My Word
My Word © 2019 by Gizelle Bryant
Brown Girls Books LLC ~ www.BrownGirlsBooks.com
ISBN: 978-1-944359-79-9 (ebook)
ISBN: 978-1-944359-80-5 (print)
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means including electronic, mechanical or photocopying or stored in a retrieval system without permission in writing from the publisher except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages to be included in a review.
First Brown Girls Publishing LLC trade printing Manufactured and Printed in the United States of America
If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It is reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped” book.
DEDICATION
This book as well as everything else that I do is dedicated to the three people that matter most to me. They have stretched me to be the best version of myself. They have taught me the power and beauty of unconditional love. They have brought my life a sense of purpose and internal peace.
I am forever grateful to be the mother of my three amazing children, Grace, Angel and Adore.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
PART TWO – THE PRESENT
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Epilogue
Chapter 1
March, 2008
The doors of the church slammed shut and the sound echoed in my ears. I squirmed a little in my place in the pew.
What was going on?
It almost felt like we were being held hostage the way the deacons stood, like soldiers, at the closed doors. All the male armor bearers were poised like they were bearing arms – all aimed at keeping everyone in their place. But for what?
And why had Reverend Lewis, the assistant pastor, just asked all visitors and non-tithing members to leave the sanctuary? Why had the ushers scoured the rows in search of any stragglers who had stayed behind?
The sanctuary was bright with the morning sun that shined through the stained-glass windows, but the members of Pilgrim’s Rest Missionary Baptist Church who remained all sat in a stunned silence.
After a few moments, Reverend Ovide Robinson pushed himself up from the huge oak-framed ornate pulpit chair and meandered toward the podium. Just before he got to the pulpit, he reached out his hand, and his wife, First Lady Alberta Robinson, rose from her seat of honor in the first pew. One of the ushers rushed to her and held her elbow as she ascended the four steps up the altar to join her husband.
Reverend Robinson took his wife’s hand and then, together, the two stood before the church. Now, there had been many times when I’d sat here in Pilgrim’s Rest and every head had been bowed and every eye had been closed, but this was not one of those moments. I didn’t have to look to my left nor to my right to know that every eye was on our Senior pastor and his wife.
What was going on?
Then in a voice that would have won Reverend Robinson dozens of Stellar Awards if he’d chosen that path, he boomed, “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned!”
A collective gasp rose through the three-thousand seat sanctuary.
"I have brought shame to my wife, my children and my church family.” Reverend Robinson’s voice quaked as he spoke.
There were more gasps, but everyone’s eyes stayed laser-focused on the Robinsons. My eyes were on our First Lady more than our Reverend. Lady Robinson, as she preferred to be called, stood stoic in her navy St. John’s suit, the gold buttons gleaming as if they had just been shined. She looked taller than her normal five feet, five inches. It was the way her shoulders were squared, the way her chin jutted forward. And the four inch stilettos she had on helped, too.
I had to give it to her; while the congregation wore stunned expressions, Lady Robinson’s face was a blank slate, the best poker face I’d ever seen. Her glance was straight, focused on the front door of the church, to escape, perhaps? Her lips were pressed into a tight line that to me, made her look like she was holding back a thousand curses.
But those were just small nuances that I saw because I knew her so well. To everyone else, she was a woman who was holding her head high even though she’d just been dealt a low blow.
She was standing in a place where I, as a woman, would never be.
“I have violated my vows to my wife, to this church and to God. I have broken my fellowship with the Lord.”
Oh my goodness! I scooted to the edge of the pew as if getting an inch closer would help me to understand this better. What was Reverend Robinson saying? What had he done?
“I will spend the rest of my life atoning for my sins.”
What sins?
“And with that said, I am sad to announce that I am stepping down.”
Now, mumbles accompanied the gasps and for the third time I asked myself what was going on? I couldn’t stop asking that question because with every word Reverend Robinson spoke, he gave us a new revelation...and made me ask more questions.
