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Authors: Kristofer Clarke
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“It’s kind of hard not to,” I said, laughing. “Yeah, I’m going to eat my butt off.”
“Baby, you’re greedy.”
I didn’t agree, but didn’t respond.
“I know you have a long day ahead so I’m not going to keep you any longer.”
“You’re not keeping me,” Kelvin assured.“ We haven’t talked this much in a long time.”
And I wonder why, I thought. “You know what I meant.” The smile on my face had been missing for some time. “Get some rest. Let me know how the conference goes.”
“You know I will. Ha ve a good night, baby. Love you, ” Kelvin said.
“Love you back.”
When I hung up, it was late and it didn’t even matter. I wasn’t sleepy. There was this feeling of content that I usually got after talking to Kelvin. I caught myself smiling, and I carried the smile from the living room to the bedroom, into the shower, and eventually to bed. I finished reading the sixth chapter of my book, which I probably have to reread. I kept replaying the conversation with Kelvin in my head. There was so much more I wanted to say, but I was satisfied.
CHAPTER TEN
HE’S BROUGHT ME THIS FAR
Dexter
The congregation at Mount St. Daniel Holy Redeemer Pentecostal Church seemed a little unusual on this first Sunday morning in September. It was a little more quiet than usual. The church was without Sister Bethany Gloria Robinson and her little baby, Keion, who was usually screaming at the top of his lungs long before Sister Abigail Montgomery would finish reading the Sunday announcements. Jonathon Rivers and his younger sister, Jasmine, who is usually pointing fingers, hiding her face and giggling about nothing, were not there. They must have had a few too many rum and coke at the bar last night and couldn’t wake up in time to hear whatever message Pastor Edna-Mai Rockwell-Carter had prepared.
The Golden Agers Annual Worship Service was in full swing at Mount St. Daniel. It wasn’t the service I expected, or for which I had prepared myself. I had never made it to the early morning service, and this morning was no exception.
At the direction of Sister Saretha Blanchard, The Volunteer Gospel Chorus came to its feet, opened hymnals, and began their first selection. Music rung out from the new grand piano and organ, both donated to the church by the late Pastor Nathaniel Rockwell. The choir, dressed in majestic p urple robes with yellow piping obviously purchas ed especially for the occasion opened their mouths. Music praising the Lord poured out from their old , God-loving faces. They sang, “Blessed assurance, Jesus is mine! Oh what a foretaste of glory divine! Heir of salvation, purchase of God; Borne of His spirit, washed in His blood.”
I stood to join in the pattern clapping that seemed to have started from the row of wives in the front pew. Somewhere between “Perfect submission” and “Angels descending”, my mind slowly drifted from this uplifting hymn. I was suddenly overwhelmed with thoughts of Bryus and Trenton and their announced move to England. I was filled with envy, not the kind that stunk with rage and hatred, but one of love and hope of their success. It gave the rest of those hopefuls something to look forward to. I thought how two couples who met under the same circumstances could have two different outcomes. There’s just no figuring this stuff out.
“Yes! Thank you Lord,” Deacon Lyle Turner shouted from the back where he stood earlier, with gloved hands, handing out pamphlets detailing the order of the service.
“Praise God! The Lord has been good to me. Yes Lord!” Another shout came from the direction of the choir.
Pastor Rockwell-Carter, draped like royalty, walked up to the podium with confidence. Her striking beauty demanded attention. Her powerful voice resonated, and the word of God became even more convincing.
“Good morning, church,” she began.
Rockwell-Carter is an on-the-edge pastor, usually stepping
“It’s kind of hard not to,” I said, laughing. “Yeah, I’m going to eat my butt off.”
“Baby, you’re greedy.”
I didn’t agree, but didn’t respond.
“I know you have a long day ahead so I’m not going to keep you any longer.”
“You’re not keeping me,” Kelvin assured.“ We haven’t talked this much in a long time.”
And I wonder why, I thought. “You know what I meant.” The smile on my face had been missing for some time. “Get some rest. Let me know how the conference goes.”
“You know I will. Ha ve a good night, baby. Love you, ” Kelvin said.
“Love you back.”
When I hung up, it was late and it didn’t even matter. I wasn’t sleepy. There was this feeling of content that I usually got after talking to Kelvin. I caught myself smiling, and I carried the smile from the living room to the bedroom, into the shower, and eventually to bed. I finished reading the sixth chapter of my book, which I probably have to reread. I kept replaying the conversation with Kelvin in my head. There was so much more I wanted to say, but I was satisfied.
CHAPTER TEN
HE’S BROUGHT ME THIS FAR
Dexter
The congregation at Mount St. Daniel Holy Redeemer Pentecostal Church seemed a little unusual on this first Sunday morning in September. It was a little more quiet than usual. The church was without Sister Bethany Gloria Robinson and her little baby, Keion, who was usually screaming at the top of his lungs long before Sister Abigail Montgomery would finish reading the Sunday announcements. Jonathon Rivers and his younger sister, Jasmine, who is usually pointing fingers, hiding her face and giggling about nothing, were not there. They must have had a few too many rum and coke at the bar last night and couldn’t wake up in time to hear whatever message Pastor Edna-Mai Rockwell-Carter had prepared.
The Golden Agers Annual Worship Service was in full swing at Mount St. Daniel. It wasn’t the service I expected, or for which I had prepared myself. I had never made it to the early morning service, and this morning was no exception.
At the direction of Sister Saretha Blanchard, The Volunteer Gospel Chorus came to its feet, opened hymnals, and began their first selection. Music rung out from the new grand piano and organ, both donated to the church by the late Pastor Nathaniel Rockwell. The choir, dressed in majestic p urple robes with yellow piping obviously purchas ed especially for the occasion opened their mouths. Music praising the Lord poured out from their old , God-loving faces. They sang, “Blessed assurance, Jesus is mine! Oh what a foretaste of glory divine! Heir of salvation, purchase of God; Borne of His spirit, washed in His blood.”
I stood to join in the pattern clapping that seemed to have started from the row of wives in the front pew. Somewhere between “Perfect submission” and “Angels descending”, my mind slowly drifted from this uplifting hymn. I was suddenly overwhelmed with thoughts of Bryus and Trenton and their announced move to England. I was filled with envy, not the kind that stunk with rage and hatred, but one of love and hope of their success. It gave the rest of those hopefuls something to look forward to. I thought how two couples who met under the same circumstances could have two different outcomes. There’s just no figuring this stuff out.
“Yes! Thank you Lord,” Deacon Lyle Turner shouted from the back where he stood earlier, with gloved hands, handing out pamphlets detailing the order of the service.
“Praise God! The Lord has been good to me. Yes Lord!” Another shout came from the direction of the choir.
Pastor Rockwell-Carter, draped like royalty, walked up to the podium with confidence. Her striking beauty demanded attention. Her powerful voice resonated, and the word of God became even more convincing.
“Good morning, church,” she began.
Rockwell-Carter is an on-the-edge pastor, usually stepping
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