Goodness and Mercy

Book 5: Blessed Trinity

by Vanessa Davis Griggs

Genres: Alien Contact; Post-Apocalyptic sci-fi

Synopsis

In Goodness and Mercy by award-winning author Vanessa Davis Griggs, Gabrielle’s girlhood dream of becoming a dancer slips away when life takes an unexpected turn. But after she meets the man of her dreams at church, everything seems to be falling into place—until a past secret threatens to tear her life all apart and puts her newfound faith to the ultimate test.

“Vanessa’s rich stories of faith in action always hit the writing trifecta—they make you laugh, cry, and yearn for more.”—Angela Benson, best-selling author

Release date: May 26, 2011

Publisher: Kensington Books

Print pages: 320

Sample

“If you’re here today,” forty-eight-year-old Pastor George Landris began, “and you feel there’s something missing in your life. If you admit that although there are billions of people on this earth, you still feel like you’re all by yourself—that sometimes it feels like it’s you, and you alone. If you feel as though no one truly loves you. If you’re fed up with being fed up.” He paused a second. “If you’d like to be born again . . . you want to know Jesus in the free pardon of your sins. Then I want you to know that your being here today is neither an accident nor a coincidence. I want you to know that it’s time for a change! You see, I’ve been told that the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again but somehow expecting a different result.” He shook his head slowly, then took one step to the side.

“Well, to that someone who’s here today, your change has come. If you’re looking for change, change you can truly believe in, then the Lord is extending His hand to you today through me. He’s asking you, on this day, to accept His hand. I know I’m talking to somebody today. In your life, it’s time for a change.” Pastor Landris nodded as he narrowed his eyes, then ticked his head three times to one side as he smiled.

“Oh, I know we heard the word change a lot last year. We talked about change. Some of you even voted for change. Some of you voted for the first time in your life because of change. Well, on November 4, 2008, change took a step forward in these United States of America . . . a change that’s already had an impact on the world. But on this day”—he pointed his index finger down toward the floor—“on this Sunday, January 4, 2009, sixteen days before that embodiment of change is to be sworn in as the forty-fourth president of the United States, it’s time for your own personal change. A change, a wonderful change.”

Many in the audience began to clap while others stood, clapped, and shouted various things like: “Change!” “A wonderful change!” and “Thank God for change!”

Pastor Landris bobbed his head, then continued to speak. “For those of you here who are tired of fighting this battle alone, let me assure you that there is another way. And in case you don’t know or haven’t heard, Jesus is the way! He’s the truth, and He’s the light.

“And today—just as Jesus has been doing since before He left earth boarded on a cloud on His way back to Heaven, where He presently sits on the right hand of the Father—He’s calling for those who have yet to answer His call, to come. Come unto Him all you that labor and are heavy laden. Jesus desires to be Lord of your life. Won’t you come today? Won’t you come? Come and cast your cares on the Lord, for He cares for you. Oh, yes, He cares . . . He cares. He cares. He . . . cares.”

Pastor Landris extended his hand. He looked like someone waiting on a dance partner to take hold of his outstretched hand in order to continue the next step of a well-choreographed dancing routine.

Twenty-six-year-old Gabrielle Mercedes heard his words. She felt them as they pierced her heart. She doubled over as she sat in her seat. Quickly, she felt the warmth wash completely over her, starting at her head. It felt as though she was being covered with pure love and peace, as though buckets of warmth were being poured on her, the warmth quickly making its way down to her feet. Her feet heard the music inside of the words “Come and cast your cares on the Lord, for He cares,” and they began to move, to tap rapidly, all on their own.

The music that played inside her was not the usual music one might expect to hear in church. It was music that no words she knew could aptly describe—angelic. Her body instinctively knew what to do; her legs summarily stood her upright. She hurriedly, but gracefully, started across—one–two, one–two, side step, side step—from where she’d been sitting, quietly excusing herself past those who shared the row with her. Then, forward she glided, with long deliberate strides down a wide center aisle—flow, extend, now glide, glide, faster, faster—toward the front of the church building’s sanctuary. Everything happening before the right side of her brain was even able to effectively launch a logical and methodical discussion about any of this with the left side of her brain. She was moving forward, refusing to look back.

