Without taking it to a vote, the group silently agreed it was too late to do anything about the XXX-rated T-shirts, but it didn’t stop Elder Batty Brick from cupping his hands and bowing his head. He didn’t wait on the others to pray. He dialed Heaven immediately. “Lord, please let them not open their welcome packs until they get home.”
Once the meeting got back on track, Bea and Sasha explained what they really had planned for the Seniors Prom and that the men shouldn’t tell anyone, especially Sister Betty and Trustee Noel.
“We are gonna charge folk for parking scooters,” Bea offered. “I wanted to charge them by whether they got a V4 or a V6 engine, but Sasha wouldn’t budge from not doing that. We also must have spaces for wheelchairs out in the hallway. We’ll line up the canes and the walkers near the back door. We’ll charge them to get those back or to use them each time we take them down.”
“If we charge ten dollars to park those doggone things it don’t much matter what kind of engine, She-Rilla.” Sasha’s eyes narrowed and she yanked her cane off the floor beside her, shuffling it from hand to hand. She wanted to bust Bea in the mouth with that cane so bad, she could almost taste it. She’d told Bea not to mention that little venture after promising to split whatever they made. Now they’d have to split it four ways because of Bea’s big mouth.
Brother Casanova turned the paper he’d written on over to the other side. They’d come up with so many crazy ideas to fleece their paying guests he’d run out of room. He had put a checkmark next to the ones that were least likely to wind up with them in jail. “So let me see if I’ve got it all.” Turning the dial on his hearing aid so he could hear what he’d written so far, he proceeded to read from the list.
“We’re gonna sell single sheets of toilet paper in the ladies room for a quarter a sheet.” He stopped and peeked over at Bea and fell out laughing. “Bea better wear one of those coin changers around her waist.” He slapped his thigh and bent over laughing, but when he saw Bea rise off her seat, he shut up quickly. Remembering that gas leak she’d deliberately caused at the other meeting, he apologized.
Brother Casanova quickly read off the rest of the get rich quick schemes. “We’ll take awful and embarrassing photos and threaten to use them to scandalize folks. We’re gonna collect raffle money for the most delusional costume award, too.” Brother Casanova continued reading until he’d read enough of Bea and Sasha’s crazy schemes to get them all sent to therapy, forget jail.
Elder Batty Brick hadn’t said much, but he listened closely. There was a constant look of concern with every item read. Finally, he turned to Sasha for answers. “Sasha, you are the head mother in charge along with your cohort seated over there, but me and Brother Casanova are somewhat respected members of the Finance Committee. How are we supposed to pull all this off and not have fingers pointed or church charges filed?”
Sasha and Bea glanced quickly at each other and fell out laughing. Sasha winked at Bea. “Lord, Bea, when you work with amateurs there’s so much explaining that’s needed.”
Bea nodded in agreement. It was all she could do, because laughing always kick-started her bladder, but she was determined to see Sasha set the elder straight.
“First of all,” Sasha said as she caught her breath, “we’ve got a single women church’s ministry coming over from the Burning Bushes Center to carry out the dirty deeds. Everyone knows they ain’t nothing but undercover gangsters. I promised them we’d rig the bachelor dating auction in their favor and we’d get Trustee Noel to kick in a couple extra bucks.”
“You didn’t!” Brother Casanova almost yanked out his hearing aide. “You mean to tell me you got Sister Brenda Basket, Sister Tunisia Solo, and whatever gender Cill is claiming lately to run roughshod over people at the prom?”
“That’s right,” Bea added. “They owe us big time from how we took care of them on that desperate singles’ cruise to nowhere they messed up.”
“Oh, I like the way y’all think,” Elder Batty Brick said, licking his thick lips. “We’re gonna make a ton of money that night.”
One dumb scheme after another found its way to approval on Brother Casanova’s pad. In no time they’d found ways to wreck a perfectly innocent seniors’ night and ensure it would be a disaster.
