Born at Dawn, page 3
“Little brother, replace that complaint with a petition,” Pastor David commanded Keith. “Repeat after me: ‘Father, I am striving to serve you. Please, Lord, renew my strength and increase my ability. In Jesus’ name. Amen.’” He patted Keith on the shoulder after the boy obediently repeated his prayer. “You may hear otherwise, but there’s nothing wrong with serving my God.”
Cynthia craned her neck over James’s limp body to say, “Thank you, Pastor David.”
“Sister, where’s your joy?” Pastor David asked. “You’re not supposed to leave church looking sad. You can’t leave your joy inside the church, especially when I’m getting ready to lock the gate.” He laughed. “Didn’t you learn anything tonight? Come on, be honest. Maybe it’s time for me to change my approach.”
“Pastor, it’s not you. Your teachings are fine. It’s just . . . just . . .” Cynthia searched for the right words. She’d been in the ring for twelve rounds with Marvin and had lost every round. She searched her heart for the words that would convey the extreme frustration she felt without her having to repent after uttering them. She’d come to the church seeking refuge. A little over a two months later she still felt like she was getting whipped by the winds in the rainstorm.
“There are some things going on in my life right now that I’m having trouble dealing with.”
“Are you headed down the hill?” Pastor David asked, pointing toward the neighborhood below.
Cynthia nodded yes. Her demeanor must have indicated that this conversation might take a minute.
“I’ll walk you down.” They began to tread down the hill. Pastor David continued counseling Cynthia. “You’re having trouble in your life because you’re trying to deal with it, and Jesus is the one who deals with it all. Actually, He’s dealt with it already. On the cross, He said ‘it is finished.’ Through the shedding of His blood, any- and everything that tries to come against us has already been defeated. The resolution to some problems will manifest itself sooner than others, but all to the glory and honor of Jesus. Sometimes you have to wait—”
“Cynthia! Cynthia! I thought I said I didn’t want you around this joker!” Marvin flew up the hill toward them, stopping them in their tracks with his ranting.
“Praise the Lord, brother!” Pastor David exclaimed, extending his hand to Marvin who swatted it away as if an inconsequential fly stood before him buzzing.
“I’m not your brother,” he said to Pastor David and then turned his attention toward his wife. “Cynthia, what are you doing out here with him?” Marvin asked prying James out of her arms. Keith shrank behind his mother before Marvin could snatch him up too.
“Marvin, it’s nothing for you get upset about. It’s all my fault really. Bible Study went overtime, which is why I’m walking Sister Cynthia and the boys down the hill.”
Marvin looked Pastor David up and down quizzically, trying to understand why Pastor David insisted on speaking to him.
“I’m not interested in nothin’ you got to say, Dave. Can a man converse with his own wife?”
“Pastor,” was Pastor David’s only response to Marvin’s ire-laden question.
“You ain’t a pastor, and you’re certainly not my pastor.”
“Marvin, please show Pastor David some respect,” Cynthia begged, gently tugging Marvin’s sleeve.
“Without Jesus, it’s hard for a man to respect himself, let alone another human being. You can’t expect him to not act like the devil when he’s full of the devil,” Pastor David said to Cynthia without flinching under Marvin’s solemn stare.
Marvin scraped his finger across his neck. He took one huge step, inserting himself in the space between Pastor David and Cynthia. Pastor David had the same light shining in his hazel eyes Marvin had seen in him when they first met in middle school and earned the moniker the Drop Boys because either one of them was willing to drop anyone where they stood.
“Don’t have any cross conversations with my wife. When I see a man, I’ll give him his props, but I don’t see one. Only a snake turns his back on his friends to save his own useless skin,” Marvin spat.
“You’re right. My skin is useless, but I never went anywhere that you couldn’t, Marvin.”
“Is that right?” Marvin snickered. “Listen, David.” Marvin poked him in his chest. “I told her once and she didn’t listen, so now I’m telling you. Stay away from my wife and my kids. They don’t want any of your poison.”
