My Word_Interior.indd

by Gizelle Bryant

Angela scooted to the edge of the chair, bringing herself

  closer to Jeremy. “Reverend Williams,” Angela sang my

  husband’s name. “Tell me,” she said like they were about to

  share a secret. “How have you managed to stay above the

  drama we often see accompanying megachurch pastors.”

  My husband’s smile faded and he shook his head. “I don’t

  know what you’re talking about.”

  “Oh come on,” Angela said. “Megachurches are

  often rocked with everything from abuse of power, to

  misappropriation of funds, and then,” she paused and looked

  at me, “the affairs. We’ve seen and heard it all. But never do we hear Jeremy Williams’ name associated with any of that.”

  “Well, first of all, I’d take offense with you stating that as a fact.”

  “Oh, I didn’t mean....”

  “No, I’m actually glad you brought that up. Because so

  many people have that impression of the church. And yes,

  there are a small number of pastors who’ve gotten caught up,

  that’s a fact. But it’s no greater number than men, or women,

  in any profession.”

  “True.”

  “One thing people must remember is that pastors are no

  better than anyone else. We are held to a higher standard

  because of what we were called to do, but we are still men.”

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  Angela sat back in her chair a bit. “Well, Amen.”

  “Amen,” Jeremy said. “Now, I do have to say that my wife

  and I,” he squeezed my hand, “know that God has given us a

  gift and it is our job to continue to provide spiritual leadership, guidance, and support to the members that God has given to

  our care. We would be dishonoring Him,” he pointed toward

  the ceiling, “if we were to do anything other than what He

  has called me to do.”

  I nestled in closer to my husband when I said, “And we

  would never abuse that gift. Neither one of us.”

  Angela gave me a long stare, then nodded before she

  glanced down at her pad filled with notes and questions.

  “So, ten is a special number for you. You will be with New

  Kingdom for ten years and you will be...married for the same

  number?”

  “Yes!” I said, putting as much strength into my voice as

  I could. “Jeremy and I didn’t have a chance to have a long

  engagement and we didn’t have a big wedding. We got

  married the Sunday after his installation and we’ve been on

  this journey ever since.”

  “Amazing,” Angela said.

  Now that was something I could agree on with this

  woman. This journey had been nothing but amazing...for

  Jeremy. His calling was obvious with the way he walked

  right into his gift. His sermons were filled with the hope of

  youth and the fire that was in his heart for God. He was so

  relatable, that many of the college students from the dozens

  of universities in the District began to attend.

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  But it had been work building this church. Reverend

  Donnell didn’t have a staff, so we’d had to hire people, though there wasn’t any real money to pay anyone. That meant that

  I had to jump in. And because of that, I’d never spent one

  day wearing a two-piece suit and carrying a briefcase into

  Walker-Hughes. Instead, I was in the church’s office, handling the business: answering the phones, setting up the systems,

  paying the bills, making sure we had supplies...and then, I

  put on my marketing hat, spreading the word about this new

  church with this twenty-one-year-old pastor.

  Getting the word out was one place where I felt

  comfortable in the church. This may have been a religious

  institution, but it was still a consumer product, and I put my degree and my knowledge of digital marketing to work. I went

  straight to social media and Twitter, which was a new thing

  back in 2008, but a thing that had enough users, especially

  celebrities.

  I had the idea to direct message celebrities, inviting them

  to New Kingdom whenever they were in town and even

  offering a private meeting with Reverend Williams if there

  was anything they ever wanted to discuss.

  When I’d told Jeremy about the idea to use social media,

  he’d only kissed my forehead as if he was saying— bless your heart.

  But then I’d blessed his. Two weeks after I’d sent the

  first invitations, Chris Brown strolled into the Holiday Inn

  conference room where we held our church services during

  praise and worship. It was a shock to everyone, though no

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  one behaved that way, and at the end of the service, he was

  so moved, he tweeted about the young dynamic pastor who

  sounded just like him when he preached. He helped to put

  Reverend Williams and New Kingdom Temple on the map.

  The rest, as they say, is our history. From managing a

  growing membership roll that doubled every few years, to

  finding space to rent (first, the hotel, then a school gymnasium, after that, an old utility building) to house our church as we built a massive twelve thousand seat sanctuary, I managed the

  business side of New Kingdom Temple so that my husband

  could live his calling.

  Angela said, “Well, now that we know how you stay out of

  trouble, Reverend,” she giggled, “let’s talk about your family.

  You have two lovely children.”

  This part of our interview wasn’t rehearsed. Both of us

  brightened as we glanced at the photo on the mantel that

  Angela pointed to.

  “Yes, our heartbeats,” I said. “Our oldest is seven. Our

  daughter is five.”

