Can I Get an Amen

by Janice Sims

  These days, she was content with her job as a graphic artist. The pay was great, the benefits were even better, and there was little chance of someone taking advantage of her again. Just put her at a drafting table, give her an assignment, a computer, the right desktop publishing programs, and art supplies, and she’d crank out the tightest designs in Red Oaks, Georgia.

  As quickly as Valerie’s mind reminisced about her days as a lead soloist, her thoughts drifted back to the contemporary rendition of “The Battle Hymn of the Republic,” sung by the choir on the radio. Although she didn’t realize it, her feet began tapping the floor, and her head bobbed in time with the rhythm of the song.

  Sipping a cup of coffee, she tried her hardest to concentrate on her work, but she couldn’t because she was enjoying the music much more than she expected or wanted to. Soon, she was so caught up that she stopped creating and listened to the soul-stirring songs that seemed to beckon her, call out to her. The beginnings of a smile tipped the corners of Valerie’s full, bow-shaped lips, as she listened to the announcer end the show.

  “This has been Everlasting Praise, the best of contemporary praise and gospel music as sung by Witness, the award-winning choir from Red Oaks Christian Fellowship,” the deejay said in a smooth voice. “For more of this wonderful music and a heaping helping of the word of God, Reverend Terrance Avery and his staff invite you to come to the 11:00 a.m. morning worship service at the church, located on South Green Fork Road.” It was as if he were extending Valerie a personal invitation.

  She added some lettering to the advertisement she was working on, but she kept crossing and uncrossing her cinnamon-brown legs, unable to sit still. There was a tugging in her spirit. Some unanswered fire was shut up in her bones and it had to be let out. Within minutes, Valerie was in the shower, gelling herself down with juniper berry body scrub. Afterward, she dried herself off and lotioned her well-endowed body, then chose an outfit from her overflowing walk-in closet. She got dressed, applied a light coating of makeup, styled her bronze shoulder-length hair, and spritzed on her signature Sung cologne. Finally, she declared herself ready.

  Checking her watch on the way to the car, she grabbed her purse. “It’s eleven-fifteen now,” she said to her curious cat, Girlfriend. “If I take the expressway across town, I’ll be late, but I should still be able to catch some of the service and, hopefully, hear that bad choir sing a few songs.” Valerie put on a winter-white wool and cashmere blend wrap and began the trip she never—not even in her wildest dreams—expected to make.

  The few minutes of singing and praising preceding the morning worship service were ending as Valerie arrived at the medium-sized church. She quickly scanned the beautifully designed sanctuary and its stadium seating. She noticed the rich green, brown, russet, and sky-blue color scheme, as well as the afrocentric fabrics that accentuated the church’s comfortable décor. Her eyes were drawn to the pulpit where several floral arrangements and an array of green plants sat on both sides of a crystal podium. On an otherwise chilly winter day, a warm feeling washed over Valerie as she saw that every seat was filled with people of all ages. Dressed in their Sunday finery, they were a gorgeous kaleidoscope of colors.

  The sound of a woman’s voice stirred Valerie out of her musings. “Mornin’, ma’am. Follow me, please,” an usher clad in a white uniform greeted. Valerie looked at the nametag pinned to a handkerchief on the woman’s ample bosom and smiled at her before following her to a seat in a back section that was reserved for latecomers. The usher handed Valerie a weekly bulletin, pointed to a hymnal in the back of the pew, then gave her an information card for visitors and asked her to fill it out. She did and handed it back to the woman, who smiled and walked away to seat others who were lined up at the door.

  Valerie watched as Witness, the one hundred and seventy-five–voice mass choir, assembled and made themselves comfortable in preparation to minister in song. The church applauded, then there was a moment of absolute silence. Suddenly, the beautiful sound from the acoustic piano filled the church, then the Red Oaks Christian Fellowship band joined in with its Hammond organ, percussion, horns, and strings. The melody wrapped around Valerie like water around a rock in a river. The choir warmed the congregation up with “Majesty,” a slow song, and worked their way up to “I Stand On The Rock,” an old mid-tempo gospel favorite. The members danced and got their praise on in the aisles to “I’ll Be Satisfied,” a syncopated tune which filled several members with the Holy Spirit.

