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Authors: Dijorn Moss

BOOK: Men After God's Own Heart
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Chapter Five
Jamal
For Jamal, marriage did not come down to man and woman or same sex; marriage involved three components, and the third was God. If God remained at the center of a marriage, then Jamal believed that a couple could weather any storm. Jamal had attended weddings that were literally out of a fairy-tale book. He had attended weddings that were romantic, where the couples were showered with gifts and appliances and enough money to put down on a new home. Jamal had also witnessed those marriages dissolve within a few short years. No one went the distance anymore. His assessment was that couples bowed out before they gave the marriage a chance to flourish. Jamal doubted many people remembered their vows in the tough times. He wondered if he and Chantel would remember their vows.
Jamal and Chantel shared a child together, Jamir, who was three going on thirty. Up until last year, Jamal had thought that Jamir was his biological son. It crushed Jamal to find out that Jamir's true father was Clay, Jamal's late best friend and Chantel's former boyfriend. There was a love that existed between Jamal and Chantel that neither could deny. He loved her, and he loved Jamir and wanted nothing more than to be a family.
Everything had gone well in Jamal and Chantel's relationship until they decided to take Pastor Dawkins's advice and enroll in Pastor Brown's premarital counseling course. What had seemed like a good idea at first turned into a nightmare of biblical proportions.
“All I know is that I don't want some skank texting you,” Chantel spewed without eye contact.
This session was supposed to deal with communication, but it was not long before Jamal realized that he and Chantel's communication had disconnected a long time ago.
“We're just friends. I've been knowing Kiesha since grade school,” Jamal replied.
“I don't care if you used to play in the sandbox together. I'm going to be your wife, and you should not be texting another woman. It's rude, and it's disrespectful,” Chantel yelled in Jamal's ear before she rotated her neck like a snake and sat back in the chair, with folded arms.
The pictures of married couples hung on the walls of Pastor Brown's office like platinum records at record companies. The couples in the pictures served as a testament of Pastor Brown's success. He took great pride in his ability to help couples on the road to marriage to see the many obstacles that stood in their path. Pastor Brown was appointed to the position of premarital counselor by Pastor Dawkins, who at the time felt his unmarried status would hinder more than it would help couples. Pastor Brown understood that so much of marriage was rooted in practicality, and couples like Jamal and Chantel needed both a spiritual and a practical understanding of marriage.
“Let me ask you something.” Jamal looked squarely into Pastor Brown's eyes. “Does your wife give her male coworkers rides to work?”
Jamal then looked at Chantel, who sat in silence, with her eyes seemingly fixated on the plethora of plaques on Pastor Brown's wall. “Oh, you ain't got nothing to say, huh?” he noted.
Jamal asked Pastor Brown another question. “Does your wife call her”—Jamal did the quotation marks gesture with his hands—“guy friends baby? Sweetie? And does she—”
“Okay, Jamal, okay! You proved your point. You always got to do extras.” Chantel unfolded her arms and threw them up in a tizzy.
“That's because you're always taking me there,” Jamal snapped back.
“You know what? Forget this! I ain't marrying your punk-butt. We can cancel this whole thing! I mean, we've already postponed it.” Chantel folded her arms again.
“You crazy in your head. My grandparents bought plane tickets from Philly that are nonrefundable. We done paid to have stuffed shells at the reception. We're getting married.” Jamal held up one finger. “The only reason why we postponed it was, one, you lost your job, and two, I felt that it was important that we have premarital counseling before we got married. Neither one of us has had great examples of marriage in our lives.”
Pastor Brown finally spoke. “You guys have to remember that in marriage there is compromise. To be honest, both of you need to cut down on your single friends when you get married. You guys need to hang out with like-minded couples.”
“You hear that, Jamal?” Chantel added.
Jamal bit his bottom lip and resisted the urge to be rude and scornful. In a previous lesson Pastor Brown had warned against saying things out of anger.
“This is one of the most important sessions we'll have.” Pastor Brown paused to clear his throat before he continued. “Look at it from this perspective. If you were in a war, what would be the most critical tool used to destroy your enemy?”
“Communication,” Chantel said.
“Exactly, because if you can't communicate with your partner, then you can't see where the enemy is coming from and you can't plan for a successful defense. No matter what, you can't break down your lines of communication.”
