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  My Word

  Gizelle Bryant

  Houston, Texas * Washington, D.C.

  My Word © 2019 by Gizelle Bryant

  Brown Girls Books LLC ~ www.BrownGirlsBooks.com

  ISBN: 978-1-944359-79-9 (ebook)

  ISBN: 978-1-944359-80-5 (print)

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means including electronic, mechanical or

  photocopying or stored in a retrieval system without permission in writing from the publisher except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages to be included in a review.

  First Brown Girls Publishing LLC trade printing Manufactured

  and Printed in the United States of America

  If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be

  aware that this book is stolen property. It is reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped” book.

  Dedication

  This book as well as everything else that I do is dedicated

  to the three people that matter most to me. They have

  stretched me to be the best version of myself. They have

  taught me the power and beauty of unconditional love. They

  have brought my life a sense of purpose and internal peace.

  I am forever grateful to be the mother of my three

  amazing children, Grace, Angel and Adore.

  Chapter One

  March, 2008

  The doors of the church slammed shut and the sound

  echoed in my ears. I squirmed a little in my place in the

  pew. What was going on?

  It almost felt like we were being held hostage the way the

  deacons stood, like soldiers, at the closed doors. All the male armor bearers were poised like they were bearing arms—all

  aimed at keeping everyone in their place. But for what?

  And why had Reverend Lewis, the assistant pastor, just

  asked al visitors and non-tithing members to leave the

  sanctuary? Why had the ushers scoured the rows in search of

  any stragglers who had stayed behind?

  The sanctuary was bright with the morning sun that

  shined through the stained-glass windows, but the members

  of Pilgrim’s Rest Missionary Baptist Church who remained

  all sat in a stunned silence.

  5

  6 | Gizel e Bryant

  After a few moments, Reverend Ovide Robinson pushed

  himself up from the huge oak-framed ornate pulpit chair

  and meandered toward the podium. Just before he got to

  the pulpit, he reached out his hand, and his wife, First Lady

  Alberta Robinson rose from her seat of honor in the first

  pew. One of the ushers rushed to her and held her elbow as

  she ascended the four steps up the altar to join her husband.

  Reverend Robinson took his wife’s hand and then,

  together, the two stood before the church. Now, there had

  been many times when I’d sat here in Pilgrim’s Rest and every

  head had been bowed and every eye had been closed, but this

  was not one of those moments. I didn’t have to look to my

  left nor to my right to know that every eye was on our Senior

  pastor and his wife.

  What was going on?

  Then in a voice that would have won Reverend Robinson

  dozens of Stellar Awards if he’d chosen that path, he boomed,

  “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned!”

  A collective gasp rose through the three-thousand seat

  sanctuary.

  “I have brought shame to my wife, my children and my

  church family.” Reverend Robinson’s voice quaked as he spoke.

  There were more gasps, but everyone’s eyes stayed laser-

  focused on the Robinsons. My eyes were on our First Lady

  more than our Reverend. Lady Robinson, as she preferred

  to be called, stood stoic in her navy St. John’s suit, the gold buttons gleaming as if they had just been shined. She looked

  My Word | 7

  taller than her normal five feet, five inches. It was the way her shoulders were squared, the way her chin jutted forward. And

  the four inch stilettos she had on helped, too.

  I had to give it to her; while the congregation wore

  stunned expressions, Lady Robinson’s face was a blank slate,

  the best poker face I’d ever seen. Her glance was straight,

  focused on the front door of the church, to escape, perhaps?

  Her lips were pressed into a tight line that to me, made her

  look like she was holding back a thousand curses.

  But those were just small nuances that I saw because I

  knew her so well. To everyone else, she was a woman who

  was holding her head high even though she’d just been dealt

  a low blow.

  She was standing in a place where I, as a woman, would

  never be.

  “I have violated my vows to my wife, to this church and

  to God. I have broken my fellowship with the Lord.”

  Oh my goodness! I scooted to the edge of the pew as

  if getting an inch closer would help me to understand this

  better. What was Reverend Robinson saying? What had he

  done?

  “I will spend the rest of my life atoning for my sins.”

  What sins?

  “And with that said, I am sad to announce that I am

  stepping down.”

  Now, mumbles accompanied the gasps and for the third

  time I asked myself what was going on? I couldn’t stop asking

  8 | Gizel e Bryant

  that question because with every word Reverend Robinson

  spoke, he gave us a new revelation...and made me ask more

  questions.

  “I don’t know how long it will take me to get myself

  right again, but you, the faithful members of Pilgrim’s Rest

  Missionary Baptist Church deserve better. Thank you and

  God bless you all.”

