Yeah.
So I’m thinking this dude might be on the up-and-up when it comes to the money. BUT! And I should probably say BUTT.
He’s got a daughter that is hella fine. Well, fine in that girl-next-door-your-mama-want-you-to-marry kind of way. Anyhoo, sweetie was feelin’ me. She couldn’t help herself.
And y’all know … it ain’t nothin’ more scandalous than a PK (preacher’s kid, for the short-bus people).
Still on a mission, yo. And by the way, tell somebody about my blog! Gotta get my hit count up so I can get that long advertiser dough. Y’all know how I do.
Hit me up in the comments section!
COMMENTS
Jia 8:59 p.m.
MBB, you dead wrong for lusting after the bishop’s daughter. All PKs are not the same! I should know. My daddy was a pastor, and I didn’t do anything to embarrass him. I kept my dirt on the low, you know what I’m sayin’?
Tyrone 9:14 p.m.
Yeah, that’s real talk, bro. Them pastors’ daughters be off the chizzain! Keep us posted.
Darrin
L
et’s say that Dorcas’s little rejection has interested me enough that I’m eager to see her again. Eager enough, in fact, that I’m sitting at one of the front tables in Freedom of Life’s Bible study class. Plus, I want to meet Bishop Prentiss face-to-face, and I figure that it’ll happen in a more intimate setting.
The first person I see is Emoni Prentiss. She’s wearing a long jean skirt and a sleeveless blouse and has her hair in curls. She’s smiling at me, and I feel myself shift in my seat as she walks over.
“You’re here early,” she comments as she takes the seat next to me.
I nod slowly. “Yep. I’m an early bird.”
“Me, too.”
Her perfume is nice. It has floral undertones and a hint of spice. Yeah, I know what a floral undertone is. It has an intoxicating effect, as do the singing silver bangles on her arm.
I’m searching my brain for a word to describe Emoni. She’s attractive, though not pretty. Not in that traditional way that makes brothas like me swoon. But there is something … intriguing about her. Her deep eye contact makes our small talk feel like pillow talk.
She smiles. “I’m glad you decided to visit again—”
Before she finishes her sentence, Dorcas walks up to the table, grinning from ear to ear. She’s wearing sunglasses and a sundress, looking very young, very casual, and hot to death. I can’t help but grin right back at her. Emoni stands to leave, obviously unwilling to share our conversation with another female.
I touch Emoni’s hand. “Don’t go. We’re not done talking.”
I don’t know what made me do that. I
need
her to go, to keep it moving. Because even though I don’t mind us getting more personal, I don’t like to deal with too many women in the same location. That can get messy. Although I definitely plan to investigate Emoni territory, I’m gonna deal with Dorcas first. First come, first served.
“Hey, Emoni,” says Dorcas in a tone that is friendly only on the surface.
Emoni nods a hello and cringes a bit when Dorcas pulls a chair from another table in front of us.
Dorcas continues, “So I see you’ve met Darrin. He’s coming to us by way of Cleveland.”
Emoni nods, her shine extinguished. She notices someone across the room and rolls her eyes. I follow her gaze and see a corny-looking guy in a sport coat and slacks making a beeline for our table. He pats his small Afro and strokes his goatee as he approaches. Dude looks like he used to work out back in the day, but now he’s soft, with a middle-aged man’s gut.
He thrusts his hand into my face. I take it and give it a rough shake. “I’m Darrin Bainbridge.”
“Trustee Oscar Williams,” he replies.
Trustee? I guess it’s not the middle-aged-man gut. It’s the let’s-go-to-the-all-you-can-eat-buffet-spot-after-church gut.
He looks at Emoni and frowns. “Your father needs you in the back,” he says.
Emoni glances at me and reluctantly stands. Looks like she wants to sock the dude in his soft belly. “Darrin, we’ll have to finish our discussion some other time.”
“Right … of course.”
Oscar and Dorcas both seem pleased as Emoni strides away. Dorcas moves to Emoni’s seat, and Oscar turns on his heel, chasing after Emoni.
Dorcas says, “Those two are a couple.”
“Are they?” I’m shocked, because Emoni definitely strikes me as available.
“They might as well be. Oscar is with her twenty-four/seven, and he’s basically a part of the family. He’s been in love with her for years.”
