by E. N. Joy
“Won’t you come?” the pastor said as the musicians began to play a soft melody behind his pleas. “God is calling you. If you have a need, bring it to the altar. God already knows your need. He wants you to come lay it on Daddy’s lap.”
A couple of members made their way to the altar.
“If you need a healing, won’t you come?” the pastor said. “If you need a healing in your body or mind, I declare that today is the day God has set aside for you to get your healing. It’s no coincidence or accident that you are here today.”
Deborah’s ears perked up. The pastor’s words were starting to penetrate her soul. She had a need. She needed to get her mind right. She needed to be healed. She needed her mind to be healed. And maybe it wasn’t a coincidence or an accident that of all the churches she could have attended today, she was at this one.
“You probably woke up this morning and didn’t even feel like coming to church today,” the pastor continued. “That was the devil trying to keep you from your healing. Ha. Ba ta rah cha.” He began to speak in unknown tongues.
Before Deborah knew it, she was on her feet. That pastor was definitely talking about her now. Lord knows, she did not want to come to this church today. Five minutes ago, she still hadn’t wanted to be there.
“Don’t walk out of here the same way you walked in,” he declared. “If you do, you have no one to blame but yourself, because your promise is right here at this altar. Come meet God at the promise.”
A tear rolled down Deborah’s cheek. She really did feel led to walk down to that altar, but her feet were like cement. For the past three hours nothing that had been done, said, or sung had touched Deborah. If she could have, she would have walked out two and a half hours ago. But she’d stayed. Her blessing might not have been in the exhorting, the scripture reading, the prayer, the announcements, the welcome, the praise and worship, or the sermon, but she strongly believed it was right now. And she would have missed it, had she listened to her flesh.
This reminded Deborah of Pastor Margie once telling the saints that they didn’t know where in a service God had placed what He had for them. It could be all the way in the benediction, but what God had for you, He had for you. Well, today God had something for Deborah, and she was going to miss it if she didn’t make her way down to that altar.
One slow step at a time, Deborah was drawn to the altar for the second time during this service. Only this time she was responding to a tugging in her spirit, which was urging her to go, and not to a request made by an individual. Her yellow dress was like a beaming light as she walked down the aisle. In her spiritual mind she was running down the aisle to get to that altar, but she knew better than to try that in her heels. So she bent over, and with one step, she removed one pump, and with the next step, she removed the other. Now, with bare feet, she felt like she was suspended in air and was floating down to the altar.
“That’s right, daughter. Come,” the pastor said to Deborah, who was the only one making her way to the altar at that very moment.
At first tears were flowing from her eyes, but as she approached the altar and stood in front of the podium, Deborah was weeping. Her chest was rising up and down, and her shoulders were going up and down.
“Bring it to the altar and leave it,” the pastor ordered as a couple more people made their way to the altar. “Tell your Heavenly Father what you want. Begin to call it out.”
What Deborah was feeling was familiar to her. She’d felt this way once before, only not at a church, but right in her very own living room. That was the day she’d been delivered from the guilt and shame of having had a late-term abortion. She’d never looked back after that day. She’d repented, let go, and let God. God had truly delivered her, and she’d walked in it. Well, if God had delivered her before for one thing, He could do it again for something else. This time she didn’t need Him just to touch things that had affected her mind. She needed Him to keep her mind altogether.
“Lord, you are a mind keeper,” she cried out. Having already been delivered of shame, she had none when calling out what she wanted from God. “Lord, I need you to keep my mind. Touch my mind, O God. Renew it in you. Protect my mind, O God, so that nothing that is not like you infiltrates it.”
“Yes. Make it clear,” the pastor said, encouraging Deborah. “God wants to restore your soul. Your soul is your mind, your will, and your emotions.”
Deborah heard what the pastor was saying as she continued her communication with God. “Lord, forget about the doctors, the medication, happy pills, or any other drug, legal or illegal,” Deborah declared. “I need you to be the cure, your Word to be what helps gets me through.”
