Two Roads Back Together, page 14
“Amen!” another lady shouted.
Minister Debbie placed her hand on Evelyn’s right shoulder. Evelyn felt the needles and tightness of conviction in her chest. She began squeezing her delicate pearls again for comfort.
“Those of you who need to repent and clear your conscience with our Lord—and you know who you are—please come. ‘Come to me,’ He says, ‘and I will wash you clean.’ My sisters in Christ, we must restore our obedience and help those we love who are led astray.” She gently patted Evelyn’s shoulder and she gave the group a chance to reflect on this truth. “The Lord knows what we need to hear, and He speaks through many people, not just pastors.” She looked down, locked eyes with Evelyn. “Ms. Evelyn, we know you’ve been out of sorts lately. Please come. Speak to us from your heart, and let your sisters in Christ help. Don’t be bashful.” The minister smiled.
“We love you, Ms. Evelyn.” “Go on up now.” The group encouraged her and clapped.
Evelyn’s pulse rate tripled in time from normal to racing then back to a near halt. This couldn’t be happening. How could she possibly know?
“Now, Ms. Evelyn has been a stand-up member in this church for seventeen years—”
“Eighteen,” Ms. Evelyn automatically interjected. Did Minister Debbie really know?
“Yes, eighteen good, long years. She has dedicated her life to the Lord. And she’ll hurt you with her cinnamon crumb cakes, too.”
“Amen to that,” a member shouted, which made Evelyn smile despite her racing heart.
“We love you and all that you do. Do you have anything you want to share, Evelyn? Come, bless us.”
Evelyn was decidedly not a public speaker, and her natural bashfulness, coupled with her heightened nerves, made it difficult to stand and speak before these women she knew so well. But despite this, she could feel the stirrings of a decision. Just stand and tell them. The Lord wanted her to tell them. Why else would He direct Minister Debbie to a lesson on obedience tonight, or lead her to give Evelyn the floor unasked for? Evelyn’s personal unease and discomfort didn’t matter in this instance; what mattered was connecting with this Body of Christ, and asking for their forgiveness and support. She would be a teachable moment for them. She would be a cautionary tale. But she would be blessed for her testimony and God would lead her in what to say.
Slowly, Evelyn spoke, her voice quiet in the large room. “I do have a testimony, perhaps...”
“Come on, Ms. Evelyn, we know you’ve been blessed,” the ladies encouraged her again.
Evelyn stood and faced the group. “Well, I guess I have one thing I can share. The Lord is directing me to speak to you ladies, and I really could use your love and support.”
“That’s what we’re here for: to love each other and grow as women in Christ. Talk to us.” The minister smiled benignly at Evelyn and she felt her posture begin to relax.
“I suppose it’s not so much a testimony, but more of a… struggle I’ve had lately. You all know my history and my family. Most of you know my daughter was back home recently on leave from the Army. I was just thrilled to have her visit me, even though it was only for a week. She works hard in the Army. She’s always been tough and can do things that I could never do.
“But we went out to lunch before she left and she said something which shocked me. I felt sick to my stomach when she told me, but not with disgust. I felt sick with fear. Fear that I’ve failed her as a mother and fear of how the world will treat her, and fear that I won’t be able to... to protect her.”
Evelyn started stammering as she saw the confused and shocked eyes shifting from admiration to apprehension. The minister stepped closer to Evelyn and put her arm around her waist, an act which suggested she sensed a change in the room, too.
Evelyn took a deep breath as she answered the minister and the confusion in the room. “My daughter expressed to me that she is… gay.”
Audible gasps filled the room. Evelyn felt her face heat and her palms sweat, but she would continue, would get it all out.
She had to.
“I never saw it coming. I raised her in the church. I taught her how to be a lady. I supported her and loved her and I don’t know what I did wrong.” Evelyn’s voice shook as she looked directly at the minister with glassy eyes.
“Hmmph. How could she not haven known?” Evelyn heard the whispered condemnation from Jackie.
“Girl, I don’t know how she missed that,” Mrs. Linda replied, ever the firecracker and community gossip.
