My Father's House

by Dijorn Moss

Genres: African American; African American Christian; African American Urban

Synopsis

What happens on Sunday morning is only a glimpse into the life of a pastor. As spiritual leader and confidant, newly appointed Pastor Timothy Wells must overcome his insecurities to keep Gethsemane Community Church from folding. With a jealous associate pastor and his conniving wife waiting in the wings, Timothy must also counsel some of his members through their darkest hour. He will have to rely heavily on his faith if he is to rebuild his Father's House.

Release date: October 1, 2012

Publisher: Urban Christian

Print pages: 304

Sample

“Father, forgive me for my unbelief.” Timothy, the youth pastor at Gethsemane Church, uttered these words in an empty sanctuary. After two hours of non-stop prayer, Timothy’s goatee clashed against the maroon carpet and started to itch. He had laid face first on the floor until his knees felt tender.

“Lord, I’ve never questioned your will, but I don’t know if I can do what you’re asking of me. I need you to guide me because I don’t want to bring shame to the cross.”

The devil saw opportunity in the placid moments of Timothy’s meditation. You’re too weak for this. You will fail, and everyone will turn on you.

An image of Constance popped into his head. At first, Timothy dismissed the thought as a distraction from Satan, but the image soon returned and was accompanied by a sense of trepidation. Though perplexed, Timothy began to pray for Constance. After several minutes, the need to pray for Constance had not ceased. Timothy got off the floor, exited the gloomy sanctuary, and headed toward the church secretary’s office.

“I need Constance’s number,” Timothy said.

Emerald, his wife of five years, pulled away from her desk and grabbed a thick blue binder. The sanctuary’s scent of pine oil was replaced with the scent of jasmine in Emerald’s office.

“Is this in regards to the gospel concert idea you have?” Emerald asked.

“No, she’s just weighing heavily in my spirit.” Timothy scratched his goatee.

Emerald had done something different with her hair. She had experimented with a color that Timothy could best describe as a carrot orange. He thought the color blended well with her chestnut skin and brown eyes.

“You did something different with your hair,” he remarked.

“I dyed it a week ago, thanks for noticing.” Emerald wrote down Constance’s phone number on a Post-it note. “You shot out of that meeting earlier with a quickness. I was going to ask how it went.”

He made it a point not to keep anything from his wife, but what had transpired in Ananias’s office a few hours ago had left Timothy confused.

“We’ll talk about it later. It’s going to be a long week; I can feel it,” Timothy said.

“How was school?” Emerald knew to change the subject.

“Trying to teach seventh graders Language Arts on a Monday is like talking to a brick wall. There is, of course, Vernon who’s extremely active in class, and as a teacher, that’s always a plus.”

Timothy began to dial Constance’s number on his cell phone. Upon the sound of the ring tone, he exited Emerald’s office.

On the fourth ring, Constance’s voice mail came on. “Hello, you’ve reached Constance Anderson. I am unable to get to the phone right now, but please leave your name and a brief message, and I will get back to you as soon as possible. Thank you and God bless!”

“Hello, Constance. This is Pastor Wells. You’re probably at work, but give me a call as soon as possible. You were weighing heavy on my heart, and I decided to give you a call to see if everything is all right. Call me back as soon as possible.”

Timothy hung up the phone and went outside for a breath of fresh air. Gray clouds smothered the sky. The wind grazed his skin and left chill bumps as it easily blew away the red and yellow leaves.

Ananias Jones, the senior pastor at Gethsemane, came outside and stood next to Timothy. He looked like he was made out of stone, and he dwarfed the average-height Timothy.

“Well, it looks like it’s going to rain,” Ananias said.

“Looks like it,” Timothy agreed.

“Listen, son, I know that I put a lot on your mind, but the good Lord put this on my heart, and I have to be obedient.”

“I don’t know if I could do what you and God are asking of me.” Timothy turned toward Ananias.

“Timothy, I wouldn’t ask you to do something that you wouldn’t need the Lord’s help to do.”

“You know this will cause uproar, and a lot of people will be upset.”

“This ain’t a popularity contest.” Ananias turned to Timothy.

“People will leave.” Timothy’s eyes held the weight of the world.

“The people who will leave, you don’t need.” Ananias put his hand on Timothy’s shoulder. “My job has always been to get people to follow God, not follow me. My purpose has been to build my Father’s house, and that’s it.”