  Valerie had no idea how it happened, but she stood, clapping her hands, tapping her feet, and rocking her body from side to side to the melody of one of her favorite songs. It was one of the songs she’d sung with her choir back at White Rock Baptist. That old feeling welled up inside of her soul and she threw her head back, closed her eyes, and let it rip. Before long, she was in the zone—that place of perfect peace where she went whenever she sang. That which she had kept silent for so long could no longer contain itself, and Valerie let her five-octave soprano voice ring out in all of its splendor.

  When she sang, a shiver of vivid recollection shot up her spine as her failed attempt to break into the music business ran through her mind. Tears glistened on her oval face.

  A nurse arrived and put her arm around Valerie, handing her tissues to dry her eyes. Valerie managed a tiny smile for her, knowing that the kind woman assumed that she was “happy,” caught up in the spirit, and praising the Lord. If only she knew, Valerie thought as she wiped her face, determined not to let her past steal her joy. She closed her eyes and meditated for a few minutes, then continued singing along with the choir as they healed troubled spirits through song.

  The worshippers in Valerie’s immediate vicinity heard a honeyed voice the first time Valerie sang, but they weren’t sure if it belonged to the visitor. But they were sure when she began to sing again. They quieted to listen to Valerie, enjoying the loveliest voice they’d heard in quite a while. She thought she overheard a few of them whispering to each other that they’d try to recruit her for the music ministry. A tumble of confused feelings assailed Valerie then, but she didn’t give into them. She would worry about what she thought she’d heard later. It had been too long since she’d found comfort and solace in music and she wanted to enjoy the moment.

  Valerie closed her eyes as she sang and danced to the extended version of the song, getting back into her special zone. She managed to tune out everyone and everything around her, losing herself in the message the choir crooned.

  When she finally opened her lids, she caught a glimpse of the choir’s spirited director. Valerie watched as the strinkingly handsome man with flowing dreadlocks winked at a beautiful elderly woman who held court in the second row. She could’ve put any of the top super models to shame, with her mink-trimmed salmon-colored suit and well-styled salt-and-pepper hairdo, which peeked out from a matching hat which was tilted just right on her head.

  The director forced his beloved choir to modulate and follow his lead as the Holy Spirit led him. With a single directive, the choir broke the song down into its vocal parts: first, the bass section; then the baritones; tenors; altos; ending with the sopranos. There was vigorous applause when the man signaled for them to sing together, blending their voices in a perfect four-part harmony. His arms flailed wildly as he jumped up and down, screaming directions over the music. He looked over at the musicians, pumping his right arm in the air—his way of telling them to play with even more fervor than they already were. He danced from side to side as his arms pointed left or right, indicating the direction in which the choir should rock. For Valerie, watching him was a sight to behold.

  Fascinated by his knowledge of music and his obvious passion for it, she studied his techniques. She recognized a professional when she saw one and knew that he was more than a choir director. Almost in a flash, he turned around to face the church members, beginning to testify about being satisfied, having the Lord Jesus Christ as his personal Lord and Savior; then he asked them if they f
elt the same. In call and response style, there was a conversation between him, the members, and the choir, who added their answer through the lyrics they sang.

  It was when he walked all the way to the back of the church and began to testify to the people in her row that Valerie became undone. His voice was velvet-edged and strong. Huskiness lingered in its tone, causing the pit of her stomach to tingle. Her heartbeat skyrocketed to double-time. Fully aware of his manly appeal, and unable to stop herself, she studied the handsome, six-foot-two, amber-colored cutie from head to toe. Even under his turquoise and gold choir robe, she saw that he was powerfully built—muscular, thick, and chiseled.