“Ms. Evelyn, there were many rumors about Keisha. At least, I started to hear them long time ago. When I saw her recently, I just assumed you knew. I mean, Keisha has always been different.” That was Susan, who always looked at Evelyn with adoration, but whose eyes now held confusion and hesitancy.
Evelyn instantly regretted her openness. She wanted to sink into the floor as she was ashamed. The longer she stood there, alone, the more Evelyn’s shame turned into righteous indignation. Let he among you who is without sin cast the first stone. These women knew Christ’s command as well as she. How dare they judge her and find her wanting! If God accepted her failings as a mother, wasn’t that enough?
Heat quickly simmered to boil inside Evelyn. Was she really going to let them talk about her child like that? Her eyes zipped toward the instigator, who raised her chin as she spoke up. “Oh, don’t look at me like that, Ms. Evelyn. I just said what we’re all wondering,” Jackie said. “How could you not know something like that, about your own daughter? I don’t think you ‘just found out.’ I think you’ve always known and willfully swept it away. So typical.”
“A mother always knows these things. A mother who loves her child would’ve pick up on this long ago and taken steps to correct it,” Jackie’s sidekick jumped in. “Clearly you weren’t as concerned with your daughter as much as you’ve led us to think. You’ve always been all about appearances, Evelyn,” Mrs. Linda scoffed. “You didn’t want to be seen as a sinner like the rest of us.”
Evelyn’s eyes hardened as she stared down at the women. “Not that I owe you any explanation but no, I didn’t know she was gay. Why would I ever think that about my child? She has always been withdrawn and she’s been away from home for years. And how can you even say that about a mother, about me? When have I ever indicated I think I’m better than anyone else? I know Jesus died for my sins, just as He did for everyone in this room.” The words poured out of Evelyn as she tried to convince the group, and perhaps herself as well, that it wasn’t her fault. She knew she needed to defend her own but hesitated, even in the midst of her anger. Evelyn wasn’t a crusader and she didn’t like conflict. And despite the current rush of indignation at the audacity of these so-called godly women, she wasn’t good at direct confrontations.
But to not defend her child? That was not an option. God had pushed her to reveal this secret sin; and thus He gave her the strength to stand up under the judgment of her peers.
With new certainty she ripped off the face of the Evelyn everyone had come to know—that meek and pleasant and simple woman—and pushed back hard against her aggressor. “How interesting that you would advocate ‘love thy neighbor’ but in the same breath tear down a fellow woman in judgment,” Evelyn retorted.
“We are only telling you the truth, Evelyn. It is our duty to hold each other accountable when we fail to walk within the ordered steps our Lord has set for us. As Minister Debbie preached, we have to be obedient.”
“As I have done this evening. God told me to share this with you here tonight. For what purpose I don’t know, but ‘there is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens.’ Jackie, you have some nerve to cast stones here. But regardless, I’ll be damned if I allow you or anyone to speak ill about my child!”
The rising voices ricocheted off the thin walls, creating discomfort and contention. But a mother pressed into a corner is always unpredictable and this version of Evelyn made even the minister step back. Evelyn had always admired Minister Debbie’s calm and insight, and expected her now to step in and mitigate the situation. But the preacher’s hesitation caused Evelyn to reconsider her respect for her. Evelyn felt alone, pitted against women she thought she knew and could trust in her most vulnerable moments.
Evelyn would have to fend for herself.
Minister Debbie attempted to smooth over her misstep and interjected in the conversation. “Evelyn, you are standing at the proverbial door, and must make a firm decision. Now, more than ever, you need to be tough and assert the will of the Lord. Your daughter Keisha is walking into the fire of death and not another moment can pass or we will lose her. Sometimes our children, even as adults, walk astray from their teachings and we, as their parents, must stand firm. Evelyn, can we pray for you?”
“I… I don’t think so.”
Evelyn turned back to the group, specifically the ladies she’d welcomed into her home week after week, who ate her treats and discussed Scripture, whom she supported and loved in their difficult moments, and who remained silent when the tables were turned.
