“We are not having that conversation this morning. I’m just blessed to have all of my children worshipping with me, even though they’re grown.”
People always find it funny that Mother never calls Daddy by his first name in public or even in front of us. After he’d started preaching, she didn’t think it respectful for her to call him Kumal in anyone’s hearing. Sascha and Tyler have taken her lead. They don’t call him Daddy anymore—only I do that.
Daddy assesses us all and smiles. “So are we ready to go?”
“One second,” says Diana.
One of the couch pillows is uneven, and the other is falling to the floor. If Mother doesn’t fix that before she walks out the door, she’s going to be thinking about it all day at church. She’s really weird with her neat-freak thing. I can remember her combing and recombing my ponytails until they were perfectly symmetrical. Sometimes it took hours to get them the way she wanted. I was so glad when she started letting me go to the beauty salon.
Sascha laughs. “Mommy, just leave that.”
Mother ignores Sascha and continues straightening until she feels satisfied. One thing about Mother: She takes great pride in this house, even though it’s modest by mega-church-preacher standards. For a while she pressed Daddy to get her a new home with six bedrooms, four bathrooms, and a finished recreation room. He staunchly refused and used the poverty of many of the members as an excuse. Daddy couldn’t in good conscience live in excess while his members suffered. Mother did not agree, but Daddy wouldn’t budge.
When she’s satisfied with the state of her home, Mother finally says, “Okay, now I’m ready.”
We walk outside to our separate vehicles, Daddy and Mother to their ten-year-old Cadillac, Tyler to his used Ford F-150, and me and Sascha to my used Toyota Corolla. If you ask me, Daddy takes this living-modestly thing to a ridiculous extreme. He refuses to buy any of us a new car, not even a Hyundai or something cheap. True enough that the Cadillac runs well and is still in great condition, but it should’ve been traded in a long time ago.
It’s not that I’m all for pastors living high off anybody’s hog while the rest of the church resides in slave quarters. I’m disgusted by that. But Daddy deserves more! He works tirelessly, never has a vacation, and is always at the beck and call of every member at Freedom of Life. I don’t think anyone would be mad if he upgraded a little bit.
Anytime I bring it up, though, Daddy always quotes the Scripture at Romans 14:16: “‘Let not then your good be evil spoken of …’” He doesn’t want anything to take away from all the good he does preaching the Gospel. That’s why I’m watching him and Mother roll their windows down on this muggy September morning instead of blasting the AC.
Sascha jumps in on the passenger side of my car. Why didn’t she ride with Tyler? “I know you’re driving today,” she says, “but can I use your car later this evening? I’m going out.”
“Why can’t Kevin drive?”
“If you must know, his fuel pump went out. His car is not running right now.”
I’m smirking because I can’t stand Kevin. “So it looks like you two are stranded, because y’all won’t be using my car as the hotel room on wheels.”
“You are so evil, Emoni. I wish Daddy would buy me my own car.”
“He will when you graduate from college. Oh, wait! You dropped out. Looks like you’re going to be hoofing it.”
Sascha rolls her eyes at me and slumps back in her seat. Ask me if I care. Daddy probably will buy her a car, even though she has no intentions of finishing her classes at Clark Atlanta. She’s spoiled rotten.
We ride in silence, which is a blessing, because I like to meditate on God before I walk through the church doors. Since Sascha’s in the car, I can’t talk to Him out loud like I usually do, but I send up a silent prayer.
Sascha and I part ways as soon as we get to the church parking lot. Her friends Gina and Alissa are waiting for her, looking like those two crows from the old Looney Tunes cartoons. They both look at me with disdain, and I return the favor; the feeling is definitely mutual.
Oscar is also waiting, right at the edge of my assigned parking spot. “Praise God this morning,” he says with a smile that is way too big and unnatural. That’s his church smile. He gets on my last nerve.
“Hi, Oscar,” I say as I go to close my car door.
Oscar jumps in front of me, nearly pushing me over. “No. Let me get that for you.”
“It’s just a car door. I am capable of doing that myself.”
Oscar smiles and takes my Bible, purse, and gym bag. I snatch my purse back and give him an evil glare as he gets ready to protest. There is no reason why a man should carry a woman’s purse. Not even if he thinks he’s in love with her and wants to marry her.
