“Thanks,” Laura said again, sounding as if she were holding back more tears. She went toward the kitchen, while Jan headed toward the laundry room.
Jan paused at the laundry room. Lord, please show me how to handle this, she prayed. Not sure what this is all about but show me what to say and what not to say. Thank You, Lord. She arranged a pile of clothing in the wheeled cart she’d recently purchased from Amazon and held onto it for her walk to the living room. Taking in a deep breath, she detected a slightly sulphury smell. “Pardon the boiled-eggs smell. I just fixed a chef salad for dinner.”
“No worries. I’m sorry to drop in on you unexpected but — but —” Laura sank her head into her hands and burst into tears. Soon, her shoulders were shaking with sobs.
Pushing the laundry cart aside, Jan sat beside Laura. She pulled the young woman to her and let her cry it out. “It’s okay, honey. Nothing’s too big for the Lord. Peace, child. Peace. Shhh.”
When Laura’s sobs slowly subsided, Jan spoke gently. “Talk to me, honey. What has happened?”
Laura’s bloodshot eyes searched Jan’s. “I’m so scared. Tyler and I are not doing well.” Laura paused and looked long at Jan as if to prepare her for what she was going to say next. “I — I — don’t know if things are going to work out between us.”
Jan’s mouth dropped in shock. She knew the two were having trouble but wasn’t expecting this. Her heart pounded against Laura’s head where her tears had soaked through Jan’s blouse. She grasped Laura’s hands in her own.
“Laura, honey. Surely it cannot be that bad. There is always a solution for every problem. Tell me what’s happening with you and Tyler.”
The sobs began again as Laura recounted to Jan all the troubling circumstances behind her rift with Tyler. “I’ve been trying to get Tyler to talk it out. He just puts up this impenetrable wall around himself and won’t come out . . .” Laura shook her head and wrung her hands. “And he won’t let me in, either,” Laura paused. “I want to work through our marriage problems, but I don’t think Tyler does. He just doesn’t care enough to put in the effort.” Laura crossed her arms as tears kept seeping from her eyes. “Lydell Thompson has agreed to see me today. I — I’m going to see him.”
“Honey, who is Lydell Thompson?” Jan asked, hoping he was a counselor.
“He’s a divorce lawyer.”
Jan’s breath caught in her throat. Then her eyes flashed with a holy determination. “No, honey. You can’t mean that. A divorce lawyer?” Jan shook her head. “Don’t do that. Please don’t do that. I know these troubles are tough. I do not discount your feelings, honey, but don’t — don’t do that just now. Let me talk to Tyler.”
“He won’t listen, Jan. You know how stubborn he can be!” Laura said.
They heard a knock at the door.
“Hi, Jan,” called out Glenda, Jan’s caregiver. “Are you in there?”
Laura rose abruptly from the couch as Glenda entered the room. “I’m sorry to bother you,” Laura said, wiping her eyes. “Please tell Tyler that he’ll hear from me soon.”
“Laura, please —” Jan struggled to stand, having left her cane behind in the laundry room. She glanced pleadingly at her caretaker. “Glenda, help.”
“I’m sorry.” Laura waved her hand briefly and then strode out of the room. Seconds later, the two women heard the front door open and close.
Glenda rushed to help Jan, who was struggling to stand and catch up to Laura. Together they made their way across the living room and reopened the door, just in time to see Laura driving away. With Glenda holding her steady, Jan stood and stared in shock after her daughter-in-law.
“I need to fold my laundry,” Jan mumbled numbly, not sure what else to say or do.
“I’m sorry, Jan. Did I interrupt something?”
“It’s okay, sweetheart,” Jan answered politely, trying hard to hold back her tears. “You had no way of knowing.”
“I can come back after a while,” Glenda said, gently patting her charge on the shoulder. “Would you like to run your errands a little later?”
“Goodness. I almost forgot about my errands.” Jan forced a smile and sighed softly. “No — no, sweetheart. I definitely need to see my doctor today. We’d better go. ”
Glenda smiled and assisted Jan from her house and into the handicapped-accessible van.