Don’t know why, but I’m jealous. Don’t know anything about the girl except her name and the scent of her perfume, but I’m jealous. Even with a beautiful woman at my side who is clearly trying to get with me, I’m still jealous.
After a few moments of idle chitchat, a praise team assembles at the front of the classroom. They sing a medley of upbeat old-school gospel cuts like “Jesus on the Mainline” and “He’s All Right.” Dorcas leaves my side and takes her seat next to Bishop Prentiss’s wife.
Bishop Prentiss emerges from a closed door and goes directly into his message. “Praise the Lord, saints of God. This evening we are going to continue our study on Christian living. Turn in your Bibles to Second Timothy, Chapter Two, and we’re going to start reading at Verse Twenty.”
Everyone stands to his or her feet and reads in unison.
But in a great house there are not only vessels of gold and of silver, but also of wood and of earth; and some to honour, and some to dishonour.
If a man therefore purge himself from these, he shall be a vessel unto honour, sanctified, and meet for the master’s use, and prepared unto every good work.
Flee also youthful lusts: but follow righteousness, faith, charity, peace, with them that call on the Lord out of a pure heart.
Bishop continues, “The topic tonight, y’all, is ‘Fleeing Youthful Lusts.’”
Great. I meet two of the most intriguing women in this church, and Bishop Prentiss wants to preach on lust. That’s not even right.
“Saints of God,” preaches Bishop Prentiss, “I get a lot of prayer requests from singles trying to live holy and from courting couples trying to have a chaste courtship. They always ask me how they can successfully remain pure and pleasing to God.”
Here we go. I used to get my hopes up when visiting churches with my various girlfriends. I’d hope that at least one preacher could tell me how to live for God and not chase tail.
“I’m going to start by saying that as long as you live, you will battle your flesh. That sexual drive is real. It’s necessary for the survival of the human race. The flesh is drawn to that which is sexually attractive, and there is nothing you can do to alter what the flesh wants. The flesh wants what it wants.”
All right, now. Get real with it, Bishop. I feel myself scooting to the edge of my seat, wanting to hear more.
“But yet as Christians, lovers of God, we are compelled to battle this flesh. Paul said that he died daily. What does it say in John Three verse Seven? You must be born again.
“Saints, when we are born again, our flesh doesn’t disappear. We’ve got to kill it, starve it, battle it with the help of the Holy Spirit. Now, I know what y’all are thinking. Y’all want to know how to really do that. How to practically apply these words to your everyday life. You can say ‘I die daily’ all day and all night, but if you get your lonely self in a predicament with a fine sista or brotha, how are you really going to say no?”
That’s
exactly
what I’m talking about.
“Biologically, saints, our bodies are made to respond to sexual stimuli. Our bodies are wonderfully made by the Lord to do this. But when you choose to serve God, you choose to place that flesh in subjection to the will of the Holy Spirit that lives inside you. Now, listen close, y’all. If you want to serve God with sexual purity, you’re going to have to do some things most of y’all don’t like to do.”
A collective groan rises from the audience. Bishop must be about to give us some tough love.
“Like having chaperoned dates and not watching those late-night movies on Skinemax.” Laughter fills the room. “Y’all think I don’t know about that mess, but I do. When you find someone you like and might want as a mate, get to know each other from a distance or in the presence of trusted friends. Be creative and write letters or even e-mails. Choose Christ and don’t give the devil room.”
I’m really feeling this message. Operating in the realm of my reality, if I get a woman alone and have the opportunity, I don’t know if I can resist what my flesh wants.
Bishop continues, “I know what y’all still out there thinking about. How can I get to know my future mate if we never get a chance to be alone? Well, some of you have fed your spirit enough and fortified it enough that you can spend limited amounts of time alone with the opposite sex. But most of y’all got starving spirits and gluttonous flesh that gets fed all day, every day, by the media. Look, if you don’t want to get mugged, what do you do? You stay out of dark alleys. And if you don’t want to get struck by lightning, you go inside when it rains. Let’s not put ourselves in situations where our flesh might win.”
I see Emoni out of the corner of my eye. She’s grinning at me. That girl ain’t nothing but a rainstorm in a dark alley.
“We, as Christians, on this Christian walk, need to pray every day. And you don’t have to pray long for it to be strong. I said more than a few ‘Jesus help me’s’ when I was courting First Lady Diana.”