That thought makes me shudder. I can’t see myself walking down anybody’s aisle with Oscar, but he is intent on making it happen. I don’t totally brush him off, because even though I’m not feeling him, I don’t see any other brothers stumbling over themselves to get with me. Who knows, maybe the older I get, the better he’ll look.
We step into Daddy’s office, where he has already started the preparations for morning worship. He’s drinking a cup of tea prepared by Sister Ophelia Moore, head nurse and president of Freedom of Life’s gossip ministry. She’s the only one who makes Daddy’s tea the way he likes it—cool enough to drink straight down but still warm enough to open his vocal cords.
“Praise the Lord, Emoni,” says Sister Ophelia.
Without cracking a smile, I reply, “He’s worthy.”
Daddy should’ve replaced Sister Ophelia when she started that vicious rumor about Sascha and her grandson, Kevin. She’d caught the two of them in his bedroom, half naked, and then proceeded to tell everybody in our church family who would listen. If they’d let her, she would’ve made it a church announcement.
For the life of me, I couldn’t understand why she wasn’t embarrassed to drag her own grandson’s name through the mud. Maybe she was happy she could point the finger at someone else’s child for a change.
Daddy was furious, of course, but not at Sister Ophelia. I had never seen him tear into Sascha the way he did. He gave her a lecture that ran the gamut from being displeasing to God to embarrassing our family. I remember feeling sorry for Sascha, but not sorry enough to comfort her. She and Tyler don’t care one bit about the impact of their actions on Daddy’s ministry.
Anyway, Daddy forgave Sister Ophelia and allowed her to remain in her post as head nurse. Mother and I tiptoe around the woman, wondering when she will drop another bomb on our family.
Daddy is just about ready to go out in front of the congregation. He’s singing “Something About the Name Jesus” in a low tone, giving honor to God and warming up his voice.
Daddy is known for the way he can minister the preached word of God and especially for his ministry in song. I’ve personally witnessed God use him to cause people to come to repentance after hearing a song that he wrote and sang.
As spiritually powerful as Daddy is, he doesn’t have a very memorable physical appearance. He’s around five feet seven and not over one hundred and eighty-five pounds. His salt-and-pepper hair is brushed to the back in waves, and dark-rimmed glasses cover his compassionate brown eyes. When he’s not preaching, Daddy is a meek and soft-spoken man, but when the Spirit of God takes over, Daddy is transformed. Under the anointing of God, Daddy is an amazing orator and singer.
To say that I’m proud of my father is an understatement.
Oscar, who besides being my pest, is also Bishop’s armor bearer, asks, “Is there anything else you need, Bishop?”
“Did you tell the sound people to add extra bass when I start?”
“Yes, Bishop, everything is in order.”
“Good.”
After quickly swallowing the tea, Daddy stands up from his desk and holds out his arms. Oscar rushes over to adjust his cuff links and then gingerly places a freshly dry-cleaned and pressed preaching robe over Daddy’s shoulders. When Oscar is done, Daddy nods and motions toward the door. Oscar responds immediately and opens the door to Daddy’s office, allowing three ministers dressed in clergy attire to enter.
One of the ministers takes oil from a bottle on Daddy’s desk and rubs a little on the head of everyone in the room. When he finishes, we join hands and bow our heads for the prayer.
We can all hear the worship service from inside Daddy’s office. The congregation seems to be in an uproar. I can feel the spirit of the Lord as well.
Daddy prays, “Lord, I ask that you use me, your humble servant, this morning. Tell me what to say to your people, Lord. Make me the messenger of your will. Lord, God, I decrease so that you may increase. Let your congregation not see me this morning, but let them see your spirit operating in me. Lord, touch each and every one of them with a word for their situations. Cause souls to be saved and deliverance and healing to take place. I ask these things in the mighty name of Jesus. Let every heart say amen.”
“Amen” comes from everyone in the room.
Daddy smiles and says, “All right, y’all. Let’s go.”
Oscar opens the door, and the ministers exit first. Daddy is next, with Oscar on his heels. I use the other entrance and slip into the congregation unnoticed. Everyone is too busy applauding Daddy to pay any attention to me sitting in a row at the back of the sanctuary.
Daddy takes the microphone from its cradle and says, “I feel the presence of God in this place.”
The congregation responds with more applause and shouts of “amen” and “hallelujah.”