Jan moved like a zombie through her grocery shopping, doctor’s appointment, and library visit. She noticed that Glenda stole concerned glances at her, but she did her best to hide her distress.
Back at the house, Glenda stayed longer than usual and finished folding Jan’s laundry. “Thank you for your help, Glenda.”
Glenda smiled and paused, as though unsure she should speak. Finally, she said tenderly, “God’s got this big old world all in His hands. Whatever this is that’s bothering you, He’s got it, too.”
“You’re absolutely right, sweetheart,” Jan replied, grateful that her helper believed in God. “Thank you for that reminder. And thank you for all your wonderful help.”
After Glenda left, Jan ate her dinner and then returned to the living room where she turned on the news and watched the horrible footage of the previous night’s riot. Her heart dropped, knowing that undoubtedly Tyler was there.
Oh, my goodness, she thought. That poor Moseley family! And Tyler there in the middle of such upheaval when his own life is in disorder. Jan put her face in her hands. “Oh, my goodness,” she whispered. She sat there until the light dimmed as the sun began its western descent. Feeling helpless, she turned off the television and started to make her way to her bedroom. At that moment, Jan heard within her spirit just one word: Pray!
Chapter
11
“I’m on my way down to the church for our Men At Prayer,” Al told Misty, referring to the prayer gathering he and Misty had spent the morning calling participants about.
“Okay, honey. I’ll be in prayer, too.”
“I know you will. Thank you, Misty girl.”
After spending the morning enjoying time with Misty and completing several tasks, Al drove to Mannford Christian Fellowship. As he stepped out of his car, Al’s heart dropped when he saw only seven vehicles parked haphazardly in the lot. “Oh, Lord,” he breathed. Shaking his head. “I thought you told me to call all of Mannford to pray, and not even my own are showing up.” Feeling dejected, he still managed to smile through his frustration as he walked toward the church to greet the few men gathered at its entrance.
Church deacon Harold Nunnely hailed his pastor at the door with a brotherly hug. “We got a few good souls here this afternoon,” he spoke gently. “Don’t be down, Pastor Al. Look what our God did through Gideon and the few. Come on. Let’s get started.” Harold wrapped his old arm around Al’s shoulders and joined the other men on their way to the sanctuary.
Al couldn’t help but be touched at the sight of old Deacon Nunnely’s gap-toothed grin. “You are right, Brother Harold. Thank you, sir,” Al said. The moment he spoke those words, Al could feel the peace of God flowing into his heart. He patted the old fella on his back and continued forward to lead the few hearty souls who had shown up for a morning of prayer and seeking God’s face for the city of Mannford.
Once all the men had settled into the sanctuary pews, Al thanked each one who had come. He took a few moments to become acquainted with the newcomers. Then he stepped to the podium and shared a brief word.
“Brothers, open your Bibles to 2 Chronicles 7:14.” Al read the verse with emphasis and purpose: “If My people who are called by My name will humble themselves, and pray and seek My face, and turn from their wicked ways, then I will hear from heaven, and will forgive their sin and heal their land.”
He looked up from his Bible. “Brothers, the Lord has laid this verse upon my heart so strongly. He is calling us to a time of holy prayer. Let us do as the Lord has dire
cted.” He invited them to the front of the sanctuary.
At the altar, each began to call out to the Lord for their families, for their workplaces, for their problems, and for their city. The prayer time was intense, as each man marshalled all of his heart, his soul, and his strength to cry out to the Lord.
And the Lord heard.
“The prayers of these men have reached my throne, Davion,” God, the Father, spoke. “Battle now. Contend for them. Show them my open door and usher them through it!”
The mighty angels Davion and Kishner flew with might and speed through the atmosphere. They made their way toward the beams of prayer that were steadily rising before the Father’s throne — causing a sweet savor to linger in the air.
As they approached Mannford, the atmosphere suddenly grew thick, insidious. Many insipid beings began to surround them. The smell of sulfur and rotten flesh swirled in the air. Snarling and shrieking, hideous beasts flew at Davion and Kishner from every direction in an attempt to keep them away from the city.
