The Pastor's Husband

by Tiffany L. Warren

  “You okay, boo?” Tina asks me.

  “I’m good.”

  As we order our food one of the ministers keeps glancing at me and grinning, like he has something to say. We haven’t met, and I don’t even know his name, so his glances make me uncomfortable. I sure hope he’s not going to try and hit on me, because after the night I’ve had, I just might cuss him out and then have to go to the altar to repent.

  “So, Pastor Nya, do you think you’ve got a bit of competition here in Penelope?” the sly-looking minister asks. “She did her thing tonight. I’ve never seen such a display of Holy Ghost power.”

  I take a sip of water from the glass in front of me. I’m trying to stall, giving Penelope time to jump in and say something to contradict what this man has said, but she stays silent. Okay. She asked for it.

  “I’m not in competition with anyone. What I’m doing is kingdom business. I say and do exactly what God tells me to say and do.”

  The minister cocks his head to one side. “Are you saying that Penelope doesn’t?”

  I open my mouth to speak, but Tina touches my arm. “Wait a minute. What’s your name again, brother?” she asks.

  “Gerard.”

  “Okay. Well, Gerard, my friend is tired, and what you’re doing right now is on my nerves, so I know it’s on hers.”

  Gerard laughs. “I apologize, sister. It was not meant to antagonize. I just wanted to give Penelope props for how she flowed tonight.”

  “Mission accomplished. Find a different topic,” Tina says.

  I love that Tina is here with me. I was afraid that when I asked her to leave her salon and come work for me full-time on the road and for the show that she would say no. I don’t know what I would’ve done to convince her if she had, but I need her here.

  Tina snickers and whispers, “Check out your girl.”

  “So, what did you say to that woman, Pastor Nya?” Gerard says. “We’re all curious. We know what Penelope said, but not you.”

  “If she whispered it in her ear, then that means it was just for her. Isn’t that right?” Penelope says.

  I nod. “It was just for her. I don’t feel at liberty to share.”

  “How does it work?” Gerard asks as he leans forward and stares intently at me. “I’ve always wondered what it feels like to operate in the prophetic. Did you ask God for that gift?”

  “No, I didn’t ask for it. Sometimes I don’t want it. It’s not easy.”

  “Can you see stuff about your own life? Does God let you know what decisions to make like every day? Can you see what your husband is doing right now?”

  These questions from Gerard are annoying. Not that I haven’t heard them before. I have. Or similar to these.

  “It doesn’t work like that. It’s not a crystal ball. I only see things for a specific purpose. And the purpose is up to God. I have no say in the matter.”

  “Do you want to be a prophet?” Penelope asks Gerard.

  “If it’ll take my ministry to the level it’s taken Pastor Nya’s here, then yes. I want everything God has for me. Maybe we’ll end up together like Nya and her husband and start our own ministry.”

  Okay, that’s it. I can’t stay here. I have to go back to the hotel.

  “I’m suddenly not feeling so well,” I tell the pastor who hosted us for the conference and dinner. “Do you think someone can run me back to the hotel? Tina, you don’t have to come if you don’t want to.”

  Penelope gives me a strange look. Tina gives her one back.

  “Don’t worry, Penelope. You can stay here and still get your flirt on, but my girl is tired. We’re going back,” Tina says.

  Penelope’s mouth drops open, and Gerard laughs.

  “You keep it all the way real, don’t you?” Gerard asks Tina.

  “Yes, I do.”

  “There’s something to be said about a woman who speaks her mind,” another one of the ministers says.

  Tina gives the short, balding, and dang near drooling man an eye roll as she leads me out of the restaurant. We follow on the heels of the minister who is taking us back to the hotel.

  “Was that little troll doll trying to holler at me?” Tina whispers in my ear as we get to the car.

  “I think he was. He’s better than that one sliding up to Penelope. He gave me the creeps.”

  We ride back to the hotel in silence, because we don’t know the minister who’s driving us. He could be the gossipy type.