“But, Pastor Brown, I don't think it comes down to communication. This whole thing”—Jamal did a circular motion with his finger—“it comes down to trust.”
“I trust you. I just don't trust another woman,” Chantel said.
“Then that means you don't trust me, because no matter how fine a woman is, she can't make me cheat on you. I got control of my own actions.”
“Ain't nobody saying that you don't have control, but still. Women are trifling, and I know because I used to be one of those girls who didn't care about anything or anyone.”
Jamal remembered that season in Chantel's life. It was right after Clay's death. Both Chantel and Jamal took Clay's death hard. With his death, Chantel lost her high school sweetheart and the father of her child. Jamal lost his best friend. Both felt their forbidden love for each other was the root cause of his death. But where Jamal found faith, Chantel found depression, which led to a reckless lifestyle.
“See, this is why I didn't want to do this whole premarital counseling thing,” Chantel added, then picked up her purse and fumbled with it. Jamal assumed that she was in search of a tissue.
“Here we go.” Jamal leaned back in his chair.
“You right about ‘here we go,' because it seems like all we do here is criticize who I am and talk about how I need to change.” Chantel caught a tear that had snuck down the side of her cheek.
“No, we don't! We talk about my stuff too,” Jamal replied.
“Hold on, Jamal. Let her finish,” Pastor Brown interjected. “Go ahead, Chantel.”
“I was raised not to expect a man to do anything for me. Now it seems like in order for me to be a good Christian woman, I have to bow down and become a servant.”
Jamal didn't just bite his lip; he put his whole hand over his mouth. He had lost count of how many spirited arguments he and Chantel had had over the issue of submission.
Chantel went on. “Whatever! You can say what you want. But it says right there in the Bible, ‘Wives, submit to your husbands.' The marriage vows include the word
obey.
That's degrading for a woman to have to say that. Slaves submit, and dogs obey. I ain't doing that, and I definitely ain't saying
obey
at our wedding, either.”
“Let's consult the scriptures.” Pastor Brown picked up the Bible that was in front of him and started to turn the pages. “Ephesians, chapter five.”
Jamal picked up his Bible from his lap and turned to the familiar passage.
“I'll read verse twenty-one, and you guys will take turns reading the rest of the chapter,” Pastor Brown said.
Jamal shared his Bible with Chantel. Even though it irked him that Chantel frequently forgot her Bible, Jamal remained silent on the matter.
“Honor Christ by submitting to each other,” Pastor Brown said.
Chantel read the next three verses, and then Jamal came in and finished out the chapter. The scriptures took on a new light for Jamal, and he hoped that they would have the same effect on Chantel. When Jamal finished reading, he and Pastor Brown sat their Bibles down on Pastor Brown's desk.
 
 
“You see, Chantel, the Bible does ask for a wife to submit to her husband, but it also asks for a husband to love his wife as Christ loved the church,” said Pastor Brown. “God does not want you to submit to a man who does not honor Christ. God wants you to submit to a man that has already laid down his life for you, just as Christ did the church.”
Chantel had a hard exterior, but Jamal believed that Pastor Brown's words found a place in her heart.
“Getting back to today's session, it's important that you communicate with one another, just like you are doing now. Communication doesn't always mean that what you say to each other is pleasant, but it does mean that you're at least talking out your feelings and frustrations. One of the biggest problems I have observed with marriage is that most couples have forgotten how to talk to each other,” Pastor Brown told them.
Whenever Jamal heard the word
communication
coupled with the word
marriage,
he always thought about his mother and father. His father had interpreted the phrase “forsake all others” loosely, and his mother had allowed his father to send her to an early grave.
“I think this is a good session,” Pastor Brown said.
“Seriously?” Chantel asked.
“Trust me, the couple I worry about is the one that has problems and never gives voice to them. You guys should be fine so long as you continue to communicate.” Pastor Brown stood up and extended his hand to Jamal. “Well, we'll talk more at our next session.”
“Thank you, Pastor Brown.” Jamal shook his hand, in amazement at the wisdom and practicality Pastor Brown possessed. Pastor Brown had about the same build as Jamal, but he was a little older and wore some thick bifocals. Yet Jamal revered him.
