Mama B - a Time to Love Read online

  The ladies, young and old alike, wrote down all kinds of reminders using pen and paper as well as those tablets everybody carryin’ around these days.

  I had a few thoughts about letting my hair go natural. Well, nappy is what we would have called it back in my day. They shared some research about the connection between black women and how perms done caused an increase in all kind of womanly problems for us—endometriosis and the likes. Made me think twice about what I been slatherin’ on my head, not to mention all my clients’ heads during the years when I did hair part-time at the salon.

  I wasn’t ready to let go of my perm and pull out my hot comb just yet. Best thing for me to do would be have Son go on the internet and look up the research for me. When he got to sniffin’ out something, he was like a hound dog.

  My goodness, I was so godly proud of our women. Put a smile in my heart to see the ladies ministering to one another.

  Truly, I’d forgotten they was expectin’ one of us older mothers to share something as well, until Cynthia turned all eyes toward us. “We are so glad to have you mothers here. We’re thankful for practical knowledge, of course. But we’re even more grateful for the wisdom of more seasoned women of God. So, are you all going to share or will one speak today?”

  By the way Ophelia and Henrietta looked at me with them blank faces, obviously they had forgotten, too. Or maybe we never knew? I don’t know. Good thing the Lord reminded me of everything I had in my Bible bag.

  “Well, one thing I can share is how I meet with the Lord every day,” I started, pulling the contents of my bag onto the rectangular table. I had my Bible, a few highlighters, my journal, and a book on abiding in Christ, just so happen I was reading at the time. I put my cell phone on the table, too.

  I held up the Bible first. “This here parallel Bible is my favorite one because it has two translations, New King James and Amplified. If I really, really don’t understand something, I pulls out this iPhone and go to my Blueletter Bible app, then I can look it up in the original Hebrew or Greek and see exactly what all the words mean in the old way.”

  The younger women had all kinds of questions about how I studied the Bible. They wanted to know if I sang, what I sang, how I knew what to write in my journal, how I pray, how I kept track of my prayer requests.

  Before I knew it, they was takin’ notes on my notes. “Ladies, this is all sweet and flattering,” I interjected, “but don’t get all caught up in how me and God talk to one another. Everybody is different. God don’t hardly do nothing exactly the same way with two different people.”

  The women was scribblin’ fast as I talked. Finally, I shared the complementing book. “Sometimes, I read a portion of a book in my prayer closet. This one here by Andrew Murray. He one of the old South African saints. His work is real deep. You got to take in a little at a time.”

  “Is Mr. Murray in America now?” one of them wanted to know.

  “No, honey, he with the Lord now.”

  They busted out laughing like I’d said something comical. “What?”

  “You said it like he moved somewhere.”

  “He did,” I stated. “Moved right on back home.”

  I suppose most people would have left it at that, but seem like the Holy Spirit pushed a pause button inside me and made me stop to process their response. The problem wasn’t what I’d said—the problem was, the eternity God had in store for the saints wasn’t as real to them as a place like California or New York. They lookin’ at God’s word like it’s a “good idea,” not like it’s the truth.

  Speak through me, Holy Spirit. In a split second, a passage I’d read earlier that morning popped in my head.

  “Ladies, take out your Bibles if you have them. I wanna show you something. And I want you to let the Lord write this on your heart. Not your paper, not your mind, not your electrical doo-dad—your heart.”

  The enemy almost distracted me as I wondered how so many of them came into the house of the Lord without a Bible, but I had to remember where I was and what I’d come to do: teach them what they didn’t know, not judge them.

  They coupled and tripled up so everyone could look onto a Bible with someone.

  “We all came here today to learn from one another. And the mini-sessions was great, done in excellence. Thank you so much, Janice and LaTonya, for sharing those practical things so we can honor God in everything we do.”

  The sisters gave them a round of applause before I carried on, “And you’ve asked the older ladies to share our wisdom. But I think the best wisdom I can share is where I get my wisdom from. Go to first Corinthians chapter two verse seven.” While they turned, I gave them a little background on the book of first Corinthians and why Paul was writing this particular letter.