  Valerie tried her best to throttle the dizzying current racing through her body. She placed her hand on her chest to still the wild pounding of her heart, but it didn’t do any good. Although the temperature was forty-two degrees and dropping outside, it felt to her as if were ninety-five degrees. Her knees buckled, and she felt her cheeks warm and flush as she looked at the sumptuous choir director who stood a mere few feet away from her. It should have been a sin for a man to be that sexy. He was the finest man she’d seen in a long time, and, although she’d tried to force herself to put men, relationships, and love on the back burner, those feelings weren’t dead. They are very much alive, Valerie thought.

  She plucked a funeral-home fan from the back of the pew and began to fan herself, hoping the heat that overtook her would go away. The women in her row shot her a curious look, and Valerie figured that they thought she was crazy, since she was too young for hot flashes. But she ignored them. All she cared about was chasing away the heat wave in which she was engulfed and getting another look at that finer-than-fine man.

  He must have been thinking the same thing, because in the midst of her fanning, their gazes caught and held. Peering intently into his light brown eyes, the prolonged staring was almost unbearable for Valerie. She felt as if he saw straight into her soul as she studied the long, neatly-coiffed dreadlocks that framed his broad shoulders. His gaze was fastened on Valerie as if he were photographing her with his eyes.

  Her pulse pounded, and a sense of tingling delight flowed through her, heating up her womanly depths. She was flattered by his interest, as his eyes traveled over her face, moved slowly over her body, then returned to search her eyes. This time, her heart turned over in response as his passion-filled orbs spoke to her. Valerie’s heart was in perfect harmony with what they were saying.

  Two

  Norman Grant scanned Valerie critically and beamed his approval, telling himself that she was a beauty if ever he saw one. His gaze dropped from her eyes, to her shoulders, to her perky breasts, then back to the buttery expanse of her cinnamon-colored neck. Unaware that he was running his tongue slowly over his lips, or that his pupils had dilated, he stared into her eyes in silent expectation of what he wanted—once he got to know her, of course. His hands still directed the choir, but his eyes were on her.

  He noticed her curvy brick-house shape, accentuated by a pair of shapely, pretty legs. She also had the most gorgeous lips he’d seen on any woman in all of his thirty years. Everything was in its rightful place and perfectly proportioned to her body. To his way of thinking, Valerie was a sister made for loving, and Lord help him, he wanted to love her!

  Casting his eyes downward, he studied the plush forest-green carpet under his feet and began to pray silently. Lord Jesus, You know this woman’s making me so weak. I’m a man first—and I have needs. Help me, Father God; please help your child.

  His eyes caught Valerie’s and their gazes held. Instantly, he knew that she was a woman of class and distinction, judging from her choice of a stylish burgundy and white tweed suit with a fitted jacket and leather-trimmed sleeves. His blood was set aflame as he watched her whip her shoulder-length blunt-cut bronze hair out of her face as the choir moved her more and more. With a shiver of recollection, he realized that looking at Valerie rekindled memories of his deceased biological mother, Belle, a classy, together woman who died when he was ten years old.

  And that voice. That harmonious sound seemed to speak to his spirit. He took notice of the way it had mesmerized everyone around her. He craned his neck and inched a little closer to her pew in order to hear her better.

  Although he continued to direct the choir and they kept singing a medley of great gospel favorites, his mind and eyes wouldn’t stay off the unnamed visitor, who was beautiful—and talented, too. The more he looked at her, the more he was determined to find a way to get to know her. But it wasn’t until she hit a high C over E—an extremely difficult note to sing—that he had his answer. He knew, without a doubt, how he’d make it happen.

  Coming out of his reverie, he thought about the task which needed his expertise at the moment. He balled up his fists and moved them in a winding motion, signaling the choir to keep singing the refrain until he told them to stop. He kept his mind on his directing duties, and indeed, the saints shouted like crazy. The choir’s voice fell under a special anointing, and their songs, filled with Biblical principles, moved the congregation until the church became a flurry of activity. The saved danced, shouted, and paced the aisles, proclaiming their love and devotion to Jesus Christ for all to hear. Others trembled and cried out, “Mercy,” “Hallelujah,” and “Thank you, Jesus.” Their spiritual joy was like a wildfire that ignited the saved and unsaved alike.