In the fifteen years they’d been together, Marvin could not recall Cynthia setting foot in a church; at least, not of her own volition. They’d attended the customary Christmas services, had the kids christened, but nothing more than that. The last thing Marvin wanted was some woman thumping the Bible at him.
“Marvin, be careful not to hurt yourself,” Pastor David said, unmoved by Marvin’s rant. “She is a child of God, and He isn’t going to tolerate you keeping her from Him. She has dedicated her life to God, and you can’t get in the way of that.”
Marvin switched his murderous gaze from Pastor David to his wife. Slap her now or later, now or later, now or later. Marvin weighed his options. Even though Pastor David was some type of do-gooder now, Marvin was sure he’d rise to the occasion if Marvin did anything too rash. Pastor David was no welterweight boxer, but he certainly knew how to throw and land a couple of effective punches. Even though it’s been years since Pastor David had thrown a punch Marvin knew he would definitely try to defend the honor of one of his ‘sistas.’
It was best that he deal with Cynthia when they got into the building. The middle of 145th Street was too public. If Pastor David interfered and Marvin beat him down he’d always be seen as a menace for beating up on a member of the clergy, and if Pastor David got the drop on him, his rep was out the window.
“Let’s go, Mrs. Barclay.” Marvin cupped Cynthia’s elbow as he led her and Keith down the hill.
“Sister, ‘wait I say on the Lord and be of good cheer.’ There’s no need for you to live in fear. Everyone in the church will support you.”
“Yes, Pastor,” Cynthia said without looking back.
Upon entering the apartment, it seemed as though Marvin had returned from the dark place his mind often took him. A subdued silence occupied the space: the calm before the storm. Cynthia carted both boys off to bed and kissed them on their foreheads before exiting the room.
She walked to the master bedroom and right into Marvin’s wrath. “Who’s in charge here? Didn’t I tell you not to go to that church anymore?”
Before Cynthia could utter a response, Marvin used his fist to jog her memory. “I do not want to hear anything else about David, that church, or the Bible.”
“What are you going to do, beat the Holy Spirit out of me?” Cynthia spat blood with each word. Marvin lunged at her. “Help me, Jesus! Help me, Jesus! You said you would deliver me.” Before Marvin could reach her, he stumbled on his own boots, fell to the ground, and busted his lip on his own teeth.
Inside Cynthia did cartwheels then reprimanded herself for wanting to see him hurt. Not every fight ended like this one, with Marvin on the floor. Cynthia tried to apply the biblical principles laid out at Wednesday afternoon women’s ministry meetings. Most recently the group was focused on 1 Peter 2. Cynthia was struggling with verse twenty-three especially. That verse was a jagged pill to swallow. “He was reviled and reviled not again.” Holding her tongue was something she struggled with daily.
Physically, at five feet and three inches, she was no match for Marvin, but every now and then she could whip him with her words—another small victory. Sometimes her tongue lashings led to more bleeding and bruising.
Cynthia crept out of the room to dress her wounds. She applied as much pressure as she could to stop the bleeding and used ice to bring the swelling down as she conversed with her Father to heal her heart.
Chapter 4
“Are you telling me this is my fault?” Cynthia tightened her shoulders and pointed at the dark blue ring below her left eye. Her twisted mouth and aggravated tone expressed her frustration. After three weeks of attending spiritual counseling, her patience was wearing thin.
“Sister, calm down,” Pastor David said stretching his hand toward Cynthia. “You misinterpreted what I said. Nagging doesn’t help the situation. It only antagonizes him, frustrates him, and you know him. He’s the ‘hit first, take names later’ kind of guy. The Bible says it’s not with all your words that you will win your husband over, but with a meek and quiet spirit.”
“A meek and quiet spirit? What does that mean, Pastor?” She rested her elbows on the oval-shaped conference table in the Upper Room, which served as the location for First Sunday fellowship dinners, the adults’ Sunday School class, and Pastor David’s counseling sessions.