“I see the real you.” Evelyn pointed as she walked directly to Linda. Linda, who often sought refuge in Evelyn’s home, Linda whom Evelyn treated like another daughter. “‘You hypocrite, first take the plank out of your own eye, and then you will see clearly to remove the speck from your brother’s eye.’ Who are you to judge me?” She turned to the rest of the room. “Who are any of you to judge me and my house? As Minister Debbie said, I’ve been attending services here for eighteen years. But now, with the first real adversity I face, you pull back from me. I guess this isn’t the place I thought it was. I may not be the ‘good Christian woman’ you think I should be but I will always be a mother who loves her child no matter what. And anyone that knows my daughter knows firsthand that she is the embodiment of love. And isn’t that the type of God we serve? One that loves unconditionally?”
Evelyn walked out of the room with her head up, her anger righteous, and her heart breaking. She closed the door behind her with barely an audible click as the room froze in silence.
AM I A terrible mother?
Evelyn knelt at the altar and never took her eyes off the back wall. Several balled-up tissues lay strewn around her on the carpeted floor. Her regal frame now bore a small resemblance to its former hauteur as it took up the smallest of spaces. Evelyn’s thoughts whirled non-stop as soft praise music emanated from speakers nearby. The contemporary gospel great Donnie McClurkin sang lyrical encouragement to Evelyn in his song We Fall Down.
“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned,” Evelyn cried upward to those watching eyes of the heavy, larger-than-life statue of Jesus affixed to the wooden cross on the back altar wall. He seemed to look at Evelyn with comfort, in a sharply ironic contrast to his symbolic predicament.
“Bring me still. Bring me quiet. I come to you in faith but my heart is uneasy. I need you now more than ever.” Her soft prayers filled the intimate space around her, a voice crying out in sorrow and pain. Evelyn wept into her hands. How had it come to this? Had she been wrong all these years to trust in these people, in this community? If they shunned her, what would she do?
“Come here, my child.” A familiar voice spoke softly behind her. Even in her dejection, Evelyn shot up to her feet to show her deference to the eldest church matriarch.
Mother Erickson, dressed in a soft pink dress and flats, had slipped into the sanctuary unbeknownst to Evelyn, gliding through the minister’s entrance behind the drummer’s booth and obscured by the blooming floral arrangements adorning the altar. Standing a mere five-foot-three, the elder was an unassuming figure until she spoke. Even now, well into in her eighties, her commanding voice put grown men in their place. This woman came from a legacy family; her great-grandfather had helped found this church. Theology was in her veins.
Widowed nearly forty years prior, Ms. Cassandra Erickson knew struggle. Her husband had suffered from a cardiovascular disease she called “the sugah,” a name many Black southerners used to refer to diabetes. When her husband passed away, Ms. Erickson decided to pursue her dream of becoming a minister and share the gospels just like her father, grandfather, and great-grandfather had. She knew deep in her heart ministry was her calling, despite the fact she was a woman. She was accepted into an unofficial women’s seminary college and graduated as one of the first Black women to hold a Ph.D. in theology and music. She then practiced her craft anywhere she could—at private home Bible study groups, women centers, and Sunday school. Mother Erickson had thought her goal was to speak from the pulpit in the big sanctuary, but as she worked with small groups she came to realize she excelled at comforting souls. This was what God wanted her role to be and she obliged, as any foot soldier would do. She left the preaching to her son, now senior pastor of the church; it seemed the Good Word was just in her family’s blood. And since her son was the pastor, the congregants affectionately called her “Mother.”
“Our Father will never give up on us, dear.” Mother Erickson’s words spilled from her mouth in a gentle whisper, falling gracefully into Evelyn’s ear. The elder tapped her lightly on the shoulder, providing a mother’s comfort that Evelyn desperately needed. “Let’s take a seat over here.” Mother pointed to the pews and placed her good arm around Evelyn’s waist, guiding her.
The whiplash experiences of her child’s visit and this hostility from this evening had grated Evelyn’s will almost to a nub. Attempting to hold the fragments together, Evelyn reached inside her purse and pulled out her last Kleenex to dab the tears off her cheek. “I take it you heard what happened.”
“Yes, they told me.”
