by E. N. Joy
Paige could tell that her mother wasn’t just feeding her a line. She could tell that she meant every word she was speaking. And come to think of it, Paige couldn’t recall one time when she had ever heard her mother complaining about anything she did for her father. Seems like Paige had been the one doing all the complaining.
“I’m sorry, Mom,” Paige apologized. “I guess I just never looked at things that way. I guess I was just too busy being jealous.”
“But you had nothing to be jealous of, Paige.”
“I was jealous of Daddy. He had you. Brandon had Daddy, and I had no one.”
“Dear, you always had me. It’s just that every time I invited you to do something with me, you declined.”
“Yeah, but it was always domestic things. Wanting me to go grocery shopping with you to pick out a list of things Daddy had requested. Wanting me to help make dinner with you, something Daddy had requested. Wanting me to sew or stitch something up, something of Daddy’s.”
“But those are the things a mother is supposed to do with her daughter; shop, cook and sew. I just figured you were a tomboy . . . or gay,” Mrs. Robinson added.
“Mom!” Paige said. “You didn’t.”
“I did,” she confessed. “Now I know all that fasting wasn’t even needed.”
“I honestly can’t believe you thought I was gay.”
“Well, what was I suppose to think? Seemed like you wanted to spend more time with your brother, Brandon, than you did me. Heck, I have to admit, I used to be a little jealous myself.”
“Why didn’t you say something then, Mom?”
Mrs. Robinson paused for a minute. “I guess the same reason why you never said anything to me.” She shrugged.
Paige shook her head. “Mom, I could kick myself. All these years wasted.”
“Girl, please. We ain’t wasted nothing. For all these years, I’ve loved you to death. For all these years, I’ve adored everything about my little girl. I love you, Paige.”
“I love you too, Mom,” Paige said as she embraced her mother.
“All right. Let me get back to this cake.” Mrs. Robinson stood up.
“And don’t forget to save me the bowl.”
“No matter how old you get, you always gonna lick the cake bowl, just like—”
“I know,” Paige finished her mother’s sentence with a smile, “just like my father.” Paige’s mother winked, then turned her attention back to the preparation of the cake.
Paige sat at the table and came to the conclusion that the person she had tried to avoid finding in a man; demeaning all their characteristics as flawed, just happened to be the person whom she was . . . her father.
When Blake and Mr. Robinson came through the front door, Paige and her mother had just finished their conversation and were putting icing on the cake.
“You two back already?” Mrs. Robinson called out from the kitchen.
“What do you mean already?” her husband replied. “We’ve been gone for hours.”
Paige looked up at the kitchen clock. “It’s only been a couple of hours, Daddy.”
“Well, it seemed like forever.” He excitedly rubbed his hands together, and then threw Blake a look. “I couldn’t wait to get back home so that . . .”
Blake shot Mr. Robinson a stern look and tried to inconspicuously shake his head.
“Couldn’t wait to get back for what, honey?” Mrs. Robinson curiously inquired.
Paige’s father looked over at Blake for help. He figured that since he had cut his sentence off, he should be the one to finish it, and that’s exactly what Blake did.
“Uh, he couldn’t wait to get back to get some of that cake,” Blake stammered, pointing at the two-layer cake with cream cheese icing. “He kept going on and on about the generational recipe for that cake.”
Both Paige and her mother glanced at each other with peculiar looks on their faces.
“Samuel, you know darn well I make cakes from the box,” Mrs. Robinson said. “There ain’t no family recipe for cakes; not that I know of anyway.”
This time Blake looked at Mr. Robinson for help. Paige and her mother suspiciously watched them exchange looks.
“Okay, that’s it,” Paige said, laying her rubber spatula down. “What are you two up to?”
The men looked at each other, and almost as if Mr. Robinson was going to burst wide open, he blurted, “Blake’s got something to tell you, sweetie,” he said to Paige. “Or should I say, ask you?” He elbowed Blake a couple of times, putting him on the spot.