“You already know what it means to be quiet, but meek means to be patient, to be humble and long-suffering just as Jesus was. It’s that kind of behavior that will help you get through this storm.” Pastor David leaned back into his chair and stroked his goatee. It seemed as though he was patiently awaiting the protest brewing in Cynthia’s dark brown almond-shaped eyes.
“Pastor David . . .” Cynthia paused and stared at a portrait of Jesus hanging on the cross surrounded by darkness. “I’m not Jesus. I can’t carry the cross and take the beatings. Isn’t that why He went through what He went through, so I wouldn’t have to?”
“Must he bear the cross alone? Sister, may I speak freely?” he asked.
“I thought you already were.”
Pastor David sat upright in his seat and blurted out, “You made a judgment call. You chose the wrong man, and now you’re calling on God to clean it up like He’s some maintenance man. That’s not what it’s about, sister. If you want to see this thing turn around, then you must acknowledge your role in it and worship God in spirit and in truth.”
He’s a man of the cloth. Watch what you say to him. “Pastor, you better put the kid gloves back on. Remember, I’m a baby Christian still struggling to climb up that mountain. I’ve only been saved since October and it’s, what, January now.” Cynthia paused to count the months on her fingers. “That’s just three months. I can’t take too much more of you reprimanding me.”
“A man’s word is his own burden. If what I’ve said to you is wrong, God will deal with me, but you have to believe you are a child of God and trust that He will fight for you. The same rules that apply here apply at home. Your pride causes you to react to everything Marvin says.”
Cynthia rolled her eyes and tried to imagine the clean-shaven, statuesque Pastor David as Marvin had described him—running around wielding a knife beside her husband just to steal some pocket change—to take her mind off the fact that he was the man of God over her. Seeing him as a regular human being made this spiritual whipping a little bit more bearable.
Pastor David rose, placed his hands on his hips, and tried to mimic a woman’s voice as he continued to counsel Cynthia. “‘How dare he talk to me like that? Who does he think he is?’ How many times have you had those thoughts before going off on him or joining him in a heated argument? Do you see how your behavior contributes to the situation?”
Cynthia just stared past him with her eyes fixed on the woman hanging her laundry on her fire escape across the street from the church.
“But woe unto a man who thinketh he is something when really he is nothing,” he said, clearing his throat and returning his voice to his normal pitch. “It is the Lord who raised you and will save you, but He can’t help you if you insist on doing it your way.”
“So, what am I supposed to do, just grin and bear it? You know this doesn’t even make sense.” Cynthia pushed her chair back from the conference table and stood. “This will be my last session, Pastor. I thank you for your help.” She put her head down and focused diligently on removing her wallet from her tote bag. She’d had enough of the charade and hearing the same advice: just wait on the Lord. I’m not getting any younger.
“Why?”
“May I speak freely?”
He nodded.
“Since you have never been married, you may not realize this, but marriage is a partnership that takes two people.” She held two fingers in the air. “Two not one. Why should I be here alone?”
Pastor walked around the table, taking wide, hurried steps to reach Cynthia before she broke for the door. “You should be here because you are the Christian. You are the saved one, the woman standing in the gap for your family. When your hands are like this”—Pastor David took her tote bag and let it fall to the floor. He tossed her wallet on the table and pressed her palms together as if she was praying—“they are more powerful than any punch Marvin can throw.
“And when your head is lifted like this,” he said, tilting her chin toward the ceiling, “and the only words you are uttering are prayers to God, your words hold more weight than anything he has to say. If you give up, what will happen to this marriage? God can fix this. You know that, right?”
She nodded in agreement with him. Truthfully, she wasn’t really sure that God could fix it. “Thank you, Pastor David, for your time,” Cynthia said, bowing in front of him with her hands still folded like she was praying. “Here is my offering for your counseling ministry.” She grabbed her wallet from the table and pulled out a folded twenty dollar bill.
“Cynthia, I don’t want your money and neither does God.”