“It wasn’t right. It wasn’t right for them to attack me and my baby that way.”
“You can’t be weak, Evelyn,” Mother said in her usual tough-love way.
“Yes, but I’m a little hurt,” Evelyn softly replied.
“Why? Because your daughter is gay, or because you can't accept that she is? ’Cause I know you don’t give two craps about them Lucys back there.” Mother pointed toward the Martha prayer room. “That’s not the Evelyn I know. I know your Aunt Georgia didn’t raise you with no pride.” Mother’s tough reassurance gave Evelyn a familiar sense of belonging. Mother Erickson and Evelyn’s great-aunt were cut from the same southern roots—both combined love and caring with a powerful, no-nonsense way of telling it like it was. Evelyn pushed out air from her lungs and let Mother do what she did best: comfort.
“Every mother has that specific moment where we doubt ourselves. There’s nothing wrong with that,” Mother Erickson said. “What we can’t do is beat ourselves up when things ain’t in our wheelhouse to carry. You’re carrying all these bags. A bag of regret. A bag of denial. A bag of judgment. Then you got cute and opened yourself up in front of an audience who have no business knowing all of your personals. Ain’t nobody but God you should be telling your business to. You got to get it together, baby.” Mother Erickson pointed to the resting statue. “Only He can make it right. He will make it right. You picking up what I’m putting down?”
Soft praise music played in the gap of silence. “Yes, Mother,” Evelyn replied. Mother took Evelyn’s hand into her rich, storied hands. Those hands had collected histories of each year she’d graced this world. Evelyn could feel the oppression and hope which were written in equal parts on her skin.
“Stop worrying about your daughter and if you failed as a mother. Stop with that foolishness. You need to accept that God wants things to be exactly as they are.”
“But the Bible says—”
“Child, don’t you think I know? Let me tell you something. I also know life.” She raised hands that had tilled the old dark farmlands deep in the sticks of old Mississippi, hands that had held up protest banners, and raised babies, and still remained firm and strong. “I’ve lived a long life, long enough to know this: what we lack in understanding, He has already spent time with. Who are we to challenge Him and His creations? Hmm? See, people get too smart for their own good. Always think they know what and how He is working. They're always trying to tell you where you’re wrong and this and that. If you come from over there and live this way and I’m from over here and live my way, the only thing that matters is that we both keep the good Lord ahead of us.
“Sometimes, Evelyn, we just need to hush in our place. Be still. Let Him work.” Mother gently pulled Evelyn into her small chest. “Your daughter is gonna be alright. Just be still, my child. Be still.” Mother began to hum in a beautiful alto as the soft music kept playing from the altar. “Yes Lord, we gon' be alright, be alright, be alright.”
And, for the first time since that shocking day in the restaurant, Evelyn believed it.
Chapter 13
As the old days came to a rest and the new days awoke, Evelyn wondered if time would move her heart differently.
A faint chill hung low in the air. As early morning gingerly crept in, the spaces outside changed to reflect a more docile environment. There were no bicyclists rolling by, or couples walking hand-in-hand, or even joggers passing by. The glass pond was now still, not even a ripple. Yet, faint as it may be, a light cacophony of adult chirps and baby cheeps played, waving brown tree leaves in the calm breeze, and the occasional passing car zipping down the street. Life was taking its first full stretch at this young hour, ready to unfold time.
Into this gentle morning, the aroma of cured maple bacon and warming oats softly wafted. The slowly-building morning quickly broke into a new pace as the kettle pot sang in a high soprano, tempered by the rising, bubbling water and the growing steam cloud climbing along the cabinets.
Click.
Evelyn broke from her meditative state as the kettle pot turned off. She turned from the window to quell the growing crackles, pops, sizzles, and broken bubbles coming from the stove. She stood in timed and coordinated movements, moving iron and steel pans from one burner to another. Evelyn always loved the first meal of the day. Flipping the bright, scrambled eggs, stirring the creamy oats, and degreasing the deep brown, crispy bacon strips—she’d made this same meal for over forty years. Her well-aged hands still danced beautifully and moved with precision.