Finally, they said the benediction, satisfied they had the plan to help the church’s financial situation. And if Bea didn’t run her mouth as much as she ran to the bathroom, they’d put a couple bucks into their pockets, too.
Of course none of them considered the absent members of the group. No doubt when the feathers hit the chicken coop’s fan, Trustee Noel and Sister Betty would get egg on their faces, too.
Chapter 14
Despite all the craziness, whether it was the unseasonably rainy weather or the church in conflict, God gave Thanksgiving a break from both. Because Reverend Tom was out of touch for a while, Sister Betty and Trustee Noel didn’t seek his permission to feed a few more of the less fortunate.
They paid Porky to keep the doors open to the Soul Food Shanty and although Porky volunteered to cook, they had the food catered. “It didn’t make sense to totally ruin their Thanksgivings,” Sister Betty reasoned. “It’s just a little something extra besides the turkey giveaway.”
While others ate their fill at the Soul Food Shanty, Sister Betty had invited Trustee Noel back to her home. She’d already cooked and decided he could use a good home cooked meal. It also gave them the privacy to discuss how they’d confront Reverend Tom and again try to change his mind about the lottery winnings.
The truth was she’d forgiven the trustee for jumping the gun and igniting that firestorm at the church. Once they started putting their heads together, they really enjoyed one another’s company. Thanksgiving Day dinner was just as good an excuse as any other to get together.
There was easy-listening music playing in the background while they relaxed in brown walnut cushioned chairs at a table that sat eight. On the matching brown walnut table lay an orange and brown satin tablecloth. A modest horn of plenty sat on the long fall-patterned runner in the middle, with matching napkins. Sister Betty had never been a big eater and she finished before Trustee Noel, so she sat with her hands folded, and watched him.
He couldn’t contain himself. He seemed to forget he could’ve bought or rented any restaurant he had chosen. When he wasn’t twirling that sprig on top of his head, he was lapping at the food like a baby eating its first meal.
He tore into several helpings of roast turkey, sage sausage stuffing, whole berry cranberry sauce, collards, sweet potatoes, and macaroni and cheese. He even finished a quart of diet Coca-Cola with little effort.
“I’m not used to feeding someone who appreciates my cooking in such a manner.” Sister Betty blushed. “I can’t wait to see what you do to that deep dish peach cobbler I made.”
Trustee Noel ate that peach cobbler with a ladle and made Sister Betty almost weep with pride. She still had it; she could still cook for a man about her age. That was saying something for a woman who lived alone and didn’t date.
Trustee Noel gave his excuses for pigging out and finished belching away the two pounds he gained. “Let me at least clear these dishes away,” he insisted. It took him longer than expected because skinny or not, he’d eaten his weight and could hardly move.
A short time later Sister Betty led Trustee Noel into the living room. “You take that Bible I laid out over there and grab a pen and paper,” she told him. “We need to pray and ask God for guidance. I know God can show us how to prove to the pastor that blessings have all kinds of roots in their beginnings.”
“From your lips,” Trustee Noel said softly. “He needs to know that disguised blessings are still blessings.”
However, Sister Betty and the trustee weren’t the only ones shortcutting Thanksgiving for a talk with the Lord. A few houses over, in his living room, Reverend Leotis Tom did the same, alone.
As others sat and observed the day the best they could, Reverend Tom enter
ed another day of fast and prayer.
For almost a week, he’d remained committed to frequent prayer, and with the exception of liquids, hadn’t broken his fast. His handsome face sprouted prickly dark hairs that made him look scraggly. He still had the muscles, but they looked a bit deflated. His signature curly hair was knotty. His body reeked of musk and if air freshener was sprayed in the room, it might’ve combusted.
He looked as if he were having seizures. He flipped from praying on his knees one moment to lying prone the next. He couldn’t or wouldn’t stop nagging God. “Lord, I need You to turn that trustee around from his evil ways.”
A self-righteous prayer of complaint about Trustee Noel was all he had to show for his fasting and praying. He hadn’t sought answers for his personal failures because he hadn’t owned any.