  I started reading. “New King James, verses seven through nine. But we speak the wisdom of God in a mystery, the hidden wisdom which God ordained before the ages for our glory, which none of the rulers of this age knew; for had they known, they would not have crucified the Lord of glory. But it is written: Eye has not seen, nor ear heard, nor have entered into the heart of man the things which God has prepared to those who love Him.”

  Some of them had already heard that part about the eyes and the ears; I could tell by how they whispered it as I was reading.

  “What these verses mean to y’all?”

  Cynthia spoke first. “It means the things of God are hidden. No one knows what God has in store for His people.”

  A couple of ‘em agreed with mmmm-hmmm.

  Cynthia’s right-hand friend, Karen, contributed to the conversation, “Paul was letting them know that God’s mysteries are greater than what we can understand.”

  I let them spout all their understanding, which was basically the same thing over again, even from the ladies of Mt. Zion. Then I said, “Let’s keep reading. Verse ten. But God has revealed them to us through His Spirit. For the Spirit searches all things, yes, the deep things of God. What does that tell ya?”

  They got to squintin’ and looking at that verse again. Then Karen cautiously whispered, “Is he saying that we can know the mysteries of God?”

  “That’s what it said, ain’t it?” Henrietta snapped indignantly. “The word says what it says—even I know that.”

  “But,” one of the younger ones asked, “people read verse nine like it’s spooky, like we shouldn’t even think God will tell us things. And so…are you saying God shows us secrets that He doesn’t show everybody else?”

  “Honey, it’s not what Mama B sayin’, it’s what the Bible sayin’. Let’s read it again—sometimes you got to read it more than once, you know?” This time, I read all the way to verse sixteen, where the Bible says we have the mind of Christ. “And you know if we have His mind, there’s nothing we need to know that He will hide from us. It’s all in Him, and He’s all in us.”

  They was sitting there like somebody just told them a rich uncle had died and left them ten million dollars. Only the wisdom of Christ is worth much more. Priceless

  I had said enough. If I ever wanted them to hear the Holy Spirit speak for themselves, I had to trust Him to pick up right where He told me to leave off. Write it in ‘em, Holy Ghost. Thank You.

  I looked over at Ophelia and Henrietta. Ophelia winked at me. I winked back. Our work there was done.

  The three of us rode back to Peasner in good spirits, even singing a few praises. Henrietta like the old hymns, and she got a voice that hit those notes just right. Make you remember the days when the saints used to sing with no organ, no drums. All we had was our voices, maybe a tambourine, and our hands to praise Him.

  We’d just about made it home when I got a text from Frank: Eunice admitted to hospital.

  Chapter 8

  Right away, I called Frank. “What happened to Eunice?”

  “Looks as though she was trying to break in somewhere. She’s got a fractured nose and several lacerations,” he informed me.

  “Break in where?”

  “I’m n
ot sure…a vacant house, maybe,” he suggested. “As soon as they finish patching her up, she’s going to jail.”

  I sighed. “Okay. I’ll call Libby so she can get hold of Eunice’s family. Hopefully they’ll come see about her.”

  Tell you one thing, having a doctor friend working at the hospital was the next best thing to having a hotline to the emergency room. He kept an eye out. “Thank you, Frank, for letting me know.”

  “No problem.”

  I did my best to explain the situation to Ophelia, but I couldn’t very well do so with Henrietta butting in every few seconds with topics having nothing pertaining to the conversation.

  “Ophelia, I’ll call you later,” I finally said, hoping she would catch my drift.

  “It ain’t nice to keep secrets from somebody sitting right in the car with you, B,” Henrietta scoffed.

  Just when I thought I could skip one past her wits, she regained them. Funny thing how the mind works. “I’m not keepin’ secrets, Henrietta. Nothin’ for you to worry yourself about.”

  “Mmm hmmm,” she settled.

