I reached up and stroked his hand dangling between us, ending up on his arm. “I don’t understand people. Isn’t it strange how good men always end up with bad women, and vice versa? My friends and I were discussing this at work. The women who take good care of their children and are responsible with the child support, end up with deadbeats that refuse to pay. And the men who pay faithfully and do right by their kids end up with women who blow the money on everything but the child, and are always demanding more.”
“It does seem that way sometimes, doesn’t it?”
“Yes.”
Roberto removed my hand from his arm and held it in his. “So if you had to do it all over again, would you?”
“Marry him, you mean?”
“Yes.”
I thought about it for a minute. “Probably. He wasn’t the only one who made mistakes. Now would be a different story.”
“Makes sense. You’re a different person now than you were then. Today, what would tempt you to say ‘I do’?” He seemed very intent on my answer.
“I can’t think of much,” I slowly responded. “A few years ago when the kids were a lot younger, my answer would have been different. I wanted help, with the children, with the finances—you name it and I needed it. The twins are older now. I’ve learned how to trust God for what I need and he hasn’t let me down yet, so money is no longer an issue.”
“That’s it? You don’t have any desires, any needs?” His expression held a mixture of shock and dismay.
Other than sex? No, but I wasn’t going there with him. “I’ll tell you like I told Pastor. I know a lot of single women pray for husbands, but I’m not one of them. I’m content with my life. I have peace. If I want to go into my room and not be bothered, I can. If I don’t feel like cooking or cleaning, I don’t have to. I go where I want, when I want and answer to no one. All that would change if I were married. There would be one more person in my life whose feeling’s I’d have to take into consideration. If we had a fight, I couldn’t go into my room to get away because my room is our room. Right now, I don’t see any benefit to being married.”
If I didn’t before, I had Roberto’s complete and total attention now. “What about love, companionship…sex? You don’t want any of those things?”
Chapter Four
I pulled my hand free, hesitant to answer, not really sure I could put what I felt into words. Finally, I said, “There is a part of me that wants love, companionship, marriage. I want the fantasy. A man who loves me as I am, that’s willing to stick it out to the end. A relationship that’s as good in the middle and end as it was in the beginning when love is new, fresh, and exciting. But…”
“You don’t believe it will happen.” He sounded certain enough that I knew it wasn’t a question.
I drew my leg up and made sure I was covered before laying my chin on my knee and wrapping my arms around my leg. “Not really. As for sex, well, I’m healthy and single. Of course I think about it, miss it, but sex alone isn’t enough. Even great sex can’t make up for a bad relationship.”
Roberto pulled one of my hands loose and held it again. “I think that’s your pain talking.”
“No, it’s experience. Have you seen the divorce rates? Even in the church. You give your all, trying to make things work only to get screwed over, literally. If a man’s not cheating, then he’s looking for a mother substitute, or a caretaker. Frankly, I’m tired of doing all the giving and getting nothing in return. I’d rather be alone. It’s less painful.”
He tightened his grip and tugged sharply until I fell over. Suddenly, I found myself in his arms with my head against his chest. His heart pounded out a steady beat. “It doesn’t have to be that way, you know. The fantasy is possible, if both parties work at it.”
That’s the problem. The men I knew weren’t interested in working for it. I didn’t say anything, letting my silence speak for me.
His arms constricted, briefly hugging me tight and I felt him kiss the top of me head. “I know you don’t believe me now, but one day you will.”
There was nothing I could say, so again, I let it go. I was searching for a change of topic when I heard Brendon call out, “Mom, are we going back to church tonight?”
“What time is it?” I called back.
“Almost five,” he answered.
“I need to go,” Roberto stated, releasing me from his hold. “I’m on program to preside tonight. Are you coming out?”
He asked because I didn’t always return to night service, but if he was presiding, I might as well. That would be the supportive thing to do. Roberto didn’t preside that often.
“Yes, we’ll be there,” I said as I walked with him to the door.
In the doorway, he stopped. “Thanks for letting me come to dinner, even though it meant you missed your nap.”
When my mouth dropped open and my face flushed, he grinned knowingly. “Next Sunday, dinner’s on me.” A quick peck on the lips and he was gone.
“Kids, get ready for church!”
Sleep was elusive that night. I’m not really sure why. Church went fine. Since most of the membership only came to morning service, and Roberto by virtue of being the presider was stuck in the pulpit all night, there was no one waiting in the wings to corner me with questions. Even if there had, I am more than capable of telling someone my life was none of their business.
The conversation with Roberto kept playing through my mind whenever I closed my eyes. It was almost three a.m. before it dawned on me why. I wasn’t comfortable with the depth of bitterness my comments revealed.
Somewhere along the way, I’d lost hope. I truly didn’t believe there was a man for me, not one who could love me the way I needed to be loved and I refused to settle. I wasn’t one of those women who’d take anything as long as they had a man to call their own.
It was easier to be alone than to take a chance on being hurt. It wasn’t as if men were beating a path to my door. Part of it was my size. I was nowhere near a “perfect” size six. More like a size eighteen. A lot of men simply weren’t into large women.