“Heavenly Father, You said not to cast your pearls before the swine. How can I use that filthy money to build the Promised Land? You said we should not let our good works be evil spoken of.” He kept reminding God of God’s own words as though God wouldn’t remember what He’d said.
Even with all his pleading and fasting, Reverend Tom didn’t receive a single word, scripture, or have a vision. “Lord, I feel as though I’m treated like Your disobedient child, and You’ve placed me on time-out.”
He couldn’t cry because he’d run out of tears. “How can I be disobedient? I’ve done nothing but stick to Your word.”
It didn’t appear that God would answer his prayer so his thoughts turned to Sister Betty. In no other time since he’d started pastoring had he needed his spiritual mother more than that moment. But he couldn’t call Sister Betty. He couldn’t stand to hear her rebuke because the last one still rung in his ears. If the head don’t believe, then why would the body?
The phone rang and interrupted his thoughts. Since the reverend hadn’t answered his telephone in several days, he wasn’t surprised to hear the message, This mailbox is full. Please call again. He didn’t want to hear the caller’s voice or another disrespectful message, so he peeked out his front window and saw the mailbox on his porch was full, too. Some mail had fallen from the box and lay on the wet surface.
Although he was determined not to leave his home until he heard from God, the reverend decided to get his mail. He couldn’t leave mail on the wet ground. If the mail carrier became concerned because his mailbox overflowed, the police might come around to check on him. He didn’t want to see anyone, not even a concerned cop.
It took him less than five minutes to put on a jacket and bring his mail inside the house. He wasn’t going to open any of it, but one stack of mail bound by a single rubber band caught his eye. Written in the lower left hand corner he read the words forward to and there was his address.
He sat in his recliner to open the first few on top, then stopped. They were as he suspected—past due notices and other reminders of just how seriously in debt the church had become. He looked at increases in the water bill, the heating bill, and the electric bill. The taxes were paid, but utilities were sacrificed. He could tell from the handwriting on the forwarding notice that they’d all come from the church secretary. He wasn’t certain if the Finance Committee or the Church Board were aware of the latest financial woe, and he didn’t have time to care. He needed God in a hurry.
Suddenly, he felt lightheaded, and threw the bills to the side. As his head fell forward, in his mind he began seeing angels surrounding him. Whether it was a result of not eating, he didn’t know. He felt a strange sense of power return to his body and it sent a stirring in his spirit. He leaped from the chair, fell to the floor, and shut his eyes. A moment ago he’d seen several angels. As he lay, he opened his eyes and saw only one.
The angel had huge muscles such as his and his hair was also dark. He carried a huge purple and red bound book. The angel looked at the reverend, stared hard, then pointed the book at him.
Reverend Tom wasn’t afraid. With a free hand, he grabbed at the angel’s robe, causing the angel to drop the book upon his head. He didn’t flinch, but screamed with authority, “I’m not letting go until you bless me! Tell me what God wants from me!”
Whether he’d fasted too long, prayed too much, or was hit too hard upside the head by the angel’s book, it didn’t matter. When that stack of past due notices arrived the man of God had gone over the edge.
Reverend Tom believed he was wrestling with an angel just as Jacob had in the Bible. He kept twisting and turning on the floor. “I’m not letting go. You’ve got to bless me!” Then he saw that angel swoop down, pick up that book, and commence to whip his behind.
Chapter 15
Reverend Tom didn’t know how long he’d battled, only that he had.
“Sweet Jesus.” He couldn’t believe his eyes. His living room looked as though a bomb had destroyed it. As far as he remembered, he’d never left the floor. “Lord, let this be a dream, too.”
Another look around the room proved it wasn’t a dream. He was awake and cold. The revelation was strong enough to cause him to bolt upright. He pulled his long legs to his chest and rested his head upon his knees. “Lord, what are You trying to tell me, to show me? Please make it plain. I need to understand. I have a headache, too.”
