Read Online I Know I've Been Changed by Reshonda Tate Billingsley - Free Book Online
Authors: Reshonda Tate Billingsley
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“I can’t believe you’re sitting up in church balancing your checkbook.”
“What? I need to do something. This man is about to put me to sleep,” I whispered back. I knew I shouldn’t have let Shereen talk me into coming to church with her today. Even though I’d grown up in the church, I just didn’t get anything out of coming. I hadn’t regularly attended since I’d left Sweet Poke and hadn’t even set foot in a church since Easter Sunday last year. My disdain probably came from Mama Tee forcing us to go to church every time the dang doors opened.
Shereen poked me in my side and motioned for me to put the checkbook away. I reluctantly slid it back into my purse. I should just leave. Shereen’s niece Maya had already performed her solo, which was absolutely beautiful. So, I’d done what I’d promised I would do. But I knew Shereen would have a fit if I tried to leave. Besides that, we were seated right in the middle of the pew and I’d have to cross over several people to make an escape.
I sighed, leaned back, and tried to turn my attention back to the preacher. He looked to be in his mid-fifties, strikingly handsome with a salt-and-pepper beard. Shereen had told me he was a widower; his wife had recently died from a heart attack. And from the looks of the women in the pews salivating over his every word, it seemed like the Reverend Simon Jackson could have his pick of women willing to step into the first lady’s shoes.
“The problem is, God speaks to us all the time, we just don’t hear him,” Pastor Jackson said.
I leaned toward Shereen. “What’s he talking about?”
Shereen huffed. “Something you most definitely need to be hearing.”
“Anyway,” I said as I sat back and tried to focus on his sermon.
“See, if God ain’t saying something we want to hear or something we think can directly benefit us, we don’t listen to Him. Tell me, church, are you listening to God?” The reverend continued.
“Yes!” several people shouted.
“Are you really listening? With your heart? Can you hear what He’s really trying to say to you?”
“Yes!” they shouted again as the organist began playing.
I sighed in exasperation. Here we go, the dance and minstrel show.
Growing up, everybody and their mama at Greater Gethsemane back in Sweet Poke used to get the Holy Ghost. I could never understand why people had to dance and shout to give honor to God.
I tuned out all the shouting and began mentally making my checklist of things I needed to do this week.
I felt a bit of relief when I heard Pastor Jackson begin to wrap things up. It took fifteen more minutes before he finally dismissed the congregation, but when he did, I grabbed my purse and made a beeline to the door.
“The devil was hard at work on you today,” Shereen said as she caught up with me in the church lobby.
“Since when did you become a Holy Roller?” I asked.
She laughed. “Why I gotta be a Holy Roller? Because I believe in God?”
“I believe in God.”
“I can’t tell.”
“Why? Because I don’t jump up and down and shout like I’m crazy?”
“No, because you don’t act like it. When’s the last time you prayed?”
“I pray,” I said defensively.
“I mean really prayed? For something other than for Myles to act right.”
I cut my eyes at Shereen. “That was a low blow.”
“You know I keep it real with you, Rae. And as a Christian, it’s my duty to tell you when I don’t think you’re living right.”
“What? So now you’re a soldier for God’s army? Miss Sleep-with-anything-that-shows-me-attention.” I was pissed now. How dare she try to challenge me?
Shereen looked at me like she wanted to curse me out right there in the lobby of Zion Hill Missionary Baptist Church. Then she slowly smiled. “Okay, you got me back ’cause that was a low blow, too.” She reached over and grabbed my hand. “Girl, you know I don’t judge you. I can’t judge you because my house is falling apart
“What? I need to do something. This man is about to put me to sleep,” I whispered back. I knew I shouldn’t have let Shereen talk me into coming to church with her today. Even though I’d grown up in the church, I just didn’t get anything out of coming. I hadn’t regularly attended since I’d left Sweet Poke and hadn’t even set foot in a church since Easter Sunday last year. My disdain probably came from Mama Tee forcing us to go to church every time the dang doors opened.
Shereen poked me in my side and motioned for me to put the checkbook away. I reluctantly slid it back into my purse. I should just leave. Shereen’s niece Maya had already performed her solo, which was absolutely beautiful. So, I’d done what I’d promised I would do. But I knew Shereen would have a fit if I tried to leave. Besides that, we were seated right in the middle of the pew and I’d have to cross over several people to make an escape.
I sighed, leaned back, and tried to turn my attention back to the preacher. He looked to be in his mid-fifties, strikingly handsome with a salt-and-pepper beard. Shereen had told me he was a widower; his wife had recently died from a heart attack. And from the looks of the women in the pews salivating over his every word, it seemed like the Reverend Simon Jackson could have his pick of women willing to step into the first lady’s shoes.
“The problem is, God speaks to us all the time, we just don’t hear him,” Pastor Jackson said.
I leaned toward Shereen. “What’s he talking about?”
Shereen huffed. “Something you most definitely need to be hearing.”
“Anyway,” I said as I sat back and tried to focus on his sermon.
“See, if God ain’t saying something we want to hear or something we think can directly benefit us, we don’t listen to Him. Tell me, church, are you listening to God?” The reverend continued.
“Yes!” several people shouted.
“Are you really listening? With your heart? Can you hear what He’s really trying to say to you?”
“Yes!” they shouted again as the organist began playing.
I sighed in exasperation. Here we go, the dance and minstrel show.
Growing up, everybody and their mama at Greater Gethsemane back in Sweet Poke used to get the Holy Ghost. I could never understand why people had to dance and shout to give honor to God.
I tuned out all the shouting and began mentally making my checklist of things I needed to do this week.
I felt a bit of relief when I heard Pastor Jackson begin to wrap things up. It took fifteen more minutes before he finally dismissed the congregation, but when he did, I grabbed my purse and made a beeline to the door.
“The devil was hard at work on you today,” Shereen said as she caught up with me in the church lobby.
“Since when did you become a Holy Roller?” I asked.
She laughed. “Why I gotta be a Holy Roller? Because I believe in God?”
“I believe in God.”
“I can’t tell.”
“Why? Because I don’t jump up and down and shout like I’m crazy?”
“No, because you don’t act like it. When’s the last time you prayed?”
“I pray,” I said defensively.
“I mean really prayed? For something other than for Myles to act right.”
I cut my eyes at Shereen. “That was a low blow.”
“You know I keep it real with you, Rae. And as a Christian, it’s my duty to tell you when I don’t think you’re living right.”
“What? So now you’re a soldier for God’s army? Miss Sleep-with-anything-that-shows-me-attention.” I was pissed now. How dare she try to challenge me?
Shereen looked at me like she wanted to curse me out right there in the lobby of Zion Hill Missionary Baptist Church. Then she slowly smiled. “Okay, you got me back ’cause that was a low blow, too.” She reached over and grabbed my hand. “Girl, you know I don’t judge you. I can’t judge you because my house is falling apart
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