  God bless you all?! God bless you all? Really? My mouth

  opened wide as Reverend Robinson took his wife’s hand, but

  before he could turn to exit stage right, Mr. Cowell, one of

  the oldest members of the church, pushed himself up from

  his seat and held up his hand.

  “Reverend Robinson, no disrespect,” Mr. Cowell belted

  out in a volume that belied his eighty (or was it ninety) years.

  “But you’ve led us for the last twenty-two years. I think we

  deserve more of an explanation. We need to know why you’re

  stepping down.”

  There were mumbles of agreement, though no one else

  stood up.

  Reverend Robinson shook his head, while Lady Robinson

  turned her eyes away. “The details aren’t important,” our

  Reverend told Mr. Cowell.

  “The hell they aren’t,” the lady on the left side of me,

  mumbled.

  At any other time, I may have reminded her, in a sisterly

  sort of way, that we were sitting in church. But right now, I

  was feeling her. How could Reverend Robinson drop that

  My Word | 9

  piece of news and just leave us sitting in the pews? He’d done something and as the tithing members, we deserved to know

  exactly what it was.

  Reverend
Robinson said, “The board will immediately

  begin a search for my replacement as I go into a cocoon of

  reflection.”

  Cocoon of reflection? What the hell? Now all I could

  think was...this is a MESS.

  “My wife has forgiven me,” Reverend Robinson said as

  he dabbed at the perspiration that suddenly moistened his

  brow. “Now, I need time to seek God’s forgiveness and final y, I must have the space to forgive myself.” He gave us a nod

  before he added, “Thank you for understanding.” This time,

  when he took his wife’s hand, he didn’t stop moving, even as

  the chatter grew louder, even as more questions followed him

  through the door.

  When he and Lady Robinson disappeared through the

  side doors that led to the offices in the back of the church,

  I wanted to jump up, run after him, and ask my question to

  his face.

  Ron, the Minister of Music stood up and though his face

  was stiff with shock like the rest of us, he motioned for the

  small church band to start playing. But though Pilgrim’s Rest

  was known for a rocking choir, the music wasn’t going to calm

  our spirits today.

  I shifted a bit in my seat so that I could look at Jeremy. His eyes were focused on the pulpit, as if Reverend Robinson was

  10 | Gizel e Bryant

  still there. I took my best friend’s hand, hoping that would pull him from his trance. It wasn’t that I didn’t understand what

  Jeremy had to be feeling—if anyone had to be shocked by this

  news, it was Jeremy. Reverend Robinson was his mentor, the

  man who’d encouraged him to enter the ministry; he was the

  reason Jeremy was on staff here as the youth minister.

  But most importantly, Reverend Robinson had come into

  Jeremy’s life when he was just a freshman at Dillard, a year

  before we met. That had been three and a half years ago and

  Jeremy had told me more than a few times that if it had not

  been for Reverend Robinson and his encouraging Jeremy to

  lean on God during his grief, he was sure he wouldn’t have

  made it.

  And the Robinsons felt the same way about Jeremy. I

  couldn’t count the number of times, Lady Robinson had told

  me that Jeremy was the child they’d never had.

  “So, I guess you were surprised by this, too,” I whispered,

  not sure why I was stating the obvious.

  Jeremy didn’t move, as if he was frozen in this moment.

  “Jeremy?” I shook his leg.

  He blinked a couple of times, then muttered, “Huh?”

  before he shifted his shoulders so that he faced me.

  “You were surprised, too,” I repeated, wanting to make

  sure this hadn’t been a secret he’d kept from me.

  He nodded slowly. “I...I don’t. I didn’t see this coming.”

  He was telling the truth. I knew because Jeremy’s body

  had a built-in lie detector—he’d always get this little eyebrow

  My Word | 11

  twitch when he was telling a lie, and right now, not a thing

  moved on my friend. That meant that Jeremy hadn’t a clue

  and if he didn’t know, then no one did. The Robinsons would

  have told the man they called, ‘Son’ first.

  “Do you want to go back there and talk to him and Lady

  Robinson?” I asked.

  “And say what?” he replied, over the choir’s singing.

  “My help...all of my help cometh from the Lord.”

  It was an appropriate song because right now, Pilgrim’s

  Rest needed a whole lot of help that would only come

  from the Lord. But there didn’t seem to be anyone in the

  congregation who noticed our award winning choir. Everyone

  was chatting with their pew neighbors as if they were sitting

  in their dining room spilling tea over Sunday dinner.

  “I...I gotta get out of here.” Before I could react, Jeremy

  stood and crossed over the five people to get to the aisle.

  Following him, I jumped up and did the same, excusing

  myself to the faces that were so familiar since this third row was where Jeremy and I sat for every service.