“I don’t know how long it will take me to get myself right again, but you, the faithful members of Pilgrim’s Rest Missionary Baptist Church deserve better. Thank you and God bless you all.”
God bless you all?! God bless you all? Really? My mouth opened wide as Reverend Robinson took his wife’s hand, but before he could turn to exit stage right, Mr. Cowell, one of the oldest members of the church, pushed himself up from his seat and held up his hand.
"Reverend Robinson, no disrespect," Mr. Cowell belted out in a volume that belied his eighty (or was it ninety) years. “But you've led us for the last twenty-two years. I think we deserve more of an explanation. We need to know why you're stepping down.”
There were mumbles of agreement, though no one else stood up.
Reverend Robinson shook his head, while Lady Robinson turned her eyes away. "The details aren't important," our Reverend told Mr. Cowell.
"The hell they aren't," the lady on the left side of me, mumbled.
At any other time, I may have reminded her, in a sisterly sort of way, that we were sitting in church. But right now, I was feeling her. How could Reverend Robinson drop that piece of news and just leave us sitting in the pews? He’d done something and as the tithing members, we deserved to know exactly what it was.
Reverend Robinson said, "The board will immediately begin a search for my replacement as I go into a cocoon of reflection.”
Cocoon of reflection? What the hell? Now all I could think was...this is a MESS.
“My wife has forgiven me,” Reverend Robinson said as he dabbed at the perspiration that suddenly moistened his brow. “Now, I need time to seek God's forgiveness and finally, I must have the space to forgive myself.” He gave us a nod before he added, “Thank you for understanding." This time, when he took his wife’s hand, he didn’t stop moving, even as the chatter grew louder, even as more questions followed him through the door.
When he and Lady Robinson disappeared through the side doors that led to the offices in the back of the church, I wanted to jump up, run after him, and ask my question to his face.
Ron, the Minister of Music, stood up and though his face was stiff with shock like the rest of us, he motioned for the small church band to start playing. Pilgrim’s Rest was known for a rocking choir, but the music wasn’t going to calm our spirits today.
I shifted a bit in my seat so that I could look at Jeremy. His eyes were focused on the pulpit, as if Reverend Robinson was still there. I took my best friend’s hand, hoping that would pull him from his trance. It wasn’t that I didn’t understand what Jeremy had to be feeling — if anyone had to be shocked by this news, it was Jeremy. Reverend Robinson was his mentor, the man who’d encouraged him to enter the ministry; he was the reason Jeremy was on staff here as the youth minister.
But most importantly, Reverend Robinson had come into Jeremy’s life when he was just a freshman at Dillard, a year before we met. That had been three and a half years ago and Jeremy had told me more than a few times that if it had not been for Reverend Robinson and his encouraging Jeremy to lean on God during his grief over his father's death, he was sure he wouldn’t have made it.
And the Robinsons felt the same way about Jeremy. I couldn’t count the number of times, Lady Robinson had told me that Jeremy was the child they’d never had.
"So, I guess you were surprised by this, too,” I whispered, not sure why I was stating the obvious.
Jeremy didn’t move, as if he was frozen in this moment.
"Jeremy?" I shook his leg.
He blinked a couple of times, then muttered, "Huh?" before he shifted his shoulders so that he faced me.
"You were surprised, too," I repeated, wanting to make sure this hadn’t been a secret he’d kept from me.
He nodded slowly. "I...I don't. I didn't see this coming."
He was telling the truth. I knew because Jeremy’s body had a built-in lie detector — he’d always get this little eyebrow twitch when he was telling a lie, and right now, not a thing moved on my friend. That meant that Jeremy hadn’t a clue and if he didn’t know, then no one did. The Robinsons would have told the man they called, ‘son’ first.
"Do you want to go back there and talk to him and Lady Robinson?” I asked.
"And say what?" he replied, over the choir’s singing.
“My help...all of my help cometh from the Lord.”
It was an appropriate song because right now, Pilgrim’s Rest needed a whole lot of help that would only come from the Lord. But there didn’t seem to be anyone in the congregation who noticed our award winning choir. Everyone was chatting with their pew neighbors as if they were sitting in their dining room spilling tea over Sunday dinner.