  Even though I smiled, this was an uncomfortable part

  of our lives for me. The producers of the show had asked for

  our children to be on with us, but I had nixed that. I always

  tried to operate from my faith and push aside fear, but it was difficult when it came to our children because of what Jeremy

  and I had endured over the years. We’d had women stalking

  Jeremy constantly and a few guys had gotten too close to me.

  We’d received hate mail from folks who said we were going

  to burn in hell because of Jeremy’s prosperity preaching and

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  even had people turn up at our door, claiming to be relatives

  so often, we’d finally moved to this exclusive neighborhood

  three years ago where gates were around every home and

  President and Mrs. Obama had moved to last year after their

  years in the White House.

  So, I wasn’t excited about my children being around too

  many people I didn’t call friends. Last year, Jeremy had tried to assuage my concerns by hiring bodyguards—one for him,

  one for me and a part-time one who protected our children

  when they were out of our sight. Still, I kept our children’s

  faces away from all of the lights-cameras-action that had

  become Reverend Jeremy William’s life.

  “Our children are the biggest blessing of all in the last ten

  years. And we’re trying our best to give them a normal life.”

  “Well,” Angela sat back in her chair a bit, “that’s going to

  be difficult because Reverend Williams, word on the
street

  is that you’re about to get your own television show,” Angela

  said. It was shock that made our eyes widen. That was true, but it was a top-secret truth, known only by our closest associates.

  Before we could say anything, Angela waved her hand

  and said, “Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me.” And then, she laughed.

  Did she think this was funny?

  She explained, “Clearly, I have my sources, so we won’t

  air this until after the press release is mailed out next week.”

  Behind the camera, Dru’s eyes were as wide as mine and

  she shook her head. I knew she wasn’t denying anything, she

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  didn’t have to; Dru was my ride and die. There was nothing

  but shock all over her face.

  Jeremy said, “Wow, so, you even know about the

  announcement.”

  “A good reporter is willing to do her homework...and

  willing to do other things.”

  Angela was ridiculous, over the top, but I wondered how

  many times I’d said those same words over the years. Women

  flirted with my husband right in front of my face, giving him

  their numbers, asking if he would stop by their homes for

  prayer, letting their hands linger for too long all over his body.

  I was living the life of my mother, the life that I’d promised myself I’d never accept. But I’d accepted it, embraced it, while giving up so many of my dreams to make sure Jeremy fulfilled

  his. But while Jeremy had walked into his calling, I had to

  admit that in many ways this felt like my calling, too. Because while I’d given up my career, what I’d been given was the

  marriage that I’d always prayed for. I’d asked God to make

  Jeremy’s heart just like my dad’s and He had answered that

  prayer.

  Never once had Jeremy stepped out on me. I knew that

  for sure not only because I knew my husband’s character (and

  I’d set up systems where my husband never spoke to a woman

  alone in his office), but with the way the world was set up

  these days—someone would have definitely made sure that I

  found out about any indiscretion.

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  “Well, since you’ve brought this up,” Jeremy said, “my wife

  and I are very excited about this deal. We’ll have a show on

  BET and at the same time, we’ll be developing faith based

  films for Netflix.”

  “That is awesome,” Angela gushed. To me, she said,

  “You’re one lucky little lady.”

  That was it. I’d had enough. The producers would just

  have to edit out what I was about to say—if they wanted to. I

  really didn’t care if my putting this woman in her place aired on national TV in high-def.

  But before I could say a word, Jeremy gently grasped my

  forearm. “Mrs. Wiley.”

  “Oh, it’s Angela, and it’s Ms. Definitely Ms.”

  “Well, Ms. Wiley. Please don’t ever get it twisted. I’m the

  blessed one. Everything we have at New Kingdom Temple is

  because my wife has been right by my side making it happen.

  What we built here, you need to understand and get it right—

  we built this all TOGETHER.”

  I settled back and settled down. He’d put Angela in her

  place in a way that I would have never been able to do. The

  same way he did to any woman who came his way. Just like

  my dad.

  With the tips of my fingers, I turned Jeremy’s chin toward

  me and then, I kissed my husband, on national TV.

  And when he kissed me back, all I heard was Angela’s

  voice saying, “Cut! Cut! Cut!”

  I smiled in satisfaction. My point had been made.

  Chapter Eight

  This was something I would never get used to.

  I leaned back in the chair and my eyes did a slow stroll

  around the table of the fifteen women gathered. After four

  years, I still didn’t fit in with the First Ladies Council.

  This had been my struggle once I finally accepted First

  Lady Sonya Douglas’ invite after she’d been calling me, semi-

  annually, for more than five years.

