No Weapon Formed (Boaz Brown)

by Stimpson, Michelle

  Daddy welcomed us into the house, giving Stelson a manly hug and kissing Zoe. He boxed with Seth for a moment. “Y’all come on in.”

  We gathered around the table, using Daddy’s Styrofoam plates and plastic utensils (Jonathan’s brilliant idea to help keep the kitchen decent after I told him about the crazy stack of dishes). Stelson prayed a blessing over the food, and we all dug into a meal that Momma never would have deemed an appropriate after-church meal. I could almost hear her fussing: store-cooked for Sunday dinner? Blasphemy! You ought to have more respect for the Lord’s day!

  I would have given anything to hear her quote the strict laws she had raised us to follow, even though I wasn’t condemned by them anymore, thanks to the revelation of grace.

  Stelson was unusually quiet. His way of feeling my father out since their talk. Daddy was tiptoeing around Stelson, too, talking mostly to the kids and me.

  “Is Jonathan coming over?” I asked.

  “Said he might,” Dad answered. “You ought to know, though. Don’t you talk to him more than me?”

  “No. Not since he took that second job at the gym. Seems like he never figured out how to sit down and relax when he left the navy. Is that some kind of disorder?”

  “Might be,” Daddy said, chewing at the same time.

  I hoped Seth wasn’t taking notes.

  “You know what they say on those commercials,” Stelson finally added, “they do more by sunrise than most people do all day. Oh, wait, is that the army?”

  “Yeah, that’s the army,” my father seconded.

  “I wanna go to the army,” Seth announced. This had to be his fifth career choice in a month.

  “Really?” Stelson encouraged with a smile. “Why?”

  “‘Cause they get to fight!”

  “Nuh-uh,” Daddy quickly let the air out of Seth’s chest. “Whole world is against us since we elected a nig—”

  I shot Daddy a look that stopped him mid-sentence, thankfully.

  “Since we elected President Obama. We be the first ones on the firing line. Well, we already were, but they pushed us up even more so now.”

  Stelson swallowed his food quickly. “Don’t you think things have changed some? I mean, it’s not perfect, but it’s not 1960 anymore, either.”

  Lord Jesus, why did he have to go there? I knew my husband. He had every intention of enlightening my father. But I also knew my daddy. He was like a tree planted by the water; he would not be moved in his opinions. Those two never needed to discuss religion or politics with each other. Ever.

  My father closed his eyes and spoke with as much passion as people usually reserve for when they’ve closed their eyes to sing. “Just because it’s a new century, just because we’ve had a black president, and just ‘cause we got Oprah don’t mean the world ain’t full of Paula Deens.”

  The debate commenced over food. Thankfully, Stelson and Daddy were both so hungry that consuming the chicken tied them to a reasonable volume.

  Seth pulled my sleeve and cupped his mouth. I leaned down to hear his secret.

  “Momma, I thought President Obama was brown.”

  “He is, honey,” I whispered behind a palm.

  “Then how come PawPaw keeps saying he’s black?”

  “Some people say brown is black when we’re talking about people’s skin.” I knew that was confusing.

  “Are there people who really are black?”

  “Yes. There are. Beautiful people. And some of them were your great-great-great grandparents from a long time ago.”

  “Oh. Do you think I will look like them? Like PawPaw said?”

  “Listen to me. You just be Seth. Don’t worry about your color. Go ahead and finish up your green beans.”

  Stelson and my father’s discourse ran another circle. Next thing I knew, my son let out a wail that could have called the cows in.

  “Waaaaaah! Waaaaah!” he screamed, wiping real live tears from his eyes.

  All conversation ceased as I searched his mouth to see if something had cut him or if he was hurt.

  Stelson flew to Seth’s side of the table and knelt. “Son, what’s wrong?”

  “I don’t wanna be black!” he exploded.

  Daddy jumped right on it. “See! Now that there is a shame!”

  I gave Daddy the hand. “Shhh.”

  “I don’t wanna be black!” Seth repeated.