And when she shook the hand that continued to remain extended for any and all who dared to reach toward it, she didn’t see the man of God’s, Pastor Landris’s, hand. All she saw was the Son of the living God called Jesus, Emmanuel, the Prince of Peace, the King of kings, the Lord of lords, the President of presidents. She began to leap—higher, higher.

And as she’d shaken Pastor Landris’s hand, at least twenty other people also had come forward and stood alongside her. But she’d only felt the hand of God holding her up as she stood there and openly confessed she was indeed a sinner. She knew—without any trumpets sounding, any special effects, and any special feelings—that in that moment of her confession, she was saved. Saved by grace. Now.

Now faith is . . . now . . . faith is now . . .

And the feeling she did have? It was the Lord leading the dance of her life, whispering throughout her every being that she now only needed to follow His lead. She needed to allow Him to take her to the next step, and then the next one, and the next one, without knowing what the next step might be. Fully trusting His lead. One–two–three.

Oh, how Gabrielle loved to dance! But until this day, she’d never known the true grace in dancing. That amazing grace. God’s amazing grace. The feelings she had now were a by-product of the new knowledge she possessed: the knowledge of knowing Jesus Christ in the free pardon of her sins. All of her sins, every single one of them, Pastor Landris was saying, were officially pardoned. She was free!

“Pardoned—your slate, wiped cleaned,” Pastor Landris said to those who came up. “Your sins, totally purged from your record. It’s as though they never happened. God says your past transgressions have been removed as far as the east is from the west, the north from the south. All of your sins—the ones folks know about, and yes, the ones only God knows. Gone. Gone! Whatever sins were in your past, from this day forward, as far as the Lord is concerned, they’re gone.” Those standing were being signaled by a ministry leader to follow her to an awaiting conference room.

“Hold up a second,” Pastor Landris said, halting them before they exited. “I want you to say this with me: My past has been cast into God’s sea of forgetfulness.”

They did as he asked—some of them leaping for joy as they shouted the words.

“You are forgiven of your sins,” he said. “Look at me.” He waited a second. “And God is saying to you, don’t allow anyone . . . anyone, to ever bring up your past sins to you again. Did you hear what I said? Don’t let anyone use your past against you. If they bring it up, you tell them that it’s under the blood of Jesus now.”

The entire congregation erupted with shouts of praise as they stood to their feet.

“Do you have a Bible?” one of the ladies asked Gabrielle as they stood in the conference room where the new converts were taken after they left the main sanctuary.

“No, I don’t. But I can buy one,” Gabrielle said.

“Oh, we have one for you—a gift from the church.” The petite woman smiled as she handed Gabrielle a six-by-nine-inch maroon Bible. “I’m Tiffany Connors. I’m part of the ministry that welcomes converts who come to Christ through Followers of Jesus Faith Worship Center. Our goal is to ensure that you have as many tools as possible at your disposal to get you started in learning all you can about the Lord. Pastor Landris insists there’s nothing worse than having something new and either not receiving or not reading the manual that comes with it—oblivious to its features, benefits, and the instructions to operate it. And of course, any good manual contains troubleshooting information to help in understanding when something is not working properly, and what is needed to correct it. We believe there’s no better manual for Christians—novices and veterans alike—than the Bible.” Tiffany tapped Gabrielle’s Bible twice, then held out her hand for a handshake.

Gabrielle glanced at the Bible she’d been given. She smiled at Tiffany as they shook hands. “I’m Gabrielle Mercedes, and it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

Tiffany tilted her head in a quizzical way. “Is Mercedes your married name?”

Gabrielle smiled. She wasn’t offended or felt Tiffany was moving too quickly into her business. She knew exactly what was going through Tiffany Connors’s head. It was what she encountered a lot since she’d legally dropped her last name of Booker and adopted her middle name as her last. Most people could tell by looking at her smooth brown skin; hair that was, without fail or excuses, relaxed every four to six weeks to keep it from going back to its natural state of afroishness; and a signature behind that defined many a black woman as a black woman (there always being an exception to any rule, as folks like J.Lo have proven) that she was not Hispanic, as her last name might somehow suggest.

The next logical thought was that she, being a black woman, must have married someone with the last name of Mercedes to have acquired it. She could have easily explained how she ended up with it, but didn’t bother to. That would defeat the whole purpose of her having changed it in the first place.

