Mama B - A Time to Speak (Book 1)

by Michelle Stimpson

  Wasn’t my own power, but His brought me up off that floor and onto my feet. And then I spoke. “Son?”

  He spun around to face me. Gun in his right hand. Cordless microphone in his left. Sweatin’ like he done smoked or drank something to get his nerve up for this mayhem.

  “J.T., you don’t have to shoot anybody.”

  He squinted, shook his head a bit. “Who are you? How you know my name?”

  “I’m Nikki’s grandmother.”

  “So you the one who’s been hiding the fugitive? Well, you betta tell her to show her face before everyone in here get shot.”

  Somebody yelled out, “She in the front. Right side, in a red shirt.”

  J.T. looked around, but the view from where we stood didn’t help him none. He couldn’t identify Nikki, Cameron, or anybody else toward the front of the church.

  He faced me again.

  “I been prayin’ for you, J.T.”

  “For what?” For some reason, he was still talkin’ in the microphone.

  “For the Lord to speak to your heart.”

  “Well, it’s not working.”

  “Yes, it is. Prayers of the righteous availeth much.”

  Whew! When I said that, seem like something hit him dead in his gut. He must have recognized them words as something maybe his own Grandmomma said when he was a little boy.

  “Don’t pray on me no more, old lady.” He was probably trying to sound like somebody he heard on TV, but I caught that little crack in his voice.

  ‘Bout that time, I felt my Help comin’ on. Closed my eyes, started speaking the word. “We submit ourselves to the Lord. We resist you, Satan, and you must flee.”

  Then Psalm 91 come flying out of my heart. “He that dwelleth in the secret place of the most High shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty. I will say of the Lord, He is my refuge and my fortress: my God; in Him will I trust.”

  Said it just the same as how I memorized it in Sunday school all those years ago. I took a peek with one eye and saw J.T. just standin’ there looking lost. Paralyzed probably a better word.

  “Because thou hast made the Lord, which is my refuge, even the most High, thy habitation; there shall no evil befall thee, neither shall any plague come nigh thy dwelling. For He shall give His angels charge over thee, to keep thee in all thy ways. They shall bear thee up in their hands, lest thou dash thy foot against a stone.”

  Ophelia stood up. She was on one of the back rows, also.

  J.T. flipped around and stared at her.

  She started speaking the word, too. “The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: He leadeth me beside the still waters.”

  Me and her sayin’ it together now. “He restoreth my soul: He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for His name’s sake.”

  At first, the prayer was just a whisper in the building. Then, heads started popping up. We got louder. Louder. “Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the LORD for ever.”

  We started the twenty-third Psalm over again. More and more people joined in, got up and faced J.T. He standing there frozen by the word.

  Chile, the Spirit of the Lord fell so thick in that building, you could reach out and touch it. My, my, my. Never seen nothin’ like it before.

  Red and blue lights flash throughout the sanctuary. Police.

  By this time, we shoutin’ the Lord’s prayer at J.T.

  “Y’all crazy!” he yelled back, dropped the microphone.

  Tell you what, though, he didn’t pull that trigger another time. Boy got so confused, he rushed out the front door and turned himself in to first man in blue he saw. They say he begged them to take him away from the church!

  Ooh, Lord, once J.T. ran outside, I nearly collapsed back on the bench. I think we was all in shock for a minute.

  The police come in, ask if everybody else is okay. My throat was so dry, I could barely mouth the word, “Yes.”

  Folks started scrambling to get out the building. Nikki and Cameron run up to me shaking and crying.

  Cameron hugged me. “Mama B, you were so brave. I was afraid J.T. was going to shoot you.”

  “You wasn’t the only one.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Nikki apologized to me over and over again.

  Seemed like all night she kept on telling me how bad she felt she brought J.T. into my life, into the church.

  Later than night, I finally sat down on Debra Kay’s old bed and told her it wasn’t all her fault. “J.T. to blame. He made the choices he made. But I got to tell you, we didn’t help none by calling a forty-two into the sanctuary through that song they danced to.”