Everyone’s eyes were frozen on Blake. “Well, uh, Paige, the real reason why I wanted to come visit your parents was so that I could spend time with your father. I’m a traditional, old school man in some ways, and I believe in one tradition that’s worth keeping. I know the day we have a daughter together, I’d want the guy she’s serious about to show me the same respect.” Blake looked at Mr. Robinson who gave him a nod and another elbow to hurry him on. “With that being said, Paige, with the blessing of God first, and now your father . . .” Blake paused as he dug a small box from his inside coat pocket.
“Oh, dear,” Mrs. Robinson gasped. It was now very clear the purpose of Paige and Blake’s visit.
“Blake . . .” were the only words Paige could get out of her mouth before she choked back tears.
Getting down on one knee, Blake opened the box. “Paige Renea Robinson, the woman who I know, that I know, that I know I found only through the grace of God, the woman who I know, that I know, that I know was formed from my rib . . .” Now Blake was choking back tears. “Would you mar—”
“Yes! Yes!” Paige screamed before Blake could even get the full question out of his mouth. “Yes, I’ll marry you, my Boaz.” Paige got down on her knees and threw her arms around Blake’s neck, squeezing tightly.
Blake steadied to keep his balance as well as hold on to his new fiancée. “Sweetheart? Sweetheart?” he spoke in between Paige’s cries. “Calm down. Calm down.” Blake managed to peel Paige’s arms from around his neck and look her in the eyes. “Let me finish the question.” He took the ring out of the box and held it with his index finger and thumb. “Paige, sweetheart, will you do me the honor of being my wife?”
This time Paige didn’t respond at all. She was too fixated on the two-carat diamond ring that Blake held.
“Paige? Paige?” Her mother had to call her name two more times, and then walk over and nudge her before she was brought out of her trance. “Answer the man,” Mrs. Robinson instructed her daughter with furrowed eyebrows.
Paige tore her eyes from the ring long enough to look up at Blake and reply, “I will, Blake Dickenson. I will honor both you and myself by being your wife. In Jesus’ name, I will,” Paige cried as Blake slid the ring on her finger.
Blake wiped Paige’s falling tears as she stared down at the ring, shaking her head as if she couldn’t believe this moment was happening.
“Now how about we eat some of that cake your father was so anxious to get home to,” Blake joked as every one laughed.
“I’ll get some plates,” Mrs. Robinson said.
“No, Mom, you all sit down,” Paige insisted, “I’ll get it.” Paige walked over to her father who was taking his seat at the table. “And, Dad, I’ll get you the biggest piece so that I don’t have to get up twice to get you another one.” She leaned down and wrapped her arms around her father and kissed his cheek.
“You know your pops like a book, huh?” Mr. Robinson said, lovingly patting his daughter’s cheek.
“Why shouldn’t I? After all, I’m just like you.” Paige looked over at her mother and winked, then made her way over to the cabinet to get some plates.
“I’ll help you,” Blake stated.
“Knives are in that drawer right there.” Paige pointed and Blake followed her directions and retrieved a knife to cut the cake.
As the two stood over the cake, Blake slicing and Paige holding the saucers for him to put the cake slices on, Mr. and Mrs. Robin
son sat at the table holding hands. Paige couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen her father show her mother that type of affection. She surmised that she probably couldn’t see it before because she was too blinded by the log that was in her eye while trying to pluck the splinter from her father’s eye.
“I can’t wait to tell Tamarra, Deborah, and the women at the Singles Ministry,” Paige said with excitement as Blake cut a huge slice of cake, for Paige’s father. He placed it on one of the saucers.
Blake didn’t reply. He cleared his throat before saying, “Paige, your father was right, I had something to both tell you and ask you.”
Paige was uncomfortable with the tone of Blake’s voice. “What is it, Blake?”
“It’s about a question your father asked me the last time we were here. About my purchasing two tickets to the movies.”
Paige placed her finger over Blake’s lips. “Baby, that is the past. I don’t care about the woman you had arranged to meet that night. All I care about is the woman God arranged for you to meet that night.”