  “I’m not gonna shush when it comes to my grandson,” Daddy raised up from his seat. He leaned over Stelson, as though he might need to intervene somehow.

  “What’s the deal with being black?” Stelson gently probed.

  “‘Cause my last name is Brown. If I’m black, then people can’t see me,” Seth tried to make us understand. “Like when you use the black con-struct-no paper in class, nobody can see when you write on it.”

  Stelson smothered his chuckle. “No, son. Being black isn’t like being a piece of black paper. It’s totally different. Everyone can see black people.”

  “Depends on who you ask,” Daddy mumbled under his breath.

  Stelson redirected Seth’s anxiety. “Here. Wipe off your face and let’s go outside for a minute.”

  My husband and son walked outside to the swing set that was working on its second generation in my parents’ back yard.

  Daddy and I stayed behind with Zoe as I cleared the table.

  “Now, Shondra, I know you think your husband’s doing the best he can with Seth. And maybe he is. But he’s going about this thing the wrong way.”

  I stuffed the empty plates into the trashcan. “Well, how do you think Stelson should have handled it, Daddy?”

  “He should have told him that black was beautiful. Not no ‘what’s the deal?’” he mimicked my husband. “Even if Seth don’t never turn brown, he can’t walk around with a hatred for his own people. What you want him to do—grow up and marry a white woman?”

  Daddy’s words stung my heart. Startled me, really. “Is that what you still think of me? That I grew up to marry a white man?”

  He pinched the fullest part of his nose. “Naw, Shondra. I didn’t mean it like that.”

  I blinked back tears to keep from turning this into a fiasco.

  “I’m just saying—I don’t want our bloodline to turn completely white.”

  “That’s enough. We’re gonna go now.”

  I heaved Zoe up from the high chair.

  “Wait a minute, Shondra,” Daddy tried to talk me down from the emotional cliff.

  “You know what, Daddy, you have a right to feel what you feel and believe whatever you wish. But I will not sit here and let you insult my husband, me, and my family.”

  “It wasn’t an insult. I’m only trying to give you advice. What are grandparents for? I know I’m not your Momma, and I don’t have all that churchy stuff to tell you, but I got some years behind me. Been through some things. You gotta give me credit for knowing something about how to survive in America.”

  More than anything, I wanted to process my father’s words through logic over my feelings. The most hurtful part was the genuine nature of his comments. These words had come straight from the abundance of his heart.

  “Good-bye, Daddy. I know you mean well. You really do. And I love you.” I smacked his cheek with my lips. “But really, really, I need you to trust this to me and Stelson, just like we discussed the last time. All right?”

  My father agreed, though I knew he wasn’t convinced we were doing the right thing.

  And Daddy wasn’t the only one with doubts.

  Chapter 10

  The second honeymoon was over. Stelson had a busy work week ahead of him, full of meetings and presentations. He told me not to expect him home before seven any night.

  Honestly, I didn’t mind. I was looking forward to the extra hours. I figured they would give me plenty of time to make sure the kids were taken care of, dinner was prepared, the house was tidy, and also to make myself especially presentable before Stelson walked through the door—like all thos
e “be a good wife” articles suggest women do.

  Didn’t quite work out that way.

  I promise, I got up and took Zoe and Seth to school at 8:00 a.m. Then I worked out. I went to the grocery store, stopped to eat a bite, and finally handled some business at the post office. I might have watched an episode of Judge Mathis while checking a few emails. And then, lo and behold, it was 2:20 in the afternoon. Only forty minutes left before I had to go pick up Seth from school, since he was no longer enrolled in after-school care. If the morning drop-off bottleneck was any indication of the logjam I could expect at 3:00 p.m., I really needed to be there no later than a quarter ’til.

  How can it be time for him to come home already?

  Nonetheless, I savored the last few moments of silence, seasoning the red potatoes I’d put in the oven once I returned with Seth.

  Wait. Only Seth?

  If I picked him up at three, that would put me back home at 3:30 after fighting the school zone traffic; I’d have to go right back out for Zoe. Hardly worth another pilgrimage.

  I gotta do better tomorrow.