  I motioned toward Cameron, sleeping on the cot. Hmph. People handle trauma in different ways. Guess it must have wiped him out.

  Her bottom lip fell. Astonished. “I thought…it was just a song. We didn’t mean it.”

  “Devil don’t care if you mean it or not. He want you to think it don’t matter what you say, what you hear, what you read, what you watch on TV. He want you to think it’s all fun and games while he programmin’ your mind to all that foolishness, openin’ up the spirit realm to his work.”

  I tapped her nose with my index finger. “He smart. A worthy opponent. And sneaky, I tell you. He like a woodrat. Get in your soul-house through any hole he can find. You can’t give him no space – not through your eyes, your ears, your mouth – nothin’.”

  She hugged me again. I could still feel her heart beating fast.

  “It’s okay, Nikki-Nik. You safe. Always have been.” Rubbed my hand up and down her back. Rocked her a little.

  She sniffled. “I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t come to church tonight.”

  “Me, either. And I don’t want to know.”

  We sat there in silence for another minute. Then she said, “Oh, I forgot to tell you earlier. I got a job offer. Cameron and I should be out of your hair in another week or so.”

  “Bless the name of the Lord.” That should have been good news, but a part of me got sad. Almost two months since they showed up on my doorstep. I was gettin’ used to company around the house.

  Nikki bolted up, like she suddenly remembered something. “Mama B, did you feel…it…in the church tonight?”

  “What?”

  “It. Felt like…electricity or something. When we all started saying the twenty-third Psalm.”

  “Honey, that was the power of God.”

  Chapter 27

  My emotions was so high, I couldn’t sleep. Stayed up in the rocking chair crying, thanking God. Humbled He had used me in such a mighty way.

  So I was up when I got the call from Pastor at two twenty-seven a.m. Geneva had passed away. “I’m so sorry, Pastor.”

  “Thank you, B. For everything. Geneva loved you so.”

  “Yes, and she loved you, too, Pastor.” Now wasn’t the time to let him know that his wife was ready to go. But some day, those words might be a comfort.

  “You need us to come to the hospital?”

  “No, no. They already done moved her body. Her sister is here. Rev. Martin, too.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  My body finally conked out around ten in the morning. Had to turn off the phone ‘cause folk kept calling to see if I’d heard about Geneva. Then they would talk about the marvelous thing God had done at the church through me.

  Henrietta one of the first ones to say, “B, we would have all been dead if it wasn’t for you standin’ up to your granddaughter’s crazy boyfriend!”

  Wouldn’t be long before the whole town of Peasner had an exaggerated version of what happened at the church. Hard to exaggerate something much more than what actually happened, though.

  Me and a few other church leaders met later in the day with a contractor. He looked at the holes in the ceiling, gave an estimate that sounded reasonable to us. We didn’t have time for a whole lot of biddin’ with the funeral on the way and all. T
hey put up a tarp for the time being, said they’d be back to do the job first thing Monday morning.

  I tell you what, though, Sunday, we praised God like we knew Him. He had done spared all our lives. This was one time I felt like runnin’ around the sanctuary. Not for money, not for my haters, but for the goodness of God and the faithfulness of His word.

  By the time Rev. Dukes got up to preach on what we all reckoned would be his last Sunday, I figured he wouldn’t have to say much. We was already on fire.

  He got up on to the main podium. Face all long, though, like somethin’ troubling his heart. “Saints and friends, I have to repent.”

  Gasps all over the church house. “My wife and I want to repent.”

  Cynthia stood up, swiping tears from her cheeks.

  “For the past weeks, someone in this church has been trying to warn us. Trying to tell us the importance of preaching the word. Preaching something that will stick to your spiritual bones. But we wouldn’t listen. And how many of you know a warning comes before destruction?”

  “Mmm hmm,” we all moaned.

  “Mama B, could you please come here, front and center?”