Hell, I wasn’t into them. I knew I needed to do something about my weight and honestly, I tried. I watched what I ate—most of the time—and tried to exercise, when I found time. I wasn’t getting larger and was healthy as a horse apart from my obesity, but neither was I getting any smaller.
Even though I was attractive enough, I hated looking at my reflection. My complexion is light and clear without a lot of the dark spots the plague many black women, despite the excessive acne I suffered with as a child. My face is the classic oval the many ballerinas have, my eyes large and brown and lips full enough to make Botax treatments completely unnecessary. Add in high cheekbones from a Native American ancestor and the overall picture was pretty nice, from the neck up.
But if I couldn’t stand the sight of myself, how could I expect anyone else to?
Perversely, I wanted a man to accept what I couldn’t. I wanted to be loved, all of me, without conditions. Sure, I could lose the weight, but there was no guarantee I’d keep it off. I didn’t want a man who could only want me if I were a certain size.
Another problem was the way I carried myself. I’ve had people, men especially, tell me that I wasn’t easy to approach. While attractive enough to garner attention, I walked around like I was barely aware of the people around me, which to be honest, most times I wasn’t. Apparently, it was intimidating to them. Go figure.
Another told me I carried myself in a manner that warned men not to approach me just any kind of way. I don’t know about any of that. What I do know is that I seemed invisible to men. Not that there were many around.
When you reached my age group, pickings got slim. Decent, single men were hard to find. Christian males were extremely rare and I wasn’t interested in any other kind. Go into any church in America and the women outnumber the men two-to-one. Adding to it, most men my age and race were either married, in jail, gay, or undesirable. No wonder so many of
my friends were looking at younger men.
Not me. I wanted a man, a partner, someone that could carry his own weight—financially and otherwise. The last thing I needed was another child, or God forbid, a momma’s boy. If that’s what I wanted, I would still be married to my ex.
God knew I didn’t want to be like my baby sister. She went from man to man, and always had. Each month was a new flavor. Bree said Anitra changed men like other people changed clothes. Not even thirty and she’d already been married and divorced twice, and currently working on husband number three.
My real concern was for my nephews. There seemed to be no sense of caution about her. She had men running in and out of her house—her house—all times of day and night. In this day of predators and child molesters, I didn’t know how she could do it. I was obsessive about my children’s safety.
One day she was complaining about yet another boyfriend. I couldn’t take it anymore and told her, “Anitra, your problem is that you need Jesus.” It was a rare outburst for me because I wasn’t the preachy type. She’d been raised in the same churches as I, and knew the Word. How she lived her life was up to her, but I was sick of hearing about it.
“Jesus?” she echoed archly. “Jesus can’t keep me warm at night. Jesus doesn’t have a pair of strong thighs and a nice thick of meat between His legs to satisfy me.”
“He also doesn’t get drunk and beat the crap out of you, cheat on you or threaten your health with STDs,” I snapped. “You also don’t have to worry about Him molesting your boys, and when He gives you things, there are no strings attached.” I was immediately contrite. That was a low blow when she’d already had one health scare when the Health Department contacted her to let her know one of her previous partners tested positive for HIV. Fortunately, her tests came back negative, but she still had to be tested every six months.
Anitra, on the other hand, was pissed. “We can’t all be saints, Nina.”
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I just worry about you and the boys. I want to see you happy.” I laid my hand on her arm. She shrugged it off.
“I am. Save your concern for someone who needs it,” she muttered and stalked out. It was a few weeks before she spoke to me again.
All these thoughts bombarded me as I lay on my bed in the dark. Finally, one thought managed to surface, loud and clear. If this was the way I truly felt, what was I doing with Roberto? This whole…thing between him and me was a waste of time. I wasn’t what he wanted in a woman and I didn’t know if I could let go enough to trust that he was what I needed in a man.
I drifted off to sleep with the firm conviction that I had to turn him loose. End this thing before it went any further and we both ended up hurt.
The next morning as I neared my office, my cell phone rang. This time it was in my pocket and I was able to retrieve and answer it without endangering my life or anyone else on the road with me.
“Roberto, I’m glad you called.”
“Nina, good morning.” His deep voice washed over me.
“Listen, we need to…”
“I know you don’t have much time. You have to be to work and your phone loses reception in the building. I wanted to catch you before you got inside,” he smoothly interrupted.
“You did, but what I wanted…”
“Great. I’m going to pray for you,” he continued as though I hadn’t spoken.
“Pray for…”
“Dear Heavenly Father, watch over Nina and keep her safe. Help her as she goes throughout the day with her work. Let her be a light shining in darkness. Grant her peace in her heart. Help her to see what a beautiful, loving woman she is, inside and out, so deserving of love. Your Word says that a man that finds a wife finds a good thing and in Nina, I see that truth. Let her feel your love today. Help her to see herself through your loving eyes, in Jesus name I pray. Amen. I know you have to get to work, so I’ll speak with you later,” he stated and hung up.