  The potatoes would have to wait until I returned home with both of my kids. Meanwhile, I folded a basket of clothes in five minutes flat so I could get a head start on the other stay-at-home moms by leaving my home at 2:30 p.m.

  . Imagine my surprise to find myself still three cars away from the turn-in curb.

  Do these other moms ever leave the school?

  In exasperation, I called Peaches. “Girl, this is some foolishness. I’m here to pick up my baby from school, twenty minutes early, and we’re already bumper-to-bumper.”

  “Hey, people do it every day.”

  “People without lives!”

  “What’s your real problem?” Peaches went straight in.

  I made use of the headrest. “I didn’t get anything done today.”

  “What did you do?”

  The short list of accomplishments took every bit of ten seconds to relay.

  “Okay,” she said. “What’s wrong with that?”

  “I feel like I didn’t do anything important today.”

  “Important like what?”

  “Important like…I don’t know…save the world.”

  “How is making sure your household runs smoothly not important?”

  Since I wasn’t moving anywhere any time soon, I put the car in park and poured my heart out to my best friend who had to be somewhere under all that B. Smith. “Peaches, this is ridiculous. Our parents did not pinch pennies and work extra hours to put us through college so we could grow up to be housewives. I mean, not unless we get a reality television show or something.”

  Her voice dipped low. “Now, you know you ain’t gotta be a real housewife to be on a housewife show. You might stand a better chance as a live-in girlfriend these days.”

  “Right,” I chimed in. “But I’m saying. I feel like I’m not using my brain. My skills. My education. This is boring and pointless and it’s sucking the life out of me.”

  “You haven’t even been home a whole week yet!” Peaches yelled.

  “I know! Can you imagine what I’ll be like in a month?” I whined.

  “You want me to go call the wam-bulance? Please, do you know how many women would love to be in your shoes right now?”

  “I don’t care about those other women. This is me. My life!”

  “Okay,” she sighed. “I’m not going to tell you how to live your life. But let me ask you this—have you prayed about this whole situation?”

  “No.”

  “Start there,” Peaches ordered. “Just get up tomorrow before everyone else, like you used to when you were working, and pray. Get your mind right. Ask God to show you what to do in the next 24 hours, and see what happens. Got it?”

  “Mmm hmmm.” When did she become the big sister?

  “I gotta go. Silent reading time is almost over,” she said.

  “What’s that?”

  “It’s when the kids have to do something silent after playtime. It helps them get calm before homework,” she spelled out.

  “You can play before homework?”

  “You can do whatever works for your household,” she said. “Get some kind of schedule going—you know, so much time for this, so much time for that after school. And then for the house, decide what you’re gonna do on certain days. Rotate mopping, dusting, a little bit every day. And plan a week-long menu. Girl, you’ll have the Browns runnin’ like a well-oiled machine. And then if you go back to work, it’ll be easier to plug your assistants back into the equation.”

  The school bell rang and the first children, whose teachers must have had their noses pressed against the glass, zipped out of the doors. The children’s backpacks bounced heartily as they found their rides waiting in the circular drive-up.

  Once Seth came bounding out of the building, the rest of the evening flashed before my eyes.

  Stelson texted me once to say he’d be even later than he thought, but I didn’t care. I got Zoe and Seth in bed as soon as possible, and I was right behind them. When I worked, there was only a two-hour span between the time I scooped them up from daycare until I turned out the lights. Now, with five hours…

  Lord, You changed my mind and caused me to make this decision. Now I need you to change my heart to match.

  Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

  My alarm clock showed six o’clock. Not too much later than the time I used to rise when I actually had a job.

  But this is a job, I reminded myself. Actually, the thought was so contrary to my feelings, the words probably hadn’t come from me. They were from my heavenly Father, the very reason I’d chosen to set the buzzer in the first place.

  The aroma of Stelson’s coffee was still fresh in the kitchen, though I’d heard him leave about ten minutes earlier. My husband was serious about getting in his exercise at least three times a week. After his gym workout, he’d shower and go straight to the office if his schedule allowed for khakis and a rugby shirt.