“No, I’m not married, and I’ve never been married,” Gabrielle said. She just happened to look down and realized she was hugging her Bible. She let her arm down by her side, along with the Bible she held in her hand.

“Gabrielle Mercedes. Well, it certainly is a beautiful name,” Tiffany said. She glanced at her watch and grimaced. “Listen, I hope you don’t mind my having to leave so quickly—kind of drop the Bible and run—but I have to go pick up my children from children’s church so the workers there can leave.”

Gabrielle smiled as she tilted her head only slightly. “Forgive me, but did you say children’s church?”

“Yes. We have a church for the children. They call it children’s church even though it’s still part of this same congregation. There’s also a teen church with activities geared specifically for the teenagers and their style of praise and worship. Today was my day to work in this ministry. And since Darius, that’s my husband, didn’t make it to church today, I’m the only one available to pick up my little ones by the cutoff time.”

“How many children do you have?”

Tiffany appreciated that Gabrielle asked. She loved talking about her children. “I have three. My oldest daughter is Jade. She’ll be eight this year. Dana, our middle daughter, turns six in a few months. And our son, Darius Junior, we call him Little D., just turned two this past November. He’s in the toddler’s section of children’s church.”

Gabrielle nodded. “That’s nice of the church to have a children’s church and a teen church within the main church. I only went to church a few times when I was growing up, although I went all the time when I was a baby up until I was about three. My mother used to take me every Sunday. . . .” Reflecting on her mother when she was too young (her aunt and others had constantly countered) to remember anything that had to do with her or anything else that may or may not have happened during that time caused her to discontinue, at least aloud, this train of thought.

Gabrielle smiled, pretending it was perfectly normal to switch topics and entire conversations in midsentence. “Suffice it to say, there was nothing separate for children or the teens to do in the churches I attended growing up. And the preacher where we did go those times mostly put folks to sleep. I mean, they would be sleeping good, too. Until he reached the end of his sermon and started whooping and hollering—startling babies, men, and old folks alike right out of their naps.” She laughed. “I’m sorry. Here I am going on, holding you up when you clearly said you needed to go. Please, go on and pick up your children. And thanks for the Bible.” She patted the Bible’s cover. “It’s beautiful.”

Fatima Adams walked over to Gabrielle and Tiffany just as Tiffany was about to leave. “Well, hello. It’s Tiffany Connors, right?”

Tiffany nodded. “And you’re Fatima . . . ?” She frowned as though that would help her recall Fatima’s last name.

“Yes, Adams. Fatima Adams,” Fatima said as she politely shook Tiffany’s hand.

“Well, Fatima, I must say that you have impeccable timing. I’m hurrying to get my children from children’s church. Now I don’t feel so bad leaving like this. Great meeting you”—she said to Gabrielle—“and great seeing you again,” she said to Fatima.

Fatima turned to Gabrielle. “Well, hello there. My name is Fatima Adams, as I’m sure you just heard.” She smiled and held out her hand to shake Gabrielle’s, then suddenly leaned in and hugged her instead. “I just wanted to come over, introduce myself, and welcome you to the body of Christ, as well as to Followers of Jesus Faith Worship Center. We’re so excited you’ve chosen to accept Jesus into your life. And believe me when I say that your decision is an eternal, life-changing, and life-saving one.”

Gabrielle felt Fatima’s hug had been sincere. Still, she quickly pulled away, and even took a step back. “Thank you. I’m Gabrielle Mercedes. And before you ask, I’m not married, so it’s not my married name.” She laughed a little. In truth, the hug had taken her a little off her stride. Gabrielle wasn’t accustomed to being hugged. She hadn’t been hugged much since her days with Miss Crowe, a teacher who had been a rock in her life. In fact, as she thought about it, the last time she’d actually allowed anyone to hug her, to really hug her, was the last time she’d seen Miss Crowe—some nine years ago. Right before that horrible accident that ended up dramatically changing both of their lives. Any other hugs didn’t mean anything to her; they were merely perfunctory.

Miss Crowe was the only person who had really cared about her. She’d cared about Gabrielle’s dreams and aspirations. Cared that Gabrielle was treated fairly and with respect. In a nutshell, Miss Esther Crowe had cared about what Gabrielle cared about. So, whenever Miss Crowe hugged her, she knew that Miss Crowe wasn’t hugging her for what she could get out of her. She was hugging her because she knew Gabrielle needed it. After Miss Crowe was no longer in her life, she didn’t want or care for anyone to hug her.