I’d pulled into the parking lot and parked while he was praying. I sat there, stunned and amazed. No one, and I mean no one, had ever done that before. Tears pricked my eyes and I leaned my head back against the headrest. “What are you doing to me, Lord?”
He’d called and prayed for me. I felt a piece of the shell around my heart crack. Somber but peaceful, I exited the car and went to work.
That morning set the tone for the rest of the week. Each morning Roberto called and prayed. And each day the pray was relevant to the situation I was going through at the time or found myself facing as the day progressed.
Like Wednesday, when Roberto prayed that I would hold my peace and let God fight for me, knowing that if God was for me, no one could successfully stand against me. Later that day, I was called into the boss’s office. One of our accounts was severely messed up. Proper procedure had not been followed when processing it and now we owed three times more money than what we should have.
One of my co-workers stated that I had given the go ahead to make the purchase. I hadn’t, but right then my boss wasn’t listening. He was out for blood. I stood silent while he chewed me up and spit me out, fuming inside because I wasn’t guilty but didn’t have the documentation I needed to prove my innocence.
Inwardly I screamed but it was like there was a clamp on my mouth. I couldn’t argue or defend myself. When dismissed, I returned to my desk, so angry I could only sit there and stare at the monitor. Roberto’s prayer came back to me.
Lord, you know I’m not guilty of what I’m being accused of. Be my defender. Fight for me. Only you can fix this. Help me to keep silent and wait on you.
Though I was still angry, there was a sense deep inside that everything would be all right. It took two days but God straightened everything out. The coworker who lied got caught in her lie and the truth came out. My boss apologized. I walked out of his office, praising God for always having my back.
I told Roberto about it later that night. “How do you always know what to pray for?”
“I don’t. I let the Spirit guide me,” his voice came through the phone, calm and assured.
“Well, thank you. No one has ever done anything like it for me before, except for maybe Pastor and some of the ministers while in a prayer line. It means a lot to me.”
“You’re welcome. You can return the favor by praying for me.”
“I do. All the time.”
“Good. I’d like for us to begin praying together.”
“Okay, but why?”
He was quiet. I was beginning to think he hadn’t heard me when he said, “There’s more power in a prayer of agreement.”
While that was true, I had a feeling it wasn’t the real reason. Part of me wanted to push for the truth, but another part cautioned me to leave it alone. I heeded the voice of caution.
That night we prayed together, each one taking a turn praying aloud over the phone. When we disconnected, I felt like there were invisible bonds tying us together. Whereas my relationship with Jon had pulled me away from everything I knew to be right and true, my relationship with Roberto was drawing me closer to God.
That was good, wasn’t it?
Chapter Five
Over the next three weeks, Roberto and I fell into a pattern of sorts. Every morning, he called with his “morning blessing,” as he referred to the prayers he covered me with each day. Each evening before bedtime we spent time talking and praying together. Friday nights were spent at my house with pizza and a movie when the kids were home, and out when they were with their father. Sundays after church we went to Roberto’s home to dine and relax before returning to night service.
Slowly but surely I was becoming more comfortable, and less guarded, with him. We talked about every subject under the sun, spending hours on the phone. Unknowingly, I was coming to trust him. As a result, I no longer censored my words as I normally did when praying aloud, but prayed whatever was on my heart, knowing that what was said would go no further. I also knew that I wouldn’t be judge, no matter what weakn
ess my prayer revealed. Roberto simply backed me up, even in prayer, agreeing with me and asking God to grant my petitions, as I did for him.
One night I heard myself praying for God to bless Roberto with a wife. I stumbled and almost came to a halt when I realized what I was saying, but something drove me to continue. I prayed that God would bless him with a woman that would love him with the way he deserved to be loved. Someone that would be a partner to him, and help him in his ministry. When I finished, it was silent for awhile, then Roberto quietly thanked me. No more was mentioned about it.
Roberto was also very affectionate. He always greeted me with a kiss on the cheek and left with a peck on the lips. His hand was always on me somewhere—back, arm, shoulder, neck—all very non-sexual and unconscious his part. Part of me soaked up his attentions like a dry sponge.
At church it was now natural for us to sit together, not that Roberto gave me much choice. If there was meeting and he arrived before me, he saved me a seat. During services, if I didn’t sit with him, he’d relocate from whatever side of the church he was on and move to my location. It was easier to give in than to fight.
What was I going to say? I don’t want you sitting by me because people will talk? I could imagine the conversation.
“Roberto, maybe you shouldn’t sit next to me in church.”
“Why?”
“Well, because people gossip.”
“So, let them talk. We have nothing to be ashamed of,” he’d say.
“I just don’t like people in my business.”
“What are you saying? You want to hide our relationship? You don’t want them knowing we’re a couple?”
Yes, that’s exactly what I was saying but I wouldn’t be able to tell him that.
Maybe I should have.
In spite of Roberto’s prayer, I was in a crappy mood. I knew what the problem was. I’d entered the PMS phase of my cycle. I tended to be more irritable, more prone to jump to conclusions and my tolerance levels dropped to bare minimum. It was controllable as long as I was aware of what was happening. I learned to take it easy and not make any major decisions.
Love's Challenges Page 4