  After Ophelia dropped me off, I barely had time to set my bag down in the house before I U-turned right out the door again to pick up Libby. But instead of the hospital, we was on our way to the jail because Frank gave me the word they’d already transferred Eunice.

  You know what? On the way to that jail, I started thinking to myself. Why am I rippin’ and runnin’ all over town tryin’ to help somebody I don’t really know? How do stuff like this always end up on my plate?

  Really, I was just an elderly woman trying to live out my golden years in peace. Had my own house, my own life, and my own family to be concerned with. If Eunice’s kids didn’t want nothin’ to do with her, nine times out of ten it probably had somethin’ to do with the way she didn’t raise them. Not tryin’ to judge her, just saying it’s always a serious reason behind a man who don’t care about his Momma.

  Anyhow, whatever happened between them wasn’t my fault. Plus, I could have used a good nap after the women’s fellowship. This business with Eunice had done messed up my sleep.

  With my own well-being in mind, I declared, “Libby, if her son won’t get involved, I think we ought to let the state step in. Only so much we can do, you know?”

  “What you think the state’s gon’ do?” Libby wondered.

  I shook my head. “I don’t know, but I’m sure Eunice ain’t the only senior citizen without a place to go. And they got plenty of our tax dollars to figure it out. We done paid our dues.”

  “Now, B, this don’t even sound like you talkin’,” she chided. “Since when do you pass folks on the side of the road so they can wait for the real Samaritan to come by?” Libby always got to remind me of the word—even when I don’t want to listen at the moment.

  “Eunice ain’t exactly on the side of the road. She’s in jail. Got three hot meals and a place to sleep. Might be safer for her in there, anyway. Least she won’t be sneakin’ off people’s porches, worryin’ ‘em and such.”

  “Well, if you didn’t care nothin’ ‘bout Eunice, you wouldn’ta worried about her so.”

  Surrender swept over my heart as I thought about Libby’s words. Eunice was old and homeless. Coulda been me if it wasn’t for the grace of God. One of the songs Henrietta sang earlier sprung up in my heart. If it had not been for the Lord on my side, where would I be? Right then, I knew exactly where I would have been – in Eunice’s shoes.

  Thank You, Lord. I don’t even want to think about where I’d be if You hadn’t been with me all the days of my life.

  I didn’t know what all the Lord had planned for me and Eunice, but somehow I knew before Libby even parked that Eunice would be coming back home with me.

  Eunice’s son sent the money to bail her out of jail. Once again, his position as judge had persuaded the powers-that-be in our small town to bend the rules. Took a little while longer, seeing as she was already wanted for the fine she hadn’t paid, which her son also handled after they mentioned it to him.

  He sent his money alright, but he never once made an effort to drive the little thirty or forty miles it would have taken him to see his mother. Well, maybe it’s a good thing he didn’t. Eunice looked pitiful. Her nose all bandaged and taped up, eyes swollen, forearms wrapped in gauze. Her lip was busted, too, but that part didn’t look as bad.

  When I finally got her inside, all Eunice wanted was her pain medication.

  “You don’t need to take your pills on an empty stomach,” I warned her as I lifted her feet up on the bed and pushed them beneath the covers.

  “I don’t think I can eat. My entire face hurts,” she moaned.

  I insisted, “Let’s try a little broth.”

  She was able to get down a few spoons full of soup with the pills. “Thank you.”

  Even though she wasn’t much for chewing, she still had a little left in her to tell me about how she’d gotten hurt. “So many foreclosed properties these days. The houses just sit unoccupied. Every once in a while, I find a nice one that I wouldn’t mind staying in for the night.”

  “Eunice, you can’t just go breakin’ in somebody’s house!”

  “It wasn’t anybody’s house, really. The bank had already put the papers on the front door, I made sure of it. And I wasn’t trying to break the window. I was climbing in, but I lost my footing and everything came crashing down, including my face on the hard, tiled floor. It’s a good thing the neighbors were nosy enough to have already called the police when they saw me open the window, otherwise I could have been on that floor for hours or days before I got the wherewithal to get out of there.”