But she had to admit, there was something different about Fatima’s hug—a hug that quite honestly she hadn’t seen coming before it happened. A hug that felt rather sisterly, just one more thing she wasn’t all that familiar or comfortable with.

Technically speaking, Gabrielle was an only child, born Gabrielle Mercedes Booker. Her mother and father were married before she was conceived. That was a big deal to her since it was the only thing she actually held over the four cousins she’d grown up with who could—and rightly so—be considered more siblings than cousins.

“Thanks for the information, but I hadn’t planned on asking if you were married or not,” Fatima said. “Not at this point, anyway. I wouldn’t want you getting the wrong impression about us here.”

In fact, Fatima had noticed the slight cut above Gabrielle’s right eye. She couldn’t help but wonder what the real story was behind that. And that pukey green, bright sunshine yellow, hot fuchsia, orange, and red scarf carefully tied around her neck didn’t seem to match the classy outfit. Fatima pondered whether Gabrielle had possibly worn that scarf to merely cover up some infraction surrounding her neck. That cut above her eye had given Fatima plenty of reason to pause. And Fatima was leaning more toward some act of violence having been done to her than any act of love.

“Well, I wanted to come and personally welcome you to the body of Christ, as well as to Followers of Jesus Faith Worship Center,” Fatima said, maintaining her upbeat manner. “I’d also like to give you my phone number and possibly get yours. That’s if you don’t mind me having it. With thousands of members, Pastor Landris wants to ensure any new people who attend here have at least one person they can easily reach, in case they need something or have any questions. A point of contact, if you will. And I am indeed delighted to say that I am your contact.”

Gabrielle flashed Fatima a quick smile. Indeed. She’d caught Fatima’s glance at the cut above her eye that honestly she’d forgotten was even there. And had she known she would end up going forward to be saved, ultimately placing herself visibly in front of other people instead of the come-in-and-leave-without-talking-to-anyone plan she’d originally had, she might have put off coming to church altogether. At least, until her impossible-to-hide-without-big-shades cut had completely healed.

Gabrielle touched the scarf she’d tied around her neck—happy now she’d chosen to wear it. Scarves were definitely not her thing. They were too old fogey for her. And she was not a scarf person. But leave it to her aunt on her father’s side, Cecelia “Cee-Cee” Murphy, to give her something she didn’t want but would later possibly need. The only time Gabrielle ever considered wearing a scarf was on her job, and only then if it was requested. Truthfully, even then, she didn’t keep it on long enough for it to irritate her the way this one was beginning to do. She pulled at the knot to loosen it a little more, careful that it not become too loose and expose the black and blue bruises on her neck.

After leaving the building, she slid into her pearl-colored, automatic five-speed, V6, 2008 Toyota Camry Solara SLE convertible. She draped her off-white wool coat on the passenger’s side headrest. She then placed on the passenger’s seat her new Bible and the New Convert/New Member’s Handbook she’d received from another person who came over right before she left the conference room. She cranked the car, turned the heat on full blast, and pressed a separate button to heat up her tan leather seat. The seat began to warm quickly. When she’d bought this car, that was one feature the manual spoke of that she thought she’d never use, especially living in the South. But on a cold day like this, she absolutely adored this benefit of her car.

Gabrielle reached for the Bible, retrieving the handwritten card Fatima had given her with her contact information along with a message she’d written. Gabrielle couldn’t help but smile as she read it.

Fatima had included her home and cell phone numbers, as well as her e-mail address.

Following that were the words P.S. Read Jeremiah 29:11.

Gabrielle looked at the Bible and suddenly realized she’d never really opened a Bible before, and especially not to seek out a specific scripture. Those few times as a child she had gone to church, the deacons usually read from their Bibles while the congregation passively listened, and nodded with occasional amens. When the pastor stood and read his selected scriptures before giving his text, the congregation was neither required nor encouraged to open their Bibles and read along with him.

Even her beloved Miss Crowe, who had told her some things about God, had never opened the Bible or read anything out of it in her presence. Miss Crowe merely quoted a scripture when she felt the need.

Starting at the front, Gabrielle turned in search of a table of contents. Most nonfiction books contained one. Surely the Bible had to have one. Surely it had to.