  “You and Reverend Williams are doing great things,” First

  Lady Sonya said when she called me the first time and the second time and the third time. “You must join the First Ladies Council so New Kingdom Temple is represented in the DMV.”

  That had been First Lady Sonya, the matriarch of the

  group’s pitch. But in our early years in D.C., my focus was

  on building our church, and three years after we started that, building our family. There was no room in my life for anything else—not the First Ladies Council, my sorority or even the

  Links who had also reached out to me.

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  But four years ago, after Lady Sonya’s latest call, I began

  to give her invitation real consideration. Jasmine was one,

  Jayden was three and while they still needed me, between Dru

  and our daytime nanny, Carmen, I could spare a few hours a

  month. And the church—Jeremy and I both had staff to help

  us fulfill our New Kingdom responsibilities.

  I’d been excited about going to that first working lunch

  in the Four Seasons, though when I’d shared that with Dru,

  my best friend hadn’t felt the same way.

  “Are you serious? You’re going to join a club with all those women? There’s a reason why the Lord only wanted two or three to gather in his name. ‘Cause fifteen or sixteen will be nothing but a mess. A complete mess and utter mess. ”

  I’d laughed at my best friend’s spin on that scripture in

  Matthew, though I told her these First Ladies were far from

  a mess. If I’d thought Jeremy and I had made waves in the

  district, the First Ladies Council had caused a tsunami with

  the dozen or so schools they’d opened, plus the hundreds of

  college scholarships they’d given away over the years.

  “These women are making real differences in people’s lives.”

  Dru had looked at me with all kinds of doubt, and it

  turned out she’d been right.

  “And child, I tell you,” First Lady Cecily Davis’ voice

  brought me out of my memories. “That pastor just had no

  shame.” With her French-tip manicured finger, she pushed

  her diamond-studded red-framed cat-eye glasses up the

  bridge of her nose. “He was just blatant in his disrespect.

  That’s why his wife made her way right up to that heifer’s....”

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  “Cecily!” First Lady Sonya snapped, from her chair at the

  head of the table.

  Cecily pressed her hand against her chest. “Did I say

  heifer? I apologize.” She turned her head and made eye

  contact with all the women around the table. With a sincere

  nod of her head, she added, “I didn’t mean to say that. I meant to cal her....a trick. That’s why his wife showed up to that

  trick’s apartment.”

  Laughter rang out around the table from everyone except

  for me. I wasn’t trying to be self-righteous, but there was no way I could laugh at anyone else’s pain. And gossip? That

  was something else I didn’t do. Never had, never would. But

  this group—a circle of First Ladies, most in their fifties and sixties—had advanced degrees in gossip.

  And while the other
women had their Masters, Cecily

  Davis had two Phd’s. She was the provost, for sure, bringing

  the bad news about some pastor and his wife to these meetings

  that were meant to be planning sessions for the good work we

  all said we wanted to do.

  But Cecily always derailed us with dirt about every pastor

  and First Lady in the DMV. That was one reason why that

  woman and I would never be friends; the other—I had a long

  memory and what was indelible in my mind was walking into

  this meeting the first time when First Lady Cecily Davis,

  wearing the longest false eyelashes, French-tip fake nails and a weave that rolled down her back, greeted me with, “Really, green contacts? Those are so 1984,” before she ever said hello.

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  It had been amazing that I’d found the grace to answer

  her with a smile and the truth: I told her the hazel in my eyes were not contacts but my DNA, just like my sandy brown hair

  that everyone swore came off the head of some poor woman

  from Indonesia.

  The memory of how I’d had to check her reminded me of

  how much I didn’t like being here. Why were these women

  all up in somebody else’s business? They were First Ladies, for goodness sake. Surely, they wouldn’t be happy if the tables had been turned their way.

  As I gave Cicely a long glance, I shook my head. This

  woman could have done so much good. Not only because she

  and her husband, Pastor ___ Davis, had an eight thousand

  member church in Ward 3, the richest section of DC, but

  with the most diverse congregation out of all of us, Cecily

  could have been a real shaker making major moves if so

  many people didn’t like her—because of her mouth. She

  commanded attention with her still model-curvy frame and

  the way she strolled around still wearing five-inch stilettos, even though she was in her mid-fifties. She’d traded in her

  Malaysian twenty-two inch tresses for a cute pixie-cut that

  was a white as snow, giving her an exotic look. She was sassy, she was always designer-sharp. .and she had a hard heart that

  was always filled with bad news.

  After the laughter died down a bit, one of the First Ladies

  asked, “So did his wife really go to her apartment?”

  “Yeah, girl,” Cecily said, leaning forward like she had all

  the tea and was ready to spill more.

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  I said, “So, about the Dress for Success program, not only