“But—”
“Hey, what’s the hold up on that cake?” Mr. Robinson shouted. “You love birds snap out of it. You’ll have plenty of years for that mess.”
“Coming, Dad, coming,” Paige said as she walked her father’s piece of cake to him, then returned to Blake to get the other pieces. Unbeknownst to Paige, who had carried a secret she’d kept from Blake hoping it wouldn’t interfere with the progress of their relationship, Blake now stood with a secret of his own, praying that it wouldn’t interfere with them moving forward with marriage.
Chapter Twenty-seven
“Hear my cry, oh Lord. Don’t turn your face far from me.”
From the very second Deborah heard those words from Micah Stampley’s CD fill the sanctuary, she gasped. The girl representing the New Day dance ministry with a solo performance was interpreting every word of the song with arm and leg movements as well as facial expressions.
Deborah watched intensely as the girl beckoned God to hear her prayer and not turn His face from her in her time of trouble. There had been so many times Deborah thought God had turned His face from her, and with good reason; starting with the obvious reason she gave Him over four years ago. How could He even stand to look at her when most days, whenever she thought about that dreadful act of her past, she couldn’t even stand to look at herself? She was sure He’d turned His face from her . . . she was sure of it. But even so, she wasn’t going to turn her face from Him. It had taken her long enough to make this decision, but it was final. She would spend the rest of her days repenting somehow, someway, to her Father in heaven. There were so many times she had wanted to beg and plead with God, just as the dancer seemed to be doing before her.
“You okay, sister?” a gentleman sitting next to Deborah asked as he kindly rested his hand on top of her shivering hand. He’d noticed her slight trembling. He’d even noticed the tears spilling down her face and staining her silk top before she had noticed it herself.
Deborah looked down, for the first time realizing how out of control her limbs appeared to be. Her hands were shaking. Her knee was bouncing and she felt as light as a feather. She looked at the man. She wanted to tell him that she was okay, but the words wouldn’t come out. Besides that, it would have been a lie. She wasn’t okay. She hadn’t been okay in years. She’d only made things appear as if they were okay. But now, as a chill ran through her body and she trembled even more, she felt cold; like the covers were being pulled off of her on the coldest night of the year.
“Lord, in the name of Jesus, give this sister whose hand I hold peace in her mind. Peace in her body,” the man automatically began to pray when he saw that Deborah was too moved to verbally respond to him.
While the man closed out his short, whispered, but powerful prayer, Deborah turned her attention back to the liturgical dancer who was now begging and pleading with God to deliver her from the hands of her enemy. The girl’s head was bowed and her arms were extended as if she herself were nailed to a cross. She jerked her body from left to right as if the enemy was on each side of her pulling, tugging, and consuming her. Then all of a sudden the girl broke free and raised her arms up to heaven in victory. It was her sign of the deliverance she had received as a result of her cry out to the Lord. The girl repeated the movement again and again, as if there was more than just one thing, more than just one situation and stronghold, she had to be delivered from. On the fourth time around, the music got stronger, the pleas of Micah Stampley got more demanding, and this time when the dancer broke free and raised her arms to heaven, so did Deborah.
“Glory!” Deborah began to shout as she stood straight up from her seat. “Deliver me, Lord,” she cried out. “Deliver me from my enemies. Deliver me from my pain. Deliver me from my guilt. From my shame. Glory! Thank you, Lord. Thank you, Lord. You heard my cry, oh Lord. I know you did. I know you did.” Never had Deborah cried out in such a manner before. She had always gotten her praise and worship on; hand-clapping, shouting, and stomping, honoring God in spirit and in truth, but never had she just given up control of herself and turned her spirit over to the Lord.
“Cleanse me, oh God!” Deborah pleaded. “Hide me and protect me from my troubles, God. Don’t turn away from me. Help me, God! Please come see about me, Heavenly Father. Forgive me, Lord. I repent to you, oh God. I took a life, oh Lord, and I’m not the author of life, God, you are. I’m sorry, God! Please forgive me!”