Together, Davion and Kishner brandished their huge gleaming swords. Together they fought fiercely, slashing through the dark forces who sought to work their mayhem to gain complete control of Mannford. Howling wind and great droplets of rain swirled and drizzled round about them. With majestic power that flowed — fierce and terrible — from God’s throne, they swung their swords and shouted with thunderous voices, “The weapons of our warfare are not carnal, but mighty through God to pull down strongholds.” Standing back to back, the two hacked through the hideous dark forces that fought to hold them back. The demons retreated to the cavernous depths, screaming in terror.
“Hallelujah! Hallelujah!” Kishner and Davion shouted with voices of triumph.
With great speed, they flew on to perform the Lord’s bidding. At Christ’s word they continued on, strengthened with power from the Father and from the Holy Spirit.
As the men continued to pray intensely to the Father in the name of Jesus, Davion and Kishner entered through the walls of the church and walked unseen among them. The mighty angels touched each in turn to strengthen, equip, and comfort them with the Father’s blessings. Upon Al’s shoulders, Davion laid a cloak of prayer for the city of Mannford, a mantle of prayer for the body of Christ, and a certain responsibility for those lost to be found. At the touch of the cloak, Al trembled briefly, as though he could feel something moving over him.
Something had happened to Al. He could feel a strong presence, and he knew it had come from the Lord. Wave after wave of God’s supernatural love, power, and presence surged over his inner being, engulfing him. Wholly holy. Nothing he had ever experienced could compare. He nearly collapsed, feeling as though he would explode with joy. He felt as if he were being drawn into communion with the Lord’s exquisite and perfect love which seemed to stream from his every pore, overwhelming his senses. Al could feel a certain ardor— hear the Father’s heart, taste, and see that the Lord is good, and smell the exhilarating, lovely fragrance of heaven. God’s love and presence filled his mind, his intellect, his being. He had no doubt that whatever God had called them to in prayer had been confirmed. Lifting his hands to the Lord, Al shouted with all his might. “Thank You, Lord. Thank You, Lord!”
His vibrant praise seemed to burst a dam, causing the others’ praise to flow as well.
Pastor Sam Charter, joining them from First Presbyterian, stood. “Brothers, I have a word from the Lord.” They all quieted and turned their attention toward him. “The Lord’s love and power is ever present with you. Therefore, saints, go forward with peace, power, patience, passion, and persistence. Perform what the Lord has called you to, for such a time as this. Occupy until He comes!”
A chorus of amens rose up from the small group before each went their way rejoicing.
Al hugged old Harold Nunnely. A true deacon. He waved good-bye to him and then returned to the altar. Al felt the Lord’s embrace blanketing him with peace, joy, and love. Al lay face down in front of the altar. “Do what you will with me, O Lord. I will go where you want me to go and do what you want me to do. Here am I. Send me.”
As Al continued to cry out to the Lord, he felt a gentle touch upon his head. He rose to his knees, raised his hands, and looked up. In his spirit, he saw a full golden container. A mighty angel tipped it over, and a substance like oil mixed with thick honey poured down upon Al’s head, body, and being.
At the same time, he heard delight-filled angelic laughter. Once again, he fell prostrate before the Lord of Hosts.
Chapter
12
When the bell at the door pinged, Marquise glanced up to see Deshaun Woodson sauntering in. Marquise could almost hear the inward groans coming from the barbershop patrons. That dude never stopped bragging. “My Beemer . . . my money . . . my women . . .” It took every bit of control Marquise could muster to keep from telling this negro to shut the heck up.
“What’s up, man?” Marquise called out reluctantly as Deshaun arrogantly planted himself smack dab in the middle barber seat ahead of the other customers.
“Me, dude. You know — me. Deshaun always up! Just got me a brand new Escalade. Trying to look like you, my man Marquise.”
