Sex In The Sanctuary. Lutishia Lovely
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Название: Sex In The Sanctuary
Автор: Lutishia Lovely
Издательство: Ingram
Жанр: Религия: прочее
isbn: 9780758244963
isbn:
It was this same cousin, Frieda Moore, who’d told her about Mount Zion. Hope had asked her about churches within days of her arrival. Although not a member, Frieda had attended Mount Zion with friends a few times and had enjoyed the new way they told an old story. The preacher was forty-ish and fine. And they had a band, a real live band that backed up the choir. “Sometimes,” Frieda had gushed enthusiastically, “it feels more like a party than church!” Hope had smiled at this comparison. A Holy Ghost party was right up her alley.
From the time Hope hit the steps of Mount Zion, she knew she’d found her church home. It wasn’t just the music, a wonderful blend of contemporary and classic gospel that was audible a block away from the church, but also the feeling that enveloped Hope the moment she parked her car and stepped into the parking lot. It was the smiles on the faces of the other people entering the sanctuary, the joy that pulsated up the steps and down the aisle as she entered. It was the courtesy and warmth that exuded from the usher as she placed a program in Hope’s hand and led her up the aisle. It was the hug from Sis. Wilma Stronghart who, upon finding out that she was a visitor, grabbed Hope and clutched her tight to her ample bosom, planted a loud smack of a kiss on her right cheek, leaving an apple red lipstick imprint, and said loudly, “Welcome, welcome, welcome!” It was First Lady Brook, affectionately known as Queen Bee, and the warm way she’d smiled as their eyes met after Hope stood and was welcomed to the services of the Zion family. And it was the pastor, King Brook, a man whose words seemed to come from the very mouth of God, who spoke from the depths of his spirit to the pit of her soul. She’d been amazed by his sermon on that first visit to Mount Zion. How it so resembled what she’d gone through that the sermon could have been titled “Hope’s Story.” So uncanny, she would have questioned her cousin about spreading her business, except that she hadn’t shared her business, especially the breakup, with Frieda.
Pastor King spoke on starting over. He talked about turning life’s page when one didn’t like the writing and beginning a new chapter. Hope tried to remain impassive as the pastor spoke of broken hearts and shattered dreams, and how with God, all could be made new. But her eyes filled with tears as she remembered past pain, including the callous way Shawn had told her about his new girlfriend. Hope’s parents’ divorce had been heartbreaking also. Scars remained, but the message encouraged Hope, confirmed that she could begin a new life, one filled with love and happiness. Pastor King promised, “The darkest hour is just before day.”
It was Hope’s daytime. When the invitation for membership was issued, when Pastor King asked if there was anyone who wanted to “progress with Mount Zion Progressive,” her legs had propelled her upward before her mind knew what was going on. The congregants in her row encouraged her forward. Several others joined her as she walked down the aisle. She’d felt the Holy Spirit so intensely her knees had almost given out as she made her way to the altar. She stood before the altar, basking in the cleansing presence of God. Her heart filled with peace as the remnants of pain faded. Pastor King had come down from the pulpit then, looked her straight in the eye and said simply, “The Lord is going to use you, woman of God.” Then he’d laid his hand gently on the top of her head. The next thing she knew she was lying on the floor, staring up at the ceiling, covered by a large piece of black cloth. As the ushers helped her up and onto a seat in the first row, she realized she’d been “slain in the Spirit.” That had never happened before. She knew she’d heard from God, and she knew she was home.
The CD player switched from Tonex to Fred Hammond. Hope exited the freeway and trekked through the streets of Kansas City toward the famously popular eating establishment, Gates Bar-BQ, where she was meeting Frieda. She was still thinking about Pastor King and her beginnings at Mount Zion as she pulled up to a red light.
“Hey, baby girl, can I come?” she heard from the passenger in the car on her left side.
“Jesus is going to be there, is that all right?” she answered with a slight smile as she turned up Fred Hammond just a little more on her stereo.
“Hell yeah, that’s all right. I don’t care if He come, long as He bring you.”
Thankfully the light turned green, and Hope purposely slowed behind a big, pink Cadillac, giving the Range Rover time to jet ahead of her. She shook her head and sighed, turning into the Gates Bar-BQ parking lot at a faster speed than was prudent. Her father always told her she had a lead foot where the accelerator was concerned. She checked her make-up and jumped out just in time to see Frieda walking over.
“Hey, girl,” Hope said, giving Frieda a hug.
“What’s up, Hope? How was church?”
“If yo’ butt really wanted to know, you’d take me up on one of my many invitations to come join us.”
They entered the restaurant. It was noisy and crowded, as it was most weekends and every Sunday.
“May I help you, please?” the worker shouted from behind the counter when they’d stepped inside the door.
“Just keep praying for me so I don’t go to hell,” Frieda replied with a smile, before she shouted back to the woman behind the counter, “I’ll have a short end with fries and—what do you want?” she asked Hope. “And a chicken dinner and two strawberrys.” There was nothing like the strawberry sodas at Gates.
Hope and Frieda grabbed their orders and wound around counters and customers to a red leather upholstered booth by the window. A handsome older man with a short, salt-and-pepper cut and an expertly trimmed goatee smiled at Frieda. She smiled back, waving a rib between her fingers before placing it in her mouth and pulling it out clean. She quickly grabbed another, this time wrapping a sauce-soaked piece of white bread around it before taking a more ladylike bite, quickly followed by a thick, golden fry.
“Girl, church was the bomb this morning,” Hope began, spreading a liberal amount of the spicy sauce on her chicken leg before cutting it with her knife and fork.
“Well, I’m glad your time with God was the bomb this morning, suga’ pie,” Frieda countered, licking her fingers and sucking bits of meat from between her teeth. “’Cause my date was sho’ an explosion last night!”
Hope shook her head and rolled her eyes.
“Girl,” Frieda began, drawing out the word and lowering her voice to a whisper. “Let me tell ya—brotha man is no joke.” She related detail after detail in a conspiratorial tone, and although Hope listened with genuine interest, she couldn’t help but think that this was way too much information. The last thing Celibate-Till-I’m-Married needed to hear was about a night of sexual escapades. Still, she leaned forward, not wanting to miss a word as Frieda recounted her torrid evening.
“Girl, shut up!” Hope exclaimed after hearing a particularly juicy tidbit, even though that was the last thing she wanted Frieda to do.
Hope left the restaurant two hours later, thankful for her crazy cousin’s friendship. She planned, in time, to tell her about Shawn, and prayed for a way to subtly steer Frieda toward a less promiscuous lifestyle. At the very least, she’d make sure Frieda was using protection. These days, it was a matter of life and death. Still, she didn’t judge her cousin. Hope missed the physical love that Frieda was getting, and prayed for a solution to that as well.
His “spiritual thing”
“Man, СКАЧАТЬ