She smiled when she found it. Old Testament. Jeremiah. Page 1099.

With the handbook, the Bible, and the note, Gabrielle could see she would have enough to keep her occupied. She would now have to decide what her next move would be. There would have to be some changes in her life as well as her lifestyle. She knew that without anyone having to tell her. She was already beginning to see things differently. For her, accepting Christ was not a joke. She was ready for a change.

After she arrived home and got up to her bedroom, she removed the scarf from around her neck and looked again closely in the mirror. The bluish-black bruises were still very visible, thumbprints etched into her neck. Proof positive that things had to change in her life and that time was of the essence. Because the next time . . . well, the next time could possibly leave her without a next time. She had to face that likelihood as undisputable.

Then, there was Miss Crowe. Right before the neck incident, as she slept, Miss Crowe had come to her in her dreams. Miss Crowe hadn’t spoken her words harshly, but Gabrielle instantly knew she was disappointed in how Gabrielle’s life had turned out. In the dream, Gabrielle hadn’t seen the beautiful smile Miss Crowe was known for. It was more of a pained smile. And it hurt Gabrielle’s heart to know she was the cause of that pain.

“There’s so much more God requires of you,” Miss Crowe had said as she stood shimmering in a stunning lavender chiffon dance outfit in her dream. “God gave your gift to you. Me? I was merely a vessel He used to pour everything left inside of me into you and your gift. Gabrielle, you have to stop selling yourself short. Listen to me. It’s time for a change. Listen to what God is saying to you. Listen to your heart. God is speaking to you whether you realize it or not. He’s telling you, ‘No God, no peace. To know God you will know peace.’ God is trying to get your attention. Don’t continue to look the other way as if He isn’t.”

Gabrielle had awakened in a sweat. She hadn’t known what was going on. She had looked around her darkened bedroom. It had only been a dream. But it had felt so real. She hadn’t seen Miss Crowe since a few days before her accident. Gabrielle had been seventeen and a few months into her senior year of high school. Miss Crowe had encouraged her to keep working hard and to keep her grades up no matter what else she did. She’d grinned uncontrollably when she told Gabrielle she had a huge surprise for her. Gabrielle had been able to tell from the joy that resonated in her voice and her face that she was bursting to tell it. But she hadn’t, no matter how hard it was for her to keep.

“It’s a surprise, but a good surprise. I promise you, you’re going to be thrilled, absolutely thrilled! I’ve been working on this for some time now. And I must confess right here and now that this surprise has not been easy, either. But we’re almost there,” Miss Crowe had said. “I’ve been praying and working hard, and we’re almost there!”

A sixth-grade teacher who lived in their neighborhood, Miss Crowe taught in a different school system from the school Gabrielle attended. She was an old woman when Gabrielle met her . . . old by an eight-year-old’s standard of old. In truth, Esther Crowe was only thirty-six when Gabrielle first met her. A gorgeous, perfectly flawless dark-skinned woman, Miss Crowe stood five feet eight in her stocking feet. Nine years later, when Gabrielle turned seventeen, Gabrielle stood one inch taller than Miss Crowe.

“I do believe I’m shrinking,” Miss Crowe had said in a high-pitched voice as though she really believed it. “I promise you, I used to be five nine, the same as you.” They had just finished measuring each other’s height. “It must be my bones. Must be. Maybe I really should have taken more heed to my calcium needs.”

Gabrielle loved going to Miss Crowe’s house. And she’d never allowed Aunt Cee-Cee to know just how much she loved going over there. Nor did she ever tell what they did when she went.

“Your aunt believes you’re coming here to do some housework for me. I don’t mean to be deceptive, as truly that is not my nature. But I fear that if she knew what was really taking place, she wouldn’t allow you to step foot my way again,” Miss Crowe had said when Gabrielle reported to her house for her second day of work. Miss Crowe told her the real intent of having her come to her house. She had asked Gabrielle if what she really planned to do was something they could keep between themselves.

Gabrielle enthusiastically said, “Yes!”

It all began the middle of June. Miss Crowe was out walking in a neighborhood she’d just moved into a few months earlier. She’d decided to expand her usual walking route, and this was her first time down that particular street. As she pumped her arms with each step, power walking as she called it, she noticed children in a front yard. And there was one child running a. . .