  When I finally get in my hotel room after the night’s service, I check my phone and see that I have five missed calls from Greg. Why would he be calling me like that when I was in service?

  I call him back and he answers on the first ring.

  “Hey, honey,” I say. “Is everything okay? You called five times.”

  “Apparently I wanted something if I called that many times. You’re just now calling me back?”

  “I’m sorry. I’m just now checking my phone. Service ran late.”

  “I bet you went to dinner after.”

  “I did, but I didn’t check my phone until just now.”

  “Who’d you go to dinner with?” Greg asks, an irritated tone in his voice.

  “The other ministers on the roster. A couple of gospel artists.”

  “So there were men there?”

  “And also women. Tina and Penelope were there too. Greg, what’s wrong?”

  He pauses for a long time before making another sound.

  “Greg? Are you there?”

  “Yes,” he finally says. “There’s nothing wrong. I just don’t like not hearing from you all evening.”

  “I’m sorry, babe. I just didn’t think to call after service let out.”

  “You never think to call. Do you realize we haven’t spoken in days?”

  “It hasn’t been days.”

  “Check your call log. I’ll wait.”

  Determined to prove him wrong, I press the call log list and scroll back. It takes me a couple of days before I see a call completed to Greg. On the contrary, I see plenty of missed calls from Greg.

  “You’re right. I’m sorry, babe. It has been extremely busy here. Something crazy happened tonight. I got a vision about this woman with cancer. She was in a casket. I don’t know what God is trying to tell me. You should be here with me.”

  “I have the church . . .”

  “Yes, but we have associate pastors. You don’t have to be there every Sunday. Sometimes you can travel with me.”

  “And do what? Watch you from the VIP section while you’re slaying everybody in the Spirit?”

  “It’s nothing like that.”

  “Have you seen the promotional videos for your conferences? They have captured every moment of you touching someone and them falling out. They even have you praying for Lady Sandy, and then she’s on the floor. It’s a mockery.”

  I shake my head and sigh. I haven’t seen the video, but I’m sure that Greg is exaggerating about the content. Yes, there are times when women fall out at the altar. I wouldn’t say that all of them are touched by the Holy Spirit. Some of them are just so overwhelmed with their situation that they can’t see past it all. The prayers give them hope.

  “When I have a night like tonight that taxes my spirit, I would sometimes like for you to be there. That’s all I’m saying.”

  “Well, maybe it’s time for you to retire from traveling. Maybe it’s time for you to come home and stay home.”

  “I just don’t believe that God would be opening all these doors if He didn’t want me to walk through them. We just have to trust that this is for our good, and for the good of the kingdom.”

  Greg is silent on the other end except for his breathing, which is slow and even.

  “What are you thinking about?” I ask.

  “How much I want you here.”

  “Oh.”

  “Is this really that important to you? I’m telling you I need you home.”

  “You asking me to put our marriage before my ministry?”


  A very long pause from Greg. “Yes. I am asking you to do exactly that.”

  The groan that escapes me is full of frustration. I know that if Greg could just come to one of these, and see what God is doing, he wouldn’t feel the same way. Why is he trying to make me choose between him and God? Why would he try to make me choose anything over God?

  When I get home, we’re going to address this matter once and for all, because I don’t believe God would want me to leave my marriage behind for the sake of ministry.

  CHAPTER 37

  FELICIA

  The last time I met with Pastor Greg, I made sure to dress very modestly. I don’t want him or anyone else to think I’m trying to seduce him. The only thing I do differently today is wear my hair loose, in big wavy curls, and put on a tiny dab of perfume. Still, no makeup other than a hint of lip gloss. My jeans skirt sweeps the ground, even though it’s close to summertime in Dallas and hot as a concrete sidewalk at high noon.

  The first person I see when I get to the church is Mother Olivia. She’s standing in the parking lot next to her car, looking confused. I hurry to park my car and rush over to her.

  “What’s wrong, Mother? Are you okay?”

  She looks up at me and squints. “Baby, do I know you?”