He was desperate for answers. That angel had not blessed him, but beat the crap out of him and nearly destroyed his living room.
Reverend Tom shut his eyes, trying to remove the vision of the mess around him and recall the details of the dream. He rocked slightly as he breathed out in little spurts. The chill he’d felt a moment ago no longer bothered him. He rocked and cradled his knees until pieces of the dream slowly returned.
He lay upon a blanket, but he couldn’t determine the blanket’s material or even its color. Just out of his reach, a large sheet spread before him under a cloudy sky. On the sheet were some of the strangest things. There was a golden castle, and a man dressed in finery stood in its doorway. Like a scanner, a strange white light poured over the man and he handed the castle key and a piece of paper to a man dressed in rags. The raggedy man entered and the finely dressed man walked away.
A huge, opened jewel-crusted treasure chest sat next to a beautiful woman adorned with sapphires, diamonds, and large gold earrings. Around her ankle, she wore a bracelet with jeweled tiny bells, such as the whores in the Old Testament wore. When she walked, the bells rang to let a man know she was for sale. The light that had enveloped the finely dressed man did the same to the woman. Then she dipped into the chest and began handing pieces of its jewelry to an old, deformed woman with unkempt hair. Every time the old woman accepted a piece of the jewelry, she became younger.
Finally, a crowd of people gathered around a young man about his age, dressed in a preacher’s robe. Instead of giving something to the crowd, as had the man with the castle and the woman with the fine jewelry, the young man snatched possessions from everyone and the people fell to the ground, moaning whenever he touched them.
Reverend Tom jerked free from the recollection and threw back his head. It took a moment, but the cluttered living room reminded him that he was at home.
Then he felt a cold wind, as though someone had walked upon his grave. His head slowly swung toward his fireplace. The fire as he’d seen it before had gone completely out, and in more ways than one.
Although he was exhausted, cold, and still somewhat confused Reverend Tom determined that he had to find out what the vision meant. “I know You’re finally hearing me, and You’re trying to tell me something, Heavenly Father. But what is it?”
He battled again, but it was to get off the floor. When he finally did, he collapsed onto the sofa, not realizing that one of his hands had fallen onto his Bible in its purple and red book jacket until he felt something hard. Of course, he’d find out whatever God meant in the Bible.
He’d prayed and fasted for a revelation. Now his heart raced, trying to escape the clutches of the truth that may not be a version of what he’d always believed. Not taking the time to light another fire, h
e thumbed through his Bible.
He started with scriptures that dealt with impure or unclean things. Nothing seemed to touch his spirit until he came across Acts 10:14.
The reverend reread the passage several times, lost in its parallel between the scriptures and his vision. He didn’t normally read using a finger to touch every word on the page, but he did just that. He didn’t want to miss a word or its meaning.
As he read the verses in the book of Acts he saw that God showed Peter all manner of four-footed animals, reptiles, and birds. Further on he read where Peter argued with God, saying three times, “Not so Lord; for I have never eaten anything that is common or unclean.”
The reverend saw that Peter had held the same strong, unshakeable conviction as he had, causing him to rise from the sofa. With the Bible in his hand, he stood by the fireplace and continued to read.
“. . . A voice told Peter, do not call impure that which God had made clean.”
He slowly closed the Bible, his spirit pricked by the doubled-edged sword’s revelation. He thought of Sister Betty and Trustee Noel, how he’d rebuked and embarrassed them. “That was impure, but God made clean.”
He started talking aloud as though hearing the words would make the meaning clearer. “It had to start out impure in order for God to make it pure, but does it pertain to everything that’s happening now at Crossing Over Sanctuary? How do I know that God’s making this particular unclean thing pure?”
After a few minutes of sharing his concerns with the walls of his house, his confusion surfaced again. It was unnecessary and self-inflicted. After all, he’d barraged Heaven with unrelenting questions and when the clear answers came, he balked. In the end, the reverend’s stubborn pride handcuffed his mind and the prayer key wouldn’t open the lock.
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