  Took me by surprise. I looked to my left and my right like I didn’t know who Mama B was. Cynthia come grab my hand, led me to the front with her.

  Rev. Dukes come out the pulpit, stood right in front of us. “Mama B, all this time we’ve been here, you told us we needed to implant the word of God in the people’s hearts. Not simply a love for things, selfish ambition, drive without direction, jubilee without Jesus. But Friday night, when the enemy walked right into this building, the only thing that mattered was the power of the word of God.”

  His eyes filled with tears. Cynthia’s, too. Mine, three. I didn’t want them to have to learn the lesson this way, but God knew best. I had no doubt He would use them like never before, after this.

  They got it now.

  After his sermon, entitled “Getting back to Jesus,” Mt. Zion took up a big love offering for Rev. Dukes and Cynthia. They was so touched by our outpouring, they turned around and sowed it right back to the church.

  Now I know they got it!

  Cynthia give me the biggest hug after church. Invited me to come speak to their women’s group whenever I wanted to. “Every time I left you house, you’d say something that kept me up all night. I might not have liked what you said at the time, but the Lord was working on me. Thank you for speaking the Truth in love, Mama B, and for being a true Titus 2 woman.”

  “You welcome, Sweetie. You take care.” And we gave each other holy kisses.

  After all the fellowshippin’, me, Nikki, and Cameron walked on back to the house.

  Chile, that big ‘ole man sitting at my kitchen table almost took the wind out of me. “Son?”

  “Hey, Mama. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  “Son!” I wrapped my arm around his neck. “I am so glad to see you.”

  He hugged me back, too. “I got your letter, and I did some thinking.”

  The very fact that he was sitting my kitchen let me know he must have agreed with me. On the inside, I was just a-gigglin’ ‘cause it tickles me every time the Lord answers a prayer by movin’ on somebody’s heart—and that person got the nerve to think they was the genius who changed everything. I tell you what, though, the prayers of the righteous done performed many a heart surgery, without the patient even knowing.

  I stepped aside so Son could get a good look at his daughter.

  Son cleared his throat. “Hello, Nikki.”

  “Hi.”

  Look like they needed my help. “Y’all can hug, if you want to.”

  Worst hug I ever did see! Like they two porcupines afraid they’d stick to each other. Still, it was a hug. Thank you, Lord.

  I waited a second for Nikki to introduce Cameron, but the tears in her eyes told me I’d have to do the talking for her. “Son, this here is Cameron.”

  “Who’s he?” Cameron asked me.

  “This is your grandfather.”

  Chile, the biggest smile come on that boy’s face. “My paw-paw?”

  Son shrugged. “If that’s what you want me to be.”

  Cameron slid into Son like a drawer in a cabinet. And somehow, Son’s chest got big as a rooster at the same time.

  Nikki was still standin’ there with her arms crossed. Still mad. Still hurt. She needed some time. One thing I know about daughters, though: they might stay mad at they momma’s for years, but something about they Daddy. He be the first one they forgive.

  “Son, you gon’ stay and eat with us?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  The sound of the doorbell made us all stop.

  “You expecting someone?” he interrogatin’ me.

  “No.” I slid my apron back off. “Probably just somebody from the church. I’ll get it.”

  All I could see through the peephole was flowers. “Who is it?”

  “Delivery.”

  On a Sunday. “Deliverin’ what?”

  “Flowers.”

  Call me slow that day, but it took me a minute to put two and two together. I opened the door, took the bouquet of lilies from the man. Signed my name on the sheet.

  “Thank you, ma’am.”

  “No, thank you.”

  Who on earth done sent me flowers?

  I opened the card.

  B, so sorry for the loss of your dear friend. Take care. –Frank Wilson

  My goodness. Flowers.

  I set them on the coffee table, stared at them for a minute. Smelled them. First time all year I’d had a chance to smell any because…well, because Albert’s hadn’t bloom for me.