“Then what does He want from me, Pastor?” she asked completely exasperated.
“Submission.”
Cynthia waved the money at Pastor David. “Please, just take my offering and let me go.” The word ‘submission’ sounded like an obscenity to Cynthia. She’d been submissive for their whole marriage. Where was God and his warring angels that would do battle on her behalf? There had to be another way to resolve this issue that didn’t involve submission and Cynthia planned on finding it with or without Pastor David’s approval.
Chapter 5
Based on how Marvin’s eyes bulged and the way he slurred his words, Cynthia could tell he’d been to Tropics Bar and spent some time receiving counsel from his favorite spiritual advisor, Jose Cuervo. It was the same thing every time he came home like this. He moaned about the burden of raising two kids in the city, the stack of bills on the counter that were turning into its own entity, and how Cynthia and the kids were draining him. They also prevented him from saving up enough money to open the garage he had always wanted. Cynthia had no desire to engage in this conversation after a draining session with Pastor David.
“Fix me some food,” Marvin demanded, pushing the bedroom door open.
“You know where the refrigerator is.”
“I said fix me some food, Cynthia.”
She refused by paying him no mind as she lay in the bed flipping through a magazine.
“Fix me some food.” Marvin pounded on the bedroom door. “Now, now, now,” he growled through clenched teeth.
“Marvin, I am so tired of you,” Cynthia replied calmly, not even glancing up from the pages of Essence magazine. The article she was reading stated that a woman needed to voice her opinion in order for a relationship to work. Cynthia felt she’d been silent for too long. The article only confirmed her belief and the notion that submission was not the answer.
“That’s not very Christian of you. You think being married to you is a picnic? Look at this house.” He walked to the bed and pulled Cynthia out of it by her hair. When she rose, he dragged her through the apartment, squeezing her arm. “What is this?” he screamed, pointing at their living room.
The coffee table was covered with video game cases and beauty magazines, and the boys had left their bikes lying on the floor near the door.
“I almost killed myself coming in here,” Marvin complained.
Silently she wished he had.
“If you had come in here at a decent hour, maybe the lights would have been on and you wouldn’t have such a hard time navigating through the apartment,” she said, snatching her arm away from him. Cynthia rubbed her arm before the soreness could settle in.
“Navigating . . . Spell it. This ain’t the ocean. I shouldn’t need a compass to get around my house. Aren’t you supposed to be submitting to me and honoring me, not talking back? What are they teaching you at that church? You stay home all day long, and this is all you can get done?”
She touched her eye—the ring around it was a marker of her last beating—then she considered her arm. To appease him, Cynthia went into the kitchen and got started on the dishes left over from this evening’s round of tacos. But even that was not enough to stop tonight’s rant.
“You’re holding me back, Cynthia. My garage could have really taken off by now. I see what you’re doing,” he said, shaking his finger at her. “Telephone bill, Con Ed, cell phone. School lunch? Why am I paying for school lunch if they take lunch with them to school?” Every question he asked was laced with disdain.
“They don’t take lunch with them every day, Marvin.”
“Stop being lazy,” Marvin shouted at her, bunching up the bills in his hand. “Make them boys lunch every morning.”
“I do make them lunch every day, Marvin,” she said, spinning around to face him, shaking the soap-covered spatula she held at him, “but they like to eat the chicken nuggets and pizza at school.”
“So put some frozen pizzas in their lunchbox. All these bills are holding me back.”
“From what?”
“From opening the garage. I told you the bank said I need twenty percent of the startup cost.”
“Marvin.” Cynthia pointed at herself. “That doesn’t have anything to do with me. It’s not my fault you have bad credit,” she declared. Cynthia directed her gaze back to the sink full of suds and turned the water up to full blast, the steady stream drowning out the sound of Marvin’s voice.
“Yeah, well it is your fault; it’s your fault I can’t save money. All you do is spend, spend, spend. You got me paying for school lunch, karate, afterschool programs. Why do I have to pay for afterschool and you’re here all day hanging out?”