  “Oh, my hair is different. I’m Felicia, the girl you met in church a couple weeks ago. You introduced me to Pastor Greg so that I could help him with the grants for the youth center.”

  She gives me a sweeping look; takes in everything from my jeans skirt to my curled hair. She seems satisfied.

  “Yes, I remember you. Is that what you’re here for now?”

  “I am. Lena and I wrote up some preliminary grant proposals and I just want Pastor Greg to approve them, because they’ll be sent on his behalf.”

  “Mm-hmm. Well, I can’t seem to find my keys. I thought I had them in my purse, but maybe I left them in Pastor’s office.”

  “I’ll walk back in there with you. If they’re not in the office, I’ll help you find them.”

  “Thank you, sweetheart.”

  Mother Olivia and I walk into Pastor Greg’s office together and he grins at us.

  “Mother, I was just about to come outside and bring you your keys. You left them right there on my desk.”

  She chuckles. “I guess I was just ready to go start planning this party.”

  “Party?” I ask.

  “Yes, Pastor Greg and Co-pastor Nya have been married for fifteen years. That is something to celebrate.”

  “Fifteen years? Did you two get married in middle school?” I ask.

  “No. We were both twenty. In our senior year of college,” Greg says. “It doesn’t seem like it’s been that long, though.”

  They have been married fifteen years. Five years ago Nya had already been with her man. They were already in ministry together, doing their thing. Living in pursuit of their purpose. Why would she have to lie to me?

  “The entire congregation is going to be invited to this party,” Mother Olivia says. “So put on your dancing shoes, baby.”

  “Dancing shoes?” I ask. “What kind of music are you going to have?”

  Mother Olivia does a little line dance. “Honey, we gonna do the ’lectric slide, cupid shuffle, and that new line dance they made to that Beyoncé song.”

  “Oh well, I will definitely wear my flats then. I love line dances.”

  “We have a line dance class at the church on Tuesdays if you need to brush up on things,” Mother Olivia says. “Lena teaches it.”

  “She does,” Greg says. “And she’s good at it.”

  Mother Olivia frowns. “Speaking of Lena, where is she? Didn’t you say you worked on these grant proposals with her? Why isn’t she here?”

  Greg lifts his eyebrows like he has the same question. I should’ve known Mother Olivia’s eagle eyes were going to catch the fact that Greg and I are meeting alone.

  “She had to take her daughter somewhere this morning. Our deadline for the grant is tomorrow, so I had to come without her. Is that okay?” I ask in the most innocent tone I can muster.

  Mother Olivia’s frown doesn’t budge. Then she sits in one of the chairs in front of Greg’s desk.

  “The party planning can wait. I’ll just sit right here until you’re done.”

  “Mother, that’s not necessary,” Greg says.

  “She’s right, Pastor. I don’t mind it at all.”

  “But she doesn’t have to . . .”

  Mother Olivia dismisses Greg with a wave of her hand. “Go ahead and show him the proposals, baby.”

  Sufficiently chastised, I guess, Greg sits on his side of the desk. I pull out all three finished grant proposals and walk him through them one by one. I point out all of the goals, milestones, and performance indicators. Then I share some questions that I think the interviewers will ask.

  “So someone will come in and interview me about this?” Greg asks.

  “They will. These grants are for huge sums of money. They’ll want to make sure you’ll do what you say you’re going to do. It’s hard to recoup misappropriated grant monies once they’ve been disbursed.”

  “Thank you so much for leading this initiative and briefing me. You are an asset to this church. How long have you been a member again?”

  “About four years.”

  “Well, it’s about time you stood up and gave back,” Mother Olivia says. “Too many folk sittin’ on their gifts.”

  Mother Olivia approves of me, of this. Thank God, because she was going to be trouble if she didn’t.

  “I’m going to leave these with you, Pastor Greg. Lena will collect them from you when you sign in all the places that need signing. If you have any questions, my e-mail is in the documentation.”