The tall, pale-skinned doctor held a blood-smeared, knife-edged plastic tube in his hand. It was an image cemented into Constance’s brain. Constance’s eyes turned bloodshot red as her mahogany skin glistened from the sweat and tears. The pain could not be compared to anything Constance had ever experienced.

“Ms. Anderson, you must hold still. This is a very dangerous procedure. You can get an infection or worse,” the doctor said through his mask.

Constance’s lanky body squirmed on the gurney as she fought off the Asian nurse. “It hurts.”

Only two minutes into the five-minute procedure, Constance searched her diminutive will to find enough nerve and strength to make it through the next three minutes.

“Finish!” Constance demanded as she swallowed her saliva.

“Okay, I’m going to need you to be very still,” the doctor said. “Okay!” She just wanted to get the ordeal over with. The doctor reinserted the tube and Constance gripped the railing until a sharp pain went through her hands. One second later, everything on the inside of her stomach was being torn apart and sucked out by a vacuum-like machine.

“All done,” the doctor declared before he removed his blood-covered latex gloves and disposed of them in a nearby trashcan. He washed his hands in the sink next to the trashcan, while the nurse disposed of the contents from the aspirator.

The soreness from her cervix made it difficult for Constance to move. She touched her stomach, and tears fell from her eyes, but a smile soon emerged. She let out a sigh of relief. She had survived the procedure, and now she could move on with her life.

For the next two days, Constance drifted in and out of sleep. Her mind shifted from the procedure to the protesters who had stood outside of the clinic with posters of crushed baby skulls and destroyed fetuses.

Murderer! God is going to get you! Those words resounded in her ears.

On the third day, Constance got out of bed. She cried so much that her eyes and nose felt sore. She stumbled over empty yogurt cartons and water bottles as she made her way to the bathroom.

She was still a little numb when she used the restroom. Constance returned to her bed, but then decided that after two complete days without contact with anyone, she needed to check her phone messages.

Her legs felt like sandbags as she pushed herself off of her queen-sized bed and grabbed the black cordless phone from the charger.

“First voice message,” the automated system said.

“Girl, you won’t believe what’s going down at the job. Folks are tripping around here. Terry walked out over some drama. I think I might need to take a few days off myself. But I hope you feel better. I know you’ve been getting caught up on General Hospital. You’re going to have to fill me in later. Love you. Bye!”

Tonya’s message sparked a giggle from Constance before she deleted it.

“Next message,” the automated system said.

“Please call American Express at 1-800-322-6262,” was the next message. Constance deleted that one too.

“Next message,” the automated system repeated once again.

“Hello, Constance, this is Pastor Wells. You’re probably at work, but give me a call as soon as possible. You were weighing heavy on my heart, and I decided to give you a call to see if everything is all right. Call me back as soon as possible.”

“What are you doing calling me?” Constance said underneath her breath before going to the next message.

“What’s up, Constance? It’s your boy, Kevin. I’ve been trying to get in contact with you all week. We need you in the studio. We got an album to finish. Hit me up. One!”

Constance exited her voice mail system and speed-dialed Kevin’s cell phone number.

“Hello,” Kevin answered.

“Hey,” Constance said.

“What’s good, baby girl?”

“Sick.” Constance let out a moan to back up her claim.

“Is that right? What? You need me to come over there? Make you some chicken noodle soup. Some Progresso?”

Constance laughed. “You’re so stupid!”

“On the real though, baby girl, we need you in the studio to finish this album. The label company is getting real antsy.”

“I know, I know, and I’m sorry, but I just haven’t been feeling well.”

“Don’t trip. You ain’t got to apologize to me, but we need to get you in here ASAP.”

“I know, but I’m not feeling well. I don’t want to get in the studio and waste your time.”

“I just need you to get down here, that’s all. I got this tight track that I want you to bless. You know how we do. You get down here and the Spirit gets to moving, and before you know it, we may have two or three songs done by the end of the night. But I need you to get down here.”

Constance could not remember the last time she brushed either her teeth or her hair, or when she had even taken a bath. She did not desire to sing for the Lord that night. “When do you want me to come in?”

“Tonight.”

“Tonight? Oh, you tripping, I’m not coming out tonight.”

“Baby girl, you’ve been a ghost lately. Canceling sessions, not returning phone calls, you got me boxed in.”

