His plan that you understand. You have to trust Him in all of it. As long as Lance stays by my side in all this, I’ll be able to come out on the other side.

  CHAPTER 18

  NYA

  I haven’t talked to any of the Bowens since that service at our church. Not a call or text from Lady Sandy indicating approval or displeasure, and not a peep to Greg from Bishop Bowens.

  So I’m surprised when Penelope invites me for coffee. I assume she wants to talk about our TV show, and I would love to hear her thoughts about it, because frankly I’m scared. I don’t even watch these kinds of shows, so I have no clue what the content should be, or how I should act.

  “The dedication service for your church was so nice,” Penelope says as she flips her brand-new blond hair out of her face.

  I wonder . . . do I need new hair, too?

  “Greg and I were so happy that you-all were there with us. Especially since your mother inviting me to do that tour really was the catalyst of it all. We wouldn’t have been able to close a deal on that property without the income from the tour.”

  I’m so glad that Penelope doesn’t have anything negative to say about the service. Maybe that means her parents were okay with what happened.

  Penelope shakes her head. “It was you, Nya! Don’t you see it? My mother is great at many things, but she is best at recognizing talent. She knew that you had something special from the very first time you prayed for her.”

  “I have the same something special that she has—the blood of Jesus and the Holy Spirit. I give God all the glory.”

  “Praise Him in the highest,” Penelope says as she lifts one hand to heaven and places the other one on her heart.

  “So, the TV show? Who saw that coming? Being on TV was definitely not on my vision board,” I say.

  “It wasn’t? Girl, it was on mine. I had a dream once where I was in a VIP airport lounge sitting next to actors, actresses, and singers. All A-list people. That’s how I knew I was destined for celebrity status.”

  I wait for her to tell me the punchline. She keeps smiling and doesn’t elaborate, so I guess there isn’t one.

  “I’ve never thought about being famous. Don’t you think celebrities have pretty stressful lives? They’re always under the microscope.”

  “And pastors aren’t? Growing up as a pastor’s kid, the spotlight has been on me my entire life.”

  “I didn’t grow up as a pastor’s kid. My grandfather did pastor a Holiness church, but by the time I was born, he had already retired. I didn’t even grow up going to church really. My grandmother would give us Sunday school lessons at home.”

  Penelope puts her hand over her mouth and stifles a giggle. “That’s a little bit weird, Nya.”

  At-home Bible lessons were the least weird part of my childhood. I wonder what Penelope would think if she knew we didn’t have running water or electricity, and that we barely ever left our little shack. Or that my first contact with the outside world was high school—and that I was lucky for that.

  “Maybe it seems weird to you. It is funny that I didn’t learn any gospel hymns or any music really until I was almost grown. Sometimes Greg will bust out with a hymn during service and I’ll be like, um . . .”

  Penelope roars with laughter. I’m so glad my background is entertaining to her. I hope the sarcastic thoughts I keep having don’t show on my face, because I don’t think she means to offend me with her amusement.

  “And even still, you’re the most anointed preacher I know,” Penelope says after her giggles fade.

  “I just try to follow the move of God.”

  “Can you teach me how to operate in the prophetic?”

  Did she really just ask me this? I don’t know how to teach her to have the prophetic gift. Shoot, I didn’t even ask for this. I was born with it. Sometimes I wish I didn’t have it.

  “It’s not really something you can teach.”

  Penelope moves our coffee cups to the side so she can lean in. “But you can. Just like someone can learn to speak in tongues. It just takes practice.”

  I swallow hard. I don’t want to offend her, but she sounds completely ridiculous to me. I believe that people should only be speaking in tongues if the Holy Spirit literally takes command of their tongue and vocal cords. Not because they practice.

  “I’ve had the prophetic gift before I knew what it was. Before I knew Jesus.”

  “So, how do you know it’s of God? You could be like a gypsy or a psychic or something,” Penelope says. Her tone is irritated and taunting, as if she is somehow questioning me. Good thing I don’t care what she thinks.

  “I know that my gift is of Go
d, because I belong to God. He gave me the gift before I chose to serve Him, but He definitely is the one who gives all our gifts and talents. This is somewhat elementary, Penelope. I know in all those years of sitting in church, you had to have learned this.”

  See. If she wants to do snippy, I can do snippy. I’d much rather we be friends though, and not snip, because I might just take off her head. I don’t think she’s ready for me.

  “Oh, I know it’s of God, girl!” Penelope says. “I just want to be able to move the crowd like you. I want you to be my mentor. After everything my mother has done for you, you should want to take me under your wing.”

  “Everything she’s done?”

  “Yes, she’s made you and your husband enough money to buy a new church for your congregation. All I’m asking is that you teach me your prophetic technique. Like what do you do to get in the flow? Do you fast? Do you pray without stopping for days? What do you do to get God to speak?”

  I take a long sip of my coffee. “You know, in the Bible there is a story about a man named Simon the sorcerer. Do you know that story?”

  Penelope shakes her head.

  “It’s in the book of Acts. He saw the apostles lay hands on people and cause them to be filled with the Holy Spirit. He wanted to pay for that gift, and the apostle Peter told him the power couldn’t be bought.”

  “I’m not asking you to sell me anything. I’m asking you to teach me like Elijah taught Elisha.”

  “But Elisha was also called by God. You should seek God for what He wants you to do in the kingdom, Penelope. Maybe it’s not to give prophecies, maybe it is. I don’t know. But I do know your singing voice is very powerful.”

  “A lot of people can sing, but not a lot of people can give true prophecies.”

  I wince at true prophecies.

  “But not everyone who can sing can move people to want to turn their lives over to Christ. Don’t sleep on what God’s given you, thinking something else, or another calling, is greater.”