Marquise peered out the window at the bright green luxury vehicle. “Hmm, nice ride, dude.” Marquise tried to keep the sarcastic tone out of his voice. He turned slightly away from Deshaun and toward Akil — who was busy cutting a heavy head of hair at the next station. “Bright green, though, really? Whoo-wee!” Marquise muttered under his breath
Akil lowered his head and snickered.
“Man, you shoulda seen Deshaun last night,” Deshaun continued, shaking his shoulders from side to side. “Almost had to pop a cap in this nigga’s butt. That fool had the nerve to lean up against my Escalade. Called hisself taking a selfie. I told that fool he had one second — count it, one — to heave his hefty butt off my vehicle before I capped his sorry tail.”
“Did he move, Deshaun?” asked a teenager who was waiting his turn in one of the unused barber’s chairs.
“Mr. Deshaun to you, boy! What you think? Course that nigga moved. He betta. I woulda . . .” Deshaun motioned with his hands as if taking aim and shooting.
Some in the room laughed while others lowered their heads, suddenly finding their magazines very interesting.
Marquise frowned and pursed his lips. “Dude’s part of what’s going wrong in our community,” he again muttered quietly to Akil. Marquise picked up the television control to turn the volume way up. But the television was no less distressing. Cable news was playing and replaying yesterday’s graphic video footage of Darrelle Moseley’s shooting and the protest after.
One man spoke, his anger evident. “You know, I went to junior high with Darrelle Moseley,” he said. “There is no way he was resisting arrest and trying to lunge for that officer. That boy was as quiet as a mouse. He didn’t bother anybody. Ever!”
“Yeah, that’s what everybody is saying,” Marquise agreed.
“Man, that’s some busted-up mess,” Akil added. “I know they’re setting up another protest tonight. We all need to go down there and shout until they hear us. They just can’t keep slaughtering us like animals, man.”
“Well, I don’t know about all that,” began an older man who was waiting his turn for a trim. “We don’t know what happened before the person shot that video, my brother. After all,” the man paused. “I’m sorry to say it, but a whole lot could have happened to this Darrelle since junior high. I don’t know who was in the right or the wrong here, but sometimes we die as a result of our own behavior.” The man looked at Deshaun. “Don’t you know him, Deshaun?”
“I know of him,” Deshaun said sharply.
Another customer returned to the older man’s point.
“As a result of our behavior?” The man fumed. “Man, how you gon’ fix yo’ mouth to say that crazy mess? You know the way th
e police treat a black man in da hood.”
“Well, if he was minding his own business and doing what was right, he wouldn’t have gotten hisself in that predicament to begin with,” the older man said heatedly.
“Man, that stuff is messed up any way you look at it. I don’t know what happened, but I know to stay out of them po-pos way.”
“I hear you,” another brotha said. “But we gotta show up downtown again tonight. Make them hear our voices.”
As soon as Marquise finished trimming his mustache and beard, Deshaun stood, dropped a twenty-dollar bill on the chair, and headed for the door. Just before leaving the barbershop, he turned to address the room. “I don’t know about you niggas, but I ain’t goin’ down there to get my head beat in. Shoot! Them pigs don’t bother me. I got my hustle on over here, and they ain’t in no hurry to come to the hood and bother me.” Deshaun looked everyone over and laughed. “Keep the change, Marquise,” he said as he rubbed his hand over his beard. He chuckled again and strolled out, letting the door slam behind him.
Marquise watched as Deshaun got in his lime-green Escalade with the twenty-inch rims and sped away. “That dude is part of what’s wrong with our community,” he said, repeating what he’d muttered earlier — but this time loud enough for all to hear. “Slingin’ them drugs and all. Makes me sick.”
“Marquise don’t be hatin’, dude,” a man said as he took his turn in Marquise’s chair.
Marquise shook his head in disgust and switched the TV to one of the Saturday college football games.
Before long everyone was engrossed in the game, for which Marquise was grateful. “Man, that running back there looks like you when you used to run that ball, Marquise,” the man in the chair said. “You were slippery out there! Remember your junior and senior years at George Washington High? You and that quarterback — you two were the real deal. Two state championships? That’s the real deal.”
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