Constance looked at the calendar on the wall, which gave daily scriptures. The scripture for Wednesday, October Thirteent was Psalms 91:1. She marked her studio dates and realized that the last time she was in the studio was on October Fourth.

“I didn’t plan on leaving the house today.”

“I don’t know what to tell you, but we need to get this done.”

“Okay, okay!” Constance rubbed her forehead.

“Cool, I’ll see you at seven P.M.”

Constance’s gold watch read 3:46 P.M. There was no way she could be ready in a couple of hours, and she knew Kevin would probably have her in the studio all night working on the song.

Mentally, it was too soon for Constance to go back to work on her sophomore album, but she had been unreliable lately in regards to her studio appearances, and there was only so much the label would put up with. The whole purpose of the abortion was to save her career. If the label did not release her album, then she would have gone through the whole ordeal for nothing.

Constance could not listen to gospel music in the car. In silence, her mind revisited the waiting room at the clinic.

Despite her best efforts, Constance failed to convince herself that she was only disposing of tissue, so she focused on her purpose and how she could go on with her career without the burden of an unwanted pregnancy.

“I’m thinking about going with this style for my birthday party.” The young girl pointed at a hairstyle in the magazine she had been flipping through.

“That will look real nice on you.” Constance leaned over to look at the picture.

“I can’t wait to turn sixteen,” the young girl said.

“My sweet sixteen was a blur,” Constance replied.

Constance filled out the questionnaire. Her stomach did somersaults as she waited.

“Is this your first time?” the young girl asked.

“Yeah. What about you?”

“Second.”

Constance could not believe that this fifteen-year-old girl was going through her second procedure with ease, while she could barely sit straight. Moments later, she found herself in a hospital gown in a cold, off-white room.

Her mind would only allow her to reflect up until that point. The events that followed were too horrific for Constance to recount. She used the right sleeve of her gray wool jacket to wipe away her tears.

She sped through the traffic light that turned red just as she crossed the intersection. She looked at her speedometer which fluctuated between 60 and 65 miles per hour.

The speed sign read: SPEED LIMIT 45MPH.” Constance released her foot off the accelerator.

Get it together. You don’t need a ticket.

Constance sat in the parking lot of Platinum Studios. Her cell phone rang, but she did not answer it. She checked the caller ID and it showed a missed call from James, her boyfriend of one year.

“I don’t have time to deal with this.” Constance tossed the phone back into her purse.

The cell phone made a hard clicking sound, and Constance checked her purse to make sure she had not broken anything. She discovered that the cell phone had hit a copy of her first CD, To God Be the Glory. The cover had a picture of her with no makeup or lipstick, just her natural mahogany skin, hazel eyes, and full lips. On the cover she gave a smile that conveyed an unspeakable joy.

But when Constance stared at the mirror on her sun visor, she realized that she was miles away from the girl she was on the CD cover. She went into her purse and pulled out mascara. She untwisted the cap and removed the brush.

Constance then began to brush her eyelashes upward. She dipped her brush back into the container and repeated the process, but only on her right eye. She tightened the cap and tossed the mascara back in the makeup bag.

She then pulled out red lipstick from her purse. She pressed her lips together in a kissing motion and made a full circle around her lips. She rotated the lipstick from right to left on her bottom lip and covered untouched areas. Constance placed the lipstick back in her purse and pulled out a turquoise comb.

After straightening out the tangled parts of her shoulder-length black hair, Constance placed the comb back in her purse and closed it. She checked back in the mirror and flashed a smile before she closed the sun visor.

Constance entered into a modest-sized recording studio where Kevin sat on the switchboard mixing a song. James sat next to Kevin in a black leather chair, bobbing his head to the beat. Constance tried to back out upon seeing James, but Kevin saw her.

“About time you showed up,” Kevin said.

James turned around with his sable skin and smiled at Constance. She had not expected to see him, and if she had known that he was at the studio with Kevin, she would have cancelled.

“When did you get back?” Constance asked James, not replying to Kevin’s comment.

“I landed this morning, I’ve been calling you, but you act like you don’t know how to answer your phone,” James replied.

“I’ve been busy.” Constance was being short.

“Definitely not in the studio,” Kevin interrupted.

“Hush.” Constance cut her eyes at Kevin.

James stood up and walked over. . .