  Mother Olivia nods her approval. I guess she likes the idea of him e-mailing me as opposed to calling. She obviously doesn’t know what can transpire in e-mails.

  “Come on and walk me out, baby,” Mother Olivia says. “These old bones have trouble after sitting for this long.”

  “Mm-hmm,” Greg says as he shakes his head. “I knew you’d be hurting.”

  “Hush.”

  Mother Olivia takes my hand and basically pulls me out of Greg’s office. This wasn’t how today’s meeting was supposed to go, but I guess I do have time. I’m in no rush to make Nya atone for her sins. I’ve waited this long. A few more months won’t hurt.

  “Thanks again, Sister Felicia,” Greg says. “I appreciate you.”

  I appreciate him too. Much more than that Jezebel wife of his. Pretty soon, I’m going to show him my appreciation in every way imaginable. But not too soon. It’s got to be perfect, and I don’t want anything to ruin what we’re going to have.

  CHAPTER 38

  NYA

  The knock on my hotel room door drew my attention away from my Bible study. We’re leaving New Orleans this afternoon, and I want to look over the scripture text Greg sent me. He wants us to preach on it this coming Sunday.

  I look through the peephole and am surprised to see that it is Lady Sandy. I swing the door open. She strides in with her nose slightly tilted in the air. She looks as if she’s about to sit in the armchair, but then she stops and spins on one heel.

  “Penelope tells me that you had a problem with her using her prophetic gift during service.”

  “Good morning to you too, Lady Sandy.”

  Lady Sandy presses her lips together and crosses her arms. “I save pleasantries for when I’m being pleasant. Right now, I want to know why you are so against my daughter’s ministry.”

  “Oh, I see. This isn’t a friendly visit, then.”

  I’m not sure I want this conversation to continue down this path. Clearly, Penelope’s gotten to her mother first and filled her head with a bunch of mess.

  “Do you have any idea how much my daughter looks up to you? She wants nothing more than to make the same kind of impression that you make with your prophecies.”

  “I know that.”


  “So imagine how devastating it was for her when you, her mentor, accused her of faking a prophetic word. She’s literally heartbroken behind that.”

  I didn’t see heartbroken at dinner after that service. I saw her grinning, cheesing, and flirting with ministers. But okay. I see she told her mother something different.

  “Would you want me to not tell her the truth?” I ask. “I know that the prophetic word she spoke to that woman was as false as her eyelashes.”

  “You don’t know that. You aren’t God.”

  “I know what God showed me, and it was the opposite of what your daughter decreed and declared.”

  Finally, Lady Sandy sits on the couch in my room. She crosses her legs at the ankle, very ladylike, and stares me down.

  “I have done a lot to make sure that you reach your destiny. The very least you can do is pull my daughter up to follow in your footsteps.”

  “I will help Penelope do and be exactly what she is called to do and become, but I won’t let her make a mockery of the prophetic gift.”

  Lady Sandy leans forward, still staring. “Maybe I wasn’t clear. We’re now shifting the focus of these conference dates a bit. We want Penelope to be more in the spotlight. She’s been relegated to your singing sidekick. That’s not what we have planned for our daughter. She is poised to take over our church when my husband retires. We need her to learn to take the reins.”

  So all of this, all of it, was a setup for Penelope to get some exposure? What type of prophetic coattail-riding is this?

  “Take the reins of what? Service? When I’m up there, God is always in control of what happens. I don’t know that I ever take the reins away from Him.”

  “You know what I mean. We want Penelope to start operating in her anointing.”

  That’s the thing. I don’t know what she means. I only know that this feels very, very strange. It feels like Lady Sandy wants to tap into my gift only to elevate her daughter’s platform.

  “And you believe her anointing is being a prophetess?”

  Lady Sandy nods. “Yes. Prophecies are what people want. I can market a conference with a proven prophet much easier than I can a singer. Black people aren’t impressed by singers. We hear good singers all the time. But a prophet who speaks the truth, now that is a sell-out conference.”