“That’s right! You don’t need drugs,” the pastor said as he put his hand on Deborah’s forehead. “You don’t need no head doctor. You need the doctor. The number one physician. All you need is Jesus!”
The congregation began shouting and praising. The musicians played an upbeat tempo that incited some Holy Ghost dancing at both the altar and out in the congregation.
“Your soul is what the enemy comes for and tries to destroy,” the pastor told Deborah. “He knows where your brokenness might be. But you ask God to restore your soul like in Psalm Twenty-three, and God will make you whole. When our Father in heaven restores you, He makes you better than you ever were before.”
Deborah continued crying out to the Lord until her body became weak. Altar workers attempted to come to her aid, but the pastor told them to let her be. Deborah dropped her shoes and used one hand to balance herself against the wooden podium. She tried to remain standing but slowly slid to the floor. She was completely drained. She felt as if a burden had been lifted. At this point all she could do was give thanks to God for once again healing her. Now that her mind was right, what could possibly go wrong?
But so much had gone wrong since that day at Cinnamon’s church. Her standing in her bedroom at this moment, trying to mend things with Lynox, was a sure sign of that.
Lynox put his arm around his wife. “Nobody thinks you are a joke, Deborah. And if you strongly believe that you got delivered that day at church, then walk in it. And walking in it still might mean you need to utilize other resources in staying delivered, such as doctors and medicine.”
“But—”
“No buts, Deb,” Lynox said. “Some things in life are about wisdom, as well as that feeling right there in your gut.” He pointed to her stomach. “Now, you went back to see a doctor, you tried to take your pills again—even though you didn’t follow the instructions properly—but still, have you ever thought that these are things that God is leading you to do, but you are fighting it?”
Deborah thought for a minute. She nodded, because everything Lynox was saying was true and made sense. That superwoman syndrome even had her wanting to do God’s job. “You might be right,” Deborah said. “I’m really going to get myself together and get back in God’s face to hear clearly what He has to say about this. I don’t know how easy it’s going to be to clear my head with this court date coming up and . . .” Deborah threw her hand on her forehead. She was already getting beside herself just thinking about tomorrow’s troubles and worries.
“Calm down. Relax.” Lynox hugged her. “I’m here for you. We are going to get through this together. I’m not going anywhere. You hear me?”
Deborah didn’t respond.
Lynox pulled away and looked Deborah in the eyes. “Do you hear me?”
She stared into Lynox’s eyes for a few seconds; then she nodded. “I hear you.”
Lynox pulled her back in for one more hug and then released her. “Now, you go get a bath so you can get Tyson from the bus stop. I’m sure he’ll be happy to see you.”
Deborah nodded her agreement and then headed to the bathroom. She closed the door and then leaned against it. “I hear you, Lynox,” she said in reference to him telling her that he wasn’t going anywhere. As a tear slid down Deborah’s face, she said softly, “I just don’t believe you.�
�
Chapter 18
“Mommy,” Tyson yelled when he got off the bus and saw Deborah standing at his bus stop, waiting on him. “You’re alive! You’re alive!” He ran into her arms and gave her the biggest hug ever.
Deborah let out a chuckle as she waved at Charles, who was at the bus stop, waiting for CJ and Tyson to get off. She’d already thanked Charles for caring for Tyson last night.
Deborah looked at Tyson. “Of course I’m alive, silly boy.” She bent over and kissed him on the forehead.
He looked up at her and smiled. Deborah smiled back, but within seconds she noticed the wide, huge grin on her son’s face vanish, as if he’d seen a ghost.
“What is it, baby?” Deborah asked, his emotions rubbing off on her. “What’s wrong?”
“Where’s Daddy? Did he have to go to jail for hurting you?”
Deborah exhaled. “No, Tyson. Daddy didn’t go to jail, and Daddy didn’t hurt me.”