  When the church quieted from the near-deafening roar of praising and shouting, the church pastor, Reverend Terrance Avery, took his place at the podium. A feeling of contentment filled his soul as he rubbed his bald caramel-colored pate. “That’s right church, if you know that you know that you know God is good, praise Him! Give God His due whenever you feel it deep down in your soul. Can I get an amen?” he wailed, winding up his congregation even more. He clutched the gold satin stole around his neck, pulling on it for emphasis. Cries of “Well,” “Fix it,” and “That’s all right,” were heard over the organist playing a series of chords to punctuate the fluctuation in Reverend Avery’s voice. Valerie became caught up in the spirit and called out, too.

  “Church, if you desire prayer this morning, come to the altar and let’s talk to God. Tell Him what you need and believe that you will receive it in Jesus’ name. He knows the groaning of every heart and knows your needs before you even ask Him.”

  Although Reverend Avery was standing many rows down from Valerie, it seemed as if he were looking straight at her, into the depths of her soul. Her eyes widened to the size of half dollars, and her toes curled in her shoes. A sheepish grin played over her face as she was overtaken by the deepening hue of shame. No matter what she did, Valerie couldn’t shake the feverish warmth that consumed her body like a fast-spreading cancer. He knows…the pastor knows that I’m sinning right here in his church—looking at that fine man like I’ve lost my ever-loving mind. I need prayer like yesterday, she thought.

  Valerie tore out of her seat, making her way to the altar. She excused herself so she could get as close as she could to the pastor, elders, and prayer staff to get a double dose of whatever anointing power they had in their healing hands. She wanted—no needed—to be on the receiving end of whatever would make her right again.

  As the elders and the prayer staff snaked through the throngs of people congregated at the altar, Valerie couldn’t quell the spasms in her face or the twitching of her lips. As Reverend Avery placed his hand on her forehead and prayed for her, she felt as though the world was spinning and careening off its axis. She became dizzy and thought she was going to faint. A male elder noticed her unsteadiness and stood over her in case she needed help.

  Suddenly, a presence of warmth surrounded Valerie. Not knowing what it was or why it was happening, she surrendered to it and whispered a silent prayer. When the feeling left her, Valerie felt renewed, energetic—as if the hand of God had touched her. There was peacefulness in her spirit that she’d never known before. No longer did thoughts of the handsome choir director invade her mind.

&nbs
p; Still feeling a bit lightheaded, she made it through the rest of the service. A sense of calmness surrounded her, and when the benediction was said two hours later, Valerie was ready to go downstairs to the Fellowship Hall for Social Hour. The promise of a cup of coffee and a slice of cake before her drive home sounded good to her.

  On her way to the basement, she couldn’t count the number of people who stopped to compliment her voice, to tell her that she had a calling to sing His praises, and she should use her gift to bring the unsaved to God. All she could do was nod, mostly because she couldn’t get a word in edgewise as men and women, young and old, invited her to return to the church real soon. They begged her to join Red Oaks Christian Fellowship so she could become a member of the choir and begin her ministry in song.

  Norman kept his eye on Valerie until the crowd of well-wishers dissipated. Then, he took off his robe, hung it over his arm, and straightened out his brown wool suit, making sure that it didn’t appear wrinkled. He remembered hearing the church matriarch, Mother Maybelle, telling him that first impressions were lasting. Impressing Valerie was the only thing on his mind right then. Remembering a tiny bottle of Kouros cologne in his suit pocket, he discreetly sprayed some on the sides of his neck and decided he was ready to meet the visitor with the heavenly voice.

  He sauntered to the back of the church, where Valerie stood, and waited until an overzealous member who wouldn’t stop talking finally ran out of things to say and left. Then Norman seized the opportunity to approach Valerie before someone else beat him to it. His mouth curved into an unconscious smile, setting the tone of his introduction.