  Hopefully, in weeks to come, we’d be able to see each other before he left for work.

  But that particular morning, I was glad for the silence. Glad to return to a routine that had completely escaped me since Seth came into the picture four years earlier. Were it not for Stelson praying for our family and calling me into prayer with him sometimes, I would have been a guest in the upper room.

  Quietly, I moved through the kitchen and made myself a quick cup of tea. That Zoe had super-sensitive ears, and I had come to believe that she could decipher my footsteps from her father’s because she never woke up when he was walking through the house. Only me.

  And then came the biggest wake-up call of all: I had no idea where my personal Bible case was. I’d carried my smaller, travel Bible to church Sunday, but the sacred one I’d owned since the previous century, with all the highlighting, my personal notes, along with my journal, was nowhere in plain sight.

  That’s just sad.

  After searching through my nightstand, under my bed, and in Stelson’s office, I decided that it must have been in my car’s trunk. Going out to the garage was not gonna happen if I wanted the morning’s peace to remain intact for another hour, so I grabbed Stelson’s Bible from his desk along with a blank yellow notepad from one of his drawers.

  I tiptoed to the guest bedroom, slowly closing and releasing the door behind me. I felt like screaming, “I made it!” but instead, tears overtook me as I fell to my knees at the foot of the full-sized bed.

  This was the barest room in the house, consisting of only my old queen-sized bed and dresser. The closet was filled with clothes I hoped to wear again, at least in my dreams.

  A reflection of myself in the closet mirror nearly startled me. There, with my head wrapped in a scarf, wearing an outdated robe, was a vision of my mother in me. I remember when I used to walk into her room to request money or ask her if she knew where something was, and I’d find her in this same position. On the floor praying. Rocking back and for
th. With tears in her eyes.

  Just like me.

  Sometimes, I would slip back out of the room. Other times, she would look up and ask me if I wanted to join her. The older I got, the more I said yes, if only for a few minutes.

  And now there I was, a grown woman doing what my mother had modeled for me all those years ago.

  “Thank you, God, for her example.”

  I just knelt there and cried. Cried and cried and cried. Partly because I missed Momma—and anyone who has lost a mother will agree that it is possible to cry almost endlessly.

  But I also released tears of joy because I’d missed Him and, finally, we were reunited. Just the two of us. And I sensed that He’d missed me, too.

  Perhaps the reunion with Momma would feel the same.

  Once I finished slobbing all over the bed’s comforter, I propped myself up on the pillows and began writing on the makeshift journal. If memory served correctly, I hadn’t written anything in my journal for months. And even then, my entries were short, sweet, and guilty: God, I’m sorry I haven’t talked to you much. I’m hoping this is only a season. -Shondra.

  With nearly a full hour to do whatever came spiritually, I popped in a praise CD and wrote to my heart’s content, telling God how I had quit my job, telling Him about how Stelson and Daddy didn’t see eye-to-eye about Seth, asking Him why Peaches seemed so foreign to me now. She was still my girl and all, but the more I wrote, the more I discovered resentment toward her, which surprised me.

  I went on to discover resentment toward a lot of things: Stelson steering me to be more domestic, society saying I needed to lose twenty pounds, my dad acting like I owed him a dark child.

  God, what is all this in my heart? Felt as though I was undergoing a divine intervention.

  Daddy led me to the topic index in Stelson’s NIV Bible, where I searched for the words “bitterness” and “resentment” and found references to plenty of scriptures that sanded down my recently-formed heart callouses. The third citation led me to James 3:13-18.

  Who is wise and understanding among you? Let them show it by their good life, by deeds done in the humility that comes from wisdom. But if you harbor bitter envy and selfish ambition in your hearts, do not boast about it or deny the truth. Such “wisdom” does not come down from heaven but is earthly, unspiritual, demonic. For where you have envy and selfish ambition, there you find disorder and every evil practice. But the wisdom that comes from heaven is first of all pure; then peace-loving, considerate, submissive, full of mercy and good fruit, impartial and sincere. Peacemakers who sow in peace reap a harvest of righteousness.