  Guess sometimes flowers bloom in unexpected places.

  Son, Nikki-Nik, and Cameron washed up and joined me at the table for a pasta dish. New recipe I found on my iPhone. Son and Nikki didn’t have too much to say to one another for now, so I carried the conversation while those two took turns stealing glances at one another. Trying to see themselves in one another. Takes time.

  But you know Cameron didn’t catch on to none of it. He was too busy stuffing his face. “Mama B, this is so good!”

  “Thank you, Cameron. I’ll have to remember this recipe for the next time you all come to visit.”

  Son said, “He’s right. You put your foot in this, Mama. You’ve got to let me know when you cook this for Cameron again.”

  I grinned at my child’s round-about way of sayin’ he wanted to see his daughter and grandson again. “I sure will, Son. Sure will.”

  The End

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  * * * * *

  Want More Mama B?

  You got it, chile!

  Here’s an excerpt from Mama B: A Time to Dance

  Book Two in the Award-winning, Bestselling Mama B Series

  Chapter 1

  Pastor Phillips sure was lookin’ good and strong up there in the pulpit again. Hadn’t been but a few months since our first lady passed away, but the Lord was restoring Pastor Phillips the same as He did me when my Albert died. It takes a while, but after the one you done shared a bed and a life with for forty something-odd years dies, it’s hard to sleep at night again. We do the best we can to get settled. Can’t get too settled, though, ‘cause at our age, we know it won’t be long before it’s our time to go, too.

  I was sixty-four when Albert died. Eight years and five months ago. Some time, seem like it was just yesterday, though, especially if I get to thinking ‘bout it too hard. So I don’t. Albert wouldn’t want me to spend what little time I got left feelin’ sorry for myself.

  Besides, I assure you, Albert Jackson, Sr., is not up in heaven moping around about me. Knowing him, he probably ain’t even asked Jesus if I was coming up soon. Too busy asking David and Paul all those questions he had about the Bible. Whew – that Albert could talk your ear off!

  Yes, Albert was something else.


  And so was first lady Geneva Phillips. She sure gon’ be missed.

  Soon as service was over, you couldn’t beat Henrietta skating herself up to the pulpit to talk to Pastor, standing by his side while he greet the visitors. Good Lord, it was a shame the way that woman threw herself at him. She got to be at least three years older than me, carrying on like she need special prayer from Pastor.

  She need special prayer, alright. Pray herself right on back to the altar and into the baptism pool!

  Lord, I’m sorry.

  Nevermind Henrietta, I rushed out the church and across the lawn through the gate to my own back yard. Had to hurry and transfer the pulled chicken simmering in barbeque sauce to a proper Tupperware bowl. Once I’d packed that up, I wrapped up a few rolls in foil, scooped a couple of servings of baked beans into another bowl. Finally, I scraped half the pan of peach cobbler aside for myself, kept the other half in the original throw-away container and slapped some plastic on top.

  I set all that in a paper shopping bag and headed back over to the church to give it to Pastor. I knew if he was anything like me, he’d been lost about things his spouse used to do. That Geneva could cook up a storm, too!

  “Here you go, Pastor,” I said to him as I transferred the handles from my hand to his. He and Reverend Martin were just locking up the front doors by then. “Chicken, beans, and peach cobbler.”

  “B, you don’t have to keep cooking for me,” Pastor said as he stooped down to give me a thank-you hug.

  All I could think was how much it hurt inside to go home to an empty house the first few years after Albert died. I was hoping the food might take Pastor’s mind off the loneliness at least a teenchy bit.

  “Pastor, I’ll take Mama B’s cooking if you pass it up,” Rev. Martin stuck out his hand like he was intending to take the sack.

  Pastor Phillips swatted the hand away. “You gon’ fool around and draw back a nub.”

  “I’m just saying,” Rev. Martin laughed. He looked better, too, now that Pastor had returned to the pulpit. No more visiting ministers preaching all kind of foolishness, scattering the flock in different directions.