  “Chile, God is certainly looking out for you,” I marveled.

  “I know,” she agreed. “They say He looks out for babies and fools.”

  I shook my head sharply. “Don’t call yourself a fool, Eunice. You get some rest now.” I patted her leg and stood.

  “Wh…where are you going?”

  “Back to the living room.”

  “Whaaaaat are you going to do?” she slurred.

  “I’ve got to get some food together for afternoon service tomorrow. Then I’ll watch a little TV, read my Bible.”

  “Mmmm.” Her eyelids slowly closed. “Okay.”

  Softly, I walked toward the door.

  “B?” Eunice whispered.

  “Yes?”

  “Thank you. You’re my angel.”

  I’ve been called a lot of things, but it always hits a spot in me when somebody calls me their angel. Even if they are all drugged up or in some desperate situation, it’s nice to be the one Christ uses to bring relief.

  “Bless God, Eunice. Bless Him.”

  Chapter 9

  Eunice slept the rest of the night and on into Sunday morning, which put me in a tight spot. My house rules don’t allow no able-bodied person to stay home during church service. Thing was, Eunice wasn’t exactly able-bodied, not considering she probably still needed her rest as the drugs wore off and the pain kicked in.

  The bigger problem was leavin’ her. Now, I’m kind and loving and all, but I didn’t like the idea of havin’ a stranger alone in my house, even if she was halfway knocked out on pain-killin’ drugs.

  My only other option, though, was to stay home with her and miss church, which certainly didn’t set well with me.

  “Lord, You stay with her and watch over this house,” I prayed as I walked out my back door then headed through my yard toward the church. As I made my way, I had to laugh when the Holy Spirit asked me a question: Who do you think has been watching over this house every time you leave? “You’re right, Lord. You been doin’ this job already.”

  He so excellent in all His ways.

  I worshipped without one single care about Eunice being alone in my house. “I give myself away, so you can use me,” we all sang with our organist, Clive, and the praise team. Every time I sing that song, I have to swallow my selfishness. Otherwise, I’d be lying in church. My house isn’t even my
own right now.

  The thought of Frank worshipping beside me later on in the afternoon skitted through my mind a few times. I wondered if he would like Mt. Zion. Our choir. My pastor. Really, I almost laughed at myself. Been so long since I worried about whether someone else liked the same thing I liked.

  After Angela made the announcements and the children’s choir sang, we had the offertory. One by one, the congregation passed by the mothers’ row with envelopes, cash, and checks in hand. Had to be a good seventy-five people or so in attendance that particular Sunday, not including the choir and the pulpit.

  Some wore their Sunday best, complete with stockings or with handkerchiefs in the suit pockets. And some of ‘em look like they done came straight from the nightclub. Breasts hanging all out, pants sagging all down. We didn’t have all these walks of life in the church before Rev. Dukes came along. He started that youth outreach program with the free hot dogs. Ever since, our church got a lot of off-color visitors.

  But once I got past the fact of too much skin showing, I could only thank God for bringing them back to His house and pray away the offense the enemy was trying to bring me. Satan will do anything to get your mind off track at church.

  Couldn’t help but notice Geneva’s empty seat to the left of the pulpit area. That’s where all the ministers’ wives sit, so the ministers can look down and see their wives supporting them whenever they preach.

  The enemy tried to steal my attention again with the dance team—another one of Rev. Dukes’ projects that stayed around. Chile, one of them praisers had a belly that would not stay put under her shirt. That gut came spilling over the top of the pants that was already too tight to begin with.

  Help us, Lord. Now I’m sorry, but if was she gon’ get up there next to the pulpit dancin’, she would have to put on some kind of under-fabric or maybe wear a sash. I know peoples are doing their best to make everybody feel welcome and included, but if you a big girl, you got to take extra precaution when it come to stuff like this.