"I...I gotta get out of here.” Before I could react, Jeremy stood and crossed over the five people to get to the aisle.
Following him, I jumped up and did the same, excusing myself to the faces that were so familiar since this third row was where Jeremy and I sat for every service.
This New Orleans church was the spiritual home for both of us. I was a Senior at Xavier University, a college that was about ten minutes away from Dillard. But no matter how lit our Saturday nights were with my sorority’s events or his fraternity’s parties, come Sunday morning, we were seated in this third row in church, standing on the Christian foundation that our parents had laid within us.
I rushed behind Jeremy as he dashed toward the doors and for a moment, I wondered if the deacons would let us out. Not that anyone would have been able to stop Jeremy. He barged past like he was a speeding locomotive and the deacon had to jump out of my friend’s way.
I was in a full sprint when I passed by the deacon and smiled an apology to him before I stepped from the sanctuary into the lobby.
“Hey,” I shouted out as I ran behind Jeremy, catching him before he stepped outside. “Are you all right?”
He shook his head. “Reverend Robinson just stepped down,” he said as if I hadn’t been sitting next to him. “Do you know what had to happen for him to decide to do this? After what this church means to him? He built this place,” Jeremy said, pointing to the stained glass ceiling, just one of the opulent features in the building.
“I know,” I said, keeping my voice soft and soothing because Jeremy was so agitated. But he was right. Reverend Robinson had founded Pilgrim’s Rest Missionary Baptist Church in the eighties and over the last two decades had grown the membership from a couple of hundred to just under three thousand.
“I just...I just...I just....”
“Okay, Jeremy. Breathe.” I rubbed my hand over his back.
He inhaled slowly, then exhaled the same way.
“It’s going to be okay,” I told him.
“How can it be?” Jeremy shook his head. “The world won’t be the same.”
I thought that was a little dramatic, but I understood my friend’s sentiments. Jeremy and I had been friends since we’d met in Charlotte at MEAC. And for the last two years, everyone called us a couple, though we truly were just friends. True friends who could laugh together and cry together and study together. Best friends who’d visited each other’s homes and met each other’s families during school breaks. But our real bond came from our love for the Lord. We prayed and read the Bible together. Nothing was more intimate than that to me.
It felt so good to have a guy in my life who wasn’t trying to get into my panties. Jeremy never crossed that line; it was like it never occurred to him. I was his sister-in-Christ and that was all that mattered.
The friendship zone was perfect for me because Jeremy wanted to be a pastor and if there was one thing I would never be, it was a pastor’s wife.
“Ginger, I don’t know....”
I looked around the vestibule to make sure no one was within listening range when I asked, “Do you think he got involved with a man?”
It wasn’t that I’d ever heard anything like that concerning Reverend Robinson, but my thoughts were that if he’d just been smashing a woman, it wouldn’t be all that serious... unfortunately. If he’d had an affair, he’d apologize to Lady Robinson, then keep it a secret and keep it moving. He wouldn’t have walked away from the church.
Jeremy shrugged. "I have no idea what it is."
"Well," I began, then paused as one of the doors to the sanctuary opened and a matriarch of the church, Mother Madeline Logan wobbled on her cane toward us. Mother Logan always left about five minutes before the service was over, so that meant soon the lobby would be filled with parishioners, all talking about what had gone down in church this morning.
Mother Logan stopped, leaned her cane against the wall, then took Jeremy's hands into her own.
"You all right, Suga?” she asked, cranking her head back so that she could look into Jeremy’s eyes.
Jeremy half nodded, half shook his head.
“I know Reverend Robinson is like a father to you,” she said. “It's a shame what just happened in there.”
Jeremy nodded. "Yes, ma'am. A shame, but I'm fine,” he lied.
Mother Logan reached toward his neck, though her reach ended somewhere around Jeremy’s chest. Still, she hugged him. "You stay strong. We know all things work together for good to them that love God.”