“Yes he did!” Tyson exclaimed. “He pushed you. You fell and bleeded. I saw it. Daddy tried to kill you!”
A couple of the children who rode the bus with Tyson and were heading to their own domiciles turned to look back at them and see what all the commotion was about. Deborah looked at the children, smiled, and nodded, hoping they took that as a sign that everything was okay and would move along.
“My mom said his dad beats them,” Deborah heard one of the older elementary kids say to another child as they walked away from her and Tyson. “Said the police were there last night and everything, and that the property value, or something like that, is going to go down if we have hoodlums for neighbors.”
If things were like they used to be when Deborah was coming up, she’d get that kid straight, take him to his doorstep by his ear, and get his mother straight too. But she’d already had the people called on her before when it came to her own son. And she’d already gone to jail for a quarrel with her own husband. They’d probably put her under the jail if she dealt with someone who wasn’t even kinfolk. So instead, she focused on calming Tyson down.
“Let’s take a walk to the park real quick, okay?” Deborah said to Tyson.
Even though she and Lynox had decided they would have a talk together with Tyson about everything that was going on, right now Tyson saw Lynox as the bad guy. Deborah could tell by the fear in his voice and the look in his eyes when he asked if Lynox was home. She never wanted Tyson to be afraid to walk into his own home. She felt that if she told him that Lynox was in fact at the house without first having a one-on-one with him, it might be harmful to him.
At the idea of a quick trip to the neighborhood park, Tyson’s eyes lit up. Just that fast he forgot all about his proverbial evil stepfather. “Ooh, yay! The park.” Tyson took off running.
“No, no. Wait up,” Deborah said. “We’re going to walk to the park.” Even though the path to the park was right up the next block, Deborah wanted to take advantage of all the time they spent getting to the park.
“Oh, Mom.” Tyson stopped, turned around, and frowned. “It’s right there.” He pointed. “You’ll see if a stranger gets me.”
“Boy, just get back here and walk with me.”
Tyson stomped the entire few steps back to Deborah with his shoulders slumped.
“You better straighten up, or there won’t be no park.” Deborah gave Tyson a stern look. The fact that she was mortified about what he’d been exposed to last night didn’t take away from the fact that he needed to act like he had some sense. Still, Deborah lightened the mood. “So how was school today?”
“Not good. I was sad a lot,” Tyson replied.
“Why?” Deborah asked, even though she could have bet the farm on her idea about why he’d been sad.
“Because you were bleeding and dying and stuff. And Daddy’s mean.”
“Yes, I was bleeding, but like I said before, I’m not dead. I wasn’t dying,” Deborah said. “And, honey, you have a very kind, loving father who would do anything in the world for you. He’s not mean.”
“Uh-uh. He is. He was mean that time in the basement, and he was mean last night. He makes you sad. I see your face, and it looks like mine when you made me sad.”
“When?” Deborah asked, wondering how the focus of this conversation had shifted to her.
“When you used to be mean too. Remember?”
Deborah remembered, all right. That was back when she had first realized that she needed some help when it came to her anger and her snapping off. Poor Tyson had had to bear the brunt of her mess. Now there was Lynox, and that had led to Deborah having to have this conversation in the first place. If only she’d kept up with her meds, the counseling, or something, all this could have been prevented. If only she had been a better Christian and had kept up with God. If she was stronger in the Lord, she bet she wouldn’t be dealing with this situation right now. Seemed like things had gotten worse. Once upon a time Deborah had considered herself a Sunday only Christian, now Sundays were even too much for her.
“Mommy does remember when she used to be mean to you,” Deborah admitted. “And lately, Mommy hasn’t been so nice.”
“Yes, you have. You let me eat ice cream for dinner the other day,” Tyson reminded her as they turned off the street they’d been walking on and headed up the trail to the park.