“I can
feel
him in the atmosphere!” Daddy continues. “Lord, you are welcome today. Let’s give God some praise right now. Give God a
high
praise!”
I clap fiercely as the congregations’ applause grows louder and the excitement reaches a fever pitch. One woman gets up from her seat and runs down the aisle, rejoicing and shouting.
“That’s right, sis! Bless Him!” Daddy implores. “Bless Him! Don’t look at her funny. You don’t know what the Lord has brought her through.”
The woman stops running and starts into another phase of her praise. She jerks and stomps her way into a spontaneous dance. The people sitting near her start to clap in time to the music, which is playing faster and faster.
To the right of me is a young man I’ve never seen before. The sight of him snaps me right out of my praise break, and instantly, I picture him as my boyfriend. I dismiss the thought almost as quickly. He’s the type of guy who dates Sascha.
He seems out of place, with a notepad and a brand-new Bible on his lap. I’m talking brand-new, like he just ripped the shrink wrap off on his way into the sanctuary. He’s scribbling furiously in that little notepad even though Daddy hasn’t started preaching yet.
He must feel me staring at him, because he looks over at me. He smiles, and it takes my breath away. Boldly, he looks me up and down, his eyes resting on my behind. My God, that brother is fine. Where has he been hiding, because I’m sure he’s never been to Freedom of Life.
After service is over, I do my pastor’s-daughter duty and go over to introduce myself to our visitor. Okay, so I’m not usually in a rush to fulfill that particular task, but the fineness of this brother is so exceptional that it’s making me want to step outside the box.
Just as I’m about to unleash all of this Emoni charm on that tall milk-chocolate black man’s answer to the Greek Adonis, I’m cut off at the pass. Dorcas, Mother’s armor bearer and basic irritant, has made it there first. I have never seen Dorcas fellowshipping at the back of the church, where the latecomers usually congregate. Her hungry self must’ve sniffed out fresh man meat from her seat up in the front of the church.
I stand close enough to listen to their conversation without being too obvious.
“Is this your first visit to Freedom of Life?” she asks.
“Yes, it is.”
“Are your wife and family with you this morning?”
“I’m not married.”
I feel my heart jump. Okay, he’s fine and single. Keep it moving, Dorcas, keep it moving.
Okay, she’s not moving. She’s still talking, and she’s working my nerves. “Did you enjoy the service?” Dorcas asks, trying to make her voice sound deep and throaty, like some kind of Eartha Kitt wannabe.
“I did. Thank you for asking.”
His voice is rich, deep, and smooth—exactly how it should sound. I hate to see a fine brother open his mouth and sound like Pee-wee Herman.
“I’m Dorcas. If you need anything, let me know. We want you to come back and visit us again.”
We? Us? Who are these pluralities? That heifer knows she wants this brother not only to come back to church but to scoop her up out of her lonely little existence. She’s so thirsty.
I can’t stand her.
Speaking of thirsty people, here comes Oscar, pressing his way through the crowd and trying to make it to me. Looks like I’ll have to meet Mr. Adonis some other time, because I’m not about to let him think Oscar and I are a couple. I slip out of my aisle and out the church doors into the parking lot. Oscar, of course, gives chase.
“Emoni … wait up,” he gasps.
“What is it, Oscar?”
“I was wondering if you’d like to have lunch with me. My treat.”
I smile at him. I’m not totally heartless. “Not today, Oscar. I’ve got to finish up some articles for the church newsletter. I’ll eat something at home.”
“Do you want some company?”
Why does he have to be so relentless? “Thank you for thinking of me, but I’ll be fine.”
I leave him standing there looking lonely and walk over to the other side of the parking lot, where Sascha and her little friends are congregated. The loser Kevin Moore is there with his arm wrapped around Sascha’s waist. Obviously, neither of them is going to go out of his or her way to dispel Sister Ophelia’s gossip; it’s like they
want
everyone to know they are sleeping together. Sascha looks up and sees me, then pushes Kevin away. I don’t know why she’s trying to hide her mess from me. Everyone else knows.
Sascha’s best friend, Gina, asks, “Sascha, you driving tonight?”
“I don’t know, y’all,” she replies loudly enough for me to hear. “Emoni is tripping, and she just snitched on me and Kevin the other night.”