Everyone laughs, including me. I can’t imagine this man getting hemmed up in a car or a hotel room and having to pray his way out. But his realness strikes a chord with me. Makes me want to see if I can live right. Makes me want to give God a chance in my life.
I find myself walking down for the altar call, nodding when they ask me if I want to be baptized. This time I’m doing it because I really want to and not because I’m afraid of hellfire. Emoni and Dorcas are both on their feet, clapping with the rest of the congregation while I’m making silent promises to God.
In a little changing room, I’m putting on baptism clothes with tears streaming down my face when a small twinge of something pierces my penitent prayers.
It’s a very small thought, but it’s there nonetheless. It’s me telling myself: Darrin, you’re here to write a story.
Emoni
I
t’s Friday night. The first night of the weekend and two nights before church. And I’m doing what I always do on Friday nights. I’m curled up in my bedroom on my pink beanbag chair, reading a book, sipping Pepsi, and eating microwave popcorn. And although I hate to admit it, I’m feeling lonely.
Actually, tonight I’ve got two books. One is entitled
Serving the Lord with Your Whole Heart
, and the other is a romance novel I ordered from Black Expressions called
Someone to Love Me.
I’m really interested in the spiritual subject matter, of course, but since I met Darrin Bainbridge, I’d also like to read about something steamy.
He was feeling me at Bible study. I know he was. When he asked me not to leave the table, I couldn’t have gone anywhere if I wanted to. I’m getting butterflies just thinking about his hand on mine. I can’t believe how weak he makes me feel, and I don’t even know the brother. And now that he’s baptized, he’s going to have to beat off these desperate heifers with a stick.
Like Dorcas. She straight bogarted her way into our conversation, swinging that ponytail on top of her high-yellow head. I wanted to smack her. But she’s my sister in Christ … yeah, okay, so I still wanted to smack her.
If Dorcas wasn’t enough, here comes Oscar, trying his best to lay a claim on me when I for darn sure don’t belong to him. He needs to quit tripping, because if I haven’t gotten with him in all these years, it’s not going to happen. Anyway, he only wants me so he can be Daddy’s assistant pastor and maybe even the senior pastor one day.
It’s not that I haven’t given Oscar a chance. He’s not bad-looking, and he keeps a job. I’ve even gone out on a few dates with him. It’s just that his past is way too checkered for me, and he still carries some emotional baggage around with him. On one of our dates, he blew up on me because I wouldn’t give a dollar to a homeless man on the street.
I said, “I am not going to support anyone’s habit.”
“Did you ever think that maybe he’s just trying to live? Everyone on the street isn’t an addict,” he replied angrily.
But Oscar was an addict. When he joined Freedom of Life, he was a hot stinking mess, unemployed and strung out on crack cocaine. He walked up to that altar, and Daddy embraced him and prayed for him on the spot, not caring what he might catch or if the stink would ruin his good suit.
That was six years ago. I was only eighteen then. By the time I came home from college, Oscar was a new man in Christ. He was clean and working on Freedom of Life’s staff as the head armor bearer and security chief. He thought that when I accepted a full-time job at the church, a relationship with me was inevitable.
Thinking about Oscar’s testimony makes me open my Christian book and toss the romance novel across the room. I know that God will send me my husband, hopefully, one day soon. The way Darrin looks at me, I’m praying it’s him.
I start reading, but I can’t concentrate. This house is too quiet. Mother and Daddy are already asleep, Tyler’s out at a youth revival, and Sascha is running the streets with Kevin. It’s nearly one in the morning, and Sascha still hasn’t brought herself on home. She is going to mess around and get in trouble with Kevin.
I’m concerned about Tyler, too. Ever since he met this new up-and-coming preacher Pastor David Maxwell, he’s been missing in action around here and at Freedom of Life. Tyler used to be the president of the Youth Council, teach the junior Sunday school, and lead the evangelism department, but now he barely makes it to Sunday-morning service.
At one point Daddy seemed to be grooming Tyler to be his successor, but they started disagreeing on how to reach people and bring them to Christ. Tyler thinks that the church should embrace youthful expressions like gospel hip-hop and relax the strict dress code. Daddy, on the other hand, is old school. He wants people to experience freedom in Christ, but within the rules of the church. We’ve got folk at Freedom of Life who would have a conniption if a woman stepped into the sanctuary wearing—gasp—pants. Tyler calls our church name, Freedom of Life, an oxymoron. In some ways, he’s right.