Deborah smiled. She’d let Tyson eat ice cream for dinner that evening because she’d felt so awful for shooing him away all day. There was a manuscript that she had been editing, and she had told herself that she would get at least twenty-five pages done a day until it was complete. She had been on the cusp of meeting her goal for the day when Tyson started coming down to her home office what seemed like every five minutes.
“Mommy?” he’d said the first time.
“Yes, Tyson?” Deborah had replied, not taking her eyes off the computer screen.
“Can I have a peanut butter and jelly sandwich?”
“Just a second, Tyson. Go on upstairs, and I’ll be up.”
When she told him she’d be just a second, he took it literally, as less than a minute later the little tyke was right back down at her desk again.
“Mommy, I want a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and don’t tell me to wait a minute. I’m hungry. And some water with it too.” Tyson wasn’t a milk drinker. If he couldn’t get juice or a soda, he’d take water over milk any day.
“Hold on, Tyson. I’ll be up. Mommy has work she has to get done, so you have to be patient.”
He sighed, creating a huge gust of wind, slumped his shoulders, and walked away with his head down.
“And lift that big head up so you can see where you’re going.”
He sucked his teeth and stomped hard up the steps.
“Boys don’t suck their teeth, and stop stomping,” Deborah told him.
The door slammed closed as she got to her final few words. If she hadn’t been so entrenched in her work, she probably would have jumped up from her seat and yoked him up. She’d contemplated it as her blood boiled over this sign of disrespect, which, she knew, needed to be nipped in the bud. Instead, she continued editing away.
She had two more paragraphs to go, and her creativity was at its peak. Her adrenaline was pumping, and then the door opened again. She didn’t hear Tyson stomping down the steps. She figured that maybe he’d just opened the door to feel her out, and she thought that he was waiting up there for the moment when she did decide to get up. Whatever it was that was keeping him at the top of the steps instead of at the foot, she took as a blessing.
Right when Deborah reached her last paragraph, she realized that some things were too good to be true. At that moment Tyson, who had tiptoed down the steps without her hearing him, popped up beside her desk.
“Mom?”
“What?” Deborah yelled. His little voice had set her off. Why was he being so hardheaded? All he had to do was sit upstairs in the television room and watch cartoons. She had turned on his favorite show and had even left him her iPad to play with.
When she had asked him if he wanted something to eat before she retreated back down to her work space, where she’d been all day—except when she had to feed the baby and tend to him—why hadn’t he said something then and let her fix him something? Why? Why? Why?
She’d been up and down those stairs all day, shifting from working on her laptop to working on her PC. When she had to be in the same room with the baby, she was on her laptop. When he was in his swing, she worked on her laptop. But once he dozed off, she’d go do work that she preferred doing on her PC. She kept a play gym down in the home office area, so sometimes she would even work with the baby right next to her there.
This day in particular had been so overwhelming. It seemed like whenever Deborah had a deadline, all these mini projects would pop up and take time away from the main one she wanted to focus on. So even though at one point in the week she might find herself a day ahead of schedule, sure enough issues and distractions would pop up, and she would fall her two days behind.
One time recently her mother had needed her to accompany her to the repair shop to drop her car off. Another time Lynox had asked her to read over real quick something he was working on. A couple of times it had been a field trip or a class party she’d volunteered for a long time ago, and those obligations had crept up on her during the busiest workweeks possible. But today it was Tyson wanting a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.
The sound of his voice, which was usually a melody to her ears, as he sang the anthem of precious motherhood, was like nails down a chalkboard today.
“What, Tyson?” she yelled at the top of her lungs again. “Don’t you see me working? Didn’t I tell you that I would come up when I was finished?”
“Yes, but I just wanted—” Tyson continuously tried to get a word in edgewise during Deborah’s rant, but he couldn’t. She’d popped her hood, and all kinds of smoke was coming out of the engine.
“You have to learn to be patient,” Deborah continued. “When somebody tells you to wait a minute, you have to go sit your butt down somewhere and wait a minute. You understand me? Now, get on upstairs and wait, like I told you to do in the first place.”