Some members of New Day began to shout and praise God right along with Deborah. They couldn’t help themselves as they witnessed the deliverance the dancer had only interpreted actually manifest itself before their eyes. Others shot each other looks as if to say, “Did she just say she took a life?”
Tamarra stood behind Deborah with a prayer cloth, waiting to cover her once she began to rest in the Spirit. Tears of joy flowed down Tamarra’s face. There was nothing more she enjoyed witnessing than one of her brothers or sisters in Christ getting their breakthrough. And there was something about a breakthrough that was contagious as other members began to release and cry out to God. The Holy Spirit was definitely filling the temple.
“Thank you for my sister’s breakthrough,” Tamarra cried out. “Thank you, Lord! Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Thank you, Lord. I love you, Lord. I praise your name.” Tamarra was filled with so much joy. Whatever it was that Deborah had been keeping inside of her, she was now finally releasing it. Like the song said, she’d cried out to God and He’d answered her prayer speedily. She’d received an instantaneous breakthrough. And even though Tamarra was excited and happy for Deborah, she was even more excited for herself, because deep down inside she knew that if God would do it for Deborah, then He would do it for her. Her breakthrough was coming too; of that she was sure.
Chapter Twenty-eight
“I made a complete fool of myself,” Deborah said as she paced back and forth in front of her living room couch. “I’m never going back to that church again. Any church for that matter.”
Deborah couldn’t believe she had acted in such a manner in front of the entire congregation. She didn’t remember much about the last half hour prior to her arriving back home, but she did remember collapsing on the ground with her skirt flailing in the air. And when she awoke, Pastor was preaching, and she was lying in the middle of the aisle with a prayer cloth covering her. She had sat up, and two people helped her stand. She didn’t even look up to see the faces of the persons who had come to her aid. She was too embarrassed. She’d felt like a fool. Here she was lying out on the floor. No telling how much of her business the church had seen or heard, and church seemed to be going on as usual.
She’d seen people fall out in the Spirit before. She’d even been one of those helping hands to get them to their feet after they had rested in the Spirit, but for it to have happened to her; Lord have mercy. Was she that bad off in life? Deborah had always thought that those people who fell out in the Spirit like that were just doing too much. A
lthough Deborah never condemned them in any way, she just felt as though it didn’t take all of that to get a praise on, or a breakthrough for that matter. But then again, what Deborah experienced wasn’t just a praise. It wasn’t just a breakthrough. It had been deliverance. She had to admit that she felt a hundred pounds lighter, as if she’d left weight back at that altar.
While at the altar, she’d felt like someone had taken over her body. Like someone had taken a shovel and begun to dig down to the roots, removing every part of her flesh and emptying out the excess body fat. It was unexplainable as far as Deborah was concerned, and then there was the fact that she didn’t even remember hitting the ground.
“It at least had to hurt,” she said out loud as she immediately began to rub her head, checking for any sign of a lump. She closed her eyes and tried to remember exactly what had taken place just a little while ago in the New Day Temple of Faith sanctuary. She tried to remember falling, but the only thing she could recall was a feeling as if someone had lifted her off of her feet and laid her peacefully onto the ground.
She squeezed her eyes tighter, willing herself to remember. Suddenly her eyes jammed open upon remembering something. Something she’d said. “I took a life . . .”
Deborah gasped, buried her face in her hands, and once again, collapsed; only this time she landed on her couch. “Oh God!” she panicked. “Oh God! What did I do? What did I say?”
There was a pounding at the door that startled Deborah so badly that she jumped to her feet. Her heart began to beat just as loudly as the pounding on the door, almost as if they were in competition with each other. There was more pounding from the door. Instantly, Deborah thought about the words she’d said back in the sanctuary, “I took a life,” and assumed someone was coming for her. Although she’d only meant to be confessing those words to God, others had heard, and now someone was coming to hold her accountable.