  This New Orleans church was the spiritual home for both

  of us. I was a Senior at Xavier University, a college that was about ten minutes away from Dillard. But no matter how

  lit our Saturday nights were with my sorority’s events or his

  fraternity’s parties, come Sunday morning, we were seated in

  this third row in church, standing on the Christian foundation that our parents had laid within us.

  12 | Gizel e Bryant

  I rushed behind Jeremy as he dashed toward the doors

  and for a moment, I wondered if the deacons would let us

  out. Not that anyone would have been able to stop Jeremy. He

  barged past like he was a speeding locomotive and the deacon

  had to jump out of my friend’s way.

  I was in a full sprint when I passed by the deacon and

  smiled an apology to him before I stepped from the sanctuary

  into the lobby.

  “Hey,” I shouted out as I ran behind Jeremy, catching him

  before he stepped outside. “Are you all right?”

  He shook his head. “Reverend Robinson just stepped

  down,” he said as if I hadn’t been sitting next to him. “Do

  you know what had to happen for him to decide to do this?

  After what this church means to him? He built this place,”

  Jeremy said, pointing to the stained glass ceiling, just one of the opulent features in the building.

  “I know,” I said, keeping my voice soft and soothing

  because Jeremy was so agitated. But he was right. Reverend

  Robinson had founded Pilgrim’s Rest Missionary Baptist

  Church in the eighties and over the last two decades had

  grown the membership from a couple of hundred to just

  under three thousand.

  “I just...I just...I just....”

  “Okay, Jeremy. Breathe.” I rubbed my hand over his back.

  He inhaled slowly, then exhaled the same way.

  “It’s going to be okay,” I told him.

  My Word | 13

  “How can it be?” Jeremy shook his head. “The world won’t

  be the same.”

  I thought that was a little dramatic, but I understood

  my friend’s sentiments. Jeremy and I had been friends since

  we’d met in Charlotte at MEAC. And for the last two years,

  everyone called us a couple, though we truly were just friends.

  True friends who could laugh together and cry together and

  study together. Best friends who’d visited each other’s homes

  and met each other’s families during school breaks. But our

  real bond came from our love for the Lord. We prayed and

  read the Bible together. Nothing was more intimate than that

  to me.

  It felt so good to have a guy in my life who wasn’t trying

  to get into my panties. Jeremy never crossed that line; it was like it never occurred to him. I was his sister-in-Christ and

  that was all that mattered.

  The friendship zone was perfect for me because Jeremy

  wanted to be a pastor and if there was one thing I would never be, it was a pastor’s wife.

  “Ginger, I don’t know....”

  I looked around the vestibule to make sure no one was

  within listening range when I asked, “Do you think he got
>
  involved with a man?”

  It wasn’t that I’d ever heard anything like that concerning

  Reverend Robinson, but my thoughts were that if he’d just

  been smashing a woman, it wouldn’t be all that serious...

  unfortunately. If he’d had an affair, he’d apologize to Lady

  14 | Gizel e Bryant

  Robinson, then keep it a secret and keep it moving. He

  wouldn’t have walked away from the church.

  Jeremy shrugged. “I have no idea what it is.”

  “Well,” I began, then paused as one of the doors to the

  sanctuary opened and a matriarch of the church, Mother

  Madeline Logan wobbled on her cane toward us. Mother

  Logan always left about five minutes before the service

  was over, so that meant soon the lobby would be filled with

  parishioners, all talking about what had gone down in church

  this morning.

  Mother Logan stopped, leaned her cane against the wall,

  then took Jeremy’s hands into her own.

  “You all right, Suga?” she asked, cranking her head back

  so that she could look into Jeremy’s eyes.

  Jeremy half nodded, half shook his head.

  “I know Reverend Robinson is like a father to you,” she

  said. “It’s a shame what just happened in there.”

  Jeremy nodded. “Yes, ma’am. A shame, but I’m fine,” he

  lied.

  Mother Logan reached toward his neck, though her reach

  ended somewhere around Jeremy’s chest. Still, she hugged

  him. “You stay strong. We know all things work together for

  good to them that love God.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Jeremy said.

  “And to them who are the called according to his purpose.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  My Word | 15

  After a pause, she said, “God’s purpose, Jeremy. You know

  they’re going to be looking for a new pastor.”

  I leaned back a little. The way Mother Logan said those

  words was like she wanted Jeremy to consider the position.

  What was she thinking?

  But then, my friend nodded like that had been something

  on his mind, too. Now, I wanted to know what he’d been thinking?

  Mother Logan winked at him before she grabbed her

  cane and then wobbled her way out of the church.

  I waited until she was all the way through the doors before

  I asked, “What was that about?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “She winked at you like you two share a secret.”

  With a sigh, Jeremy took my hand and we walked to his