“Thank you.” Chantel extended her hand and retrieved it before Pastor Brown had gotten a firm grasp of it.
She stormed out Pastor Brown's office, as if she was trying to make it to the bank before it closed. She pushed through the double doors and made her way under the archway and down the front steps of the cathedral.
“You forgot that we took my car?” Jamal called as he jogged down the steps after Chantel.
“I haven't forgotten anything. I remember being independent and having my own place and my own income. Now it seems like I'm going backwards.” Chantel did not break her stride in her rant.
“Hold up.” Jamal finally caught up to Chantel and took her by the arm. “Where's this coming from?”
“This is exactly why I have problems with church. You expect me to give up my independence and become submissive and less than your equal.”
“Have I ever asked that from you?”
“No, but you're real clever. I wanted a September wedding, my dream wedding, and you said no, that you wanted to do premarital counseling. Now I see why you got me in premarital counseling. So you can indoctrinate me and have me at home, cooking, cleaning, and baking cookies.”
“Heck, naw. You can't bake cookies nohow,” Jamal said as he let out a giggle.
Chantel punched Jamal in the arm. “I'm not playing with you. I don't want to become some subservient woman with no say-so. This ain't the fifties.”
“I'm marrying you for who you are. I'm not asking you to be nothing other than yourself. I just want to do the right thing.”
“Oh really? Is that why we're living together? Because last time I checked, the church frowned upon that,” Chantel said.
“You know I only did that to help you out after you lost your job.”
“I also know that those late-night creeps into my room are not for nothing.”
Chantel's words punctured Jamal's spirit, and self-righteousness was left in its wake. As much as Jamal tried to rationalize why he had decided to let Chantel move in with him,there was no escaping the fact that the decision was not one that God would be proud of. Jamal wondered how he and Chantel would build a marriage if were not living right and they couldn't communicate.
Chapter Six
Will
One Week until the Men's Retreat . . .
 
 
“Don't come back over here, cuz.” A firm threat from a member of Will's former gang.
Will considered the severity of the threat as the Oster two-speed clippers cruised at a low altitude and trimmed off the corkscrews of hair that gathered on the crown of his client's head. The Oster was followed by a hairbrush to smooth out the surface. As the hair descended to the floor, Will put down the brush, and with his free hand, he grabbed a mini-brush to dust off the excess hair from his client's shoulders. The line at the barber college steadily grew. Will focused on the client in the chair and continued to prune the hair in an effort to create an even low-cut hairstyle.
Will's mind was divided into three compartments: his client's haircut, the risk Will took to see his family, and what God expected from him. Not that long ago Will could remember a time when he didn't fear death, because there was nothing worth living for. Will still had little concern about death, but every day hope grew inside of him. He wondered if his life would be struck down before he even got a chance to enjoy the freedom and peace he had found in Christ.
Will thought about the number fifteen hundred. Fifteen hundred represented the amount of hours Will needed to complete in order to become a licensed barber. Every customer brought him closer to full-time work as a barber. He appreciated Quincy, who bankrolled his tuition and living situation.
For the first time in his life, someone believed in Will and demonstrated it through actions. The idea of being independent of the hustle game and independent from the family business motivated Will to both study hard and work hard.
Will attributed his barber skills to his meticulous nature and his desire to work in the spirit of excellence. He stayed focused on the ebb and flow of patrons who came into the shop for a cheap haircut. Most of the chatter that went on in the barbershop was fruitless. Will had no interest in the social side of the barber profession.
Will was finishing up the haircut when Joshua walked in the door with a backpack on his shoulders and a skateboard under his arm. Russell, the director of the barber school, was empathic about Will's situation and allowed Joshua to come to the shop from school every day while Will worked.
“What up, man?” Will gave his brother a handshake that ended with the snap of their fingers. “Go ahead and go back there and get started.” Will pointed to the break room in the shop. Joshua followed his older brother's orders without hesitation.
“Thanks, man, and good luck with getting your license,” Will's customer said as he got up and examined his haircut in the mirror Will had positioned behind him.
“Thank you. I appreciate that.” Will shook the man's hand, and then he shook out the excess hair on the barber's cape before he made his way to the back of the shop. Will discovered that Joshua had already taken a seat at the empty table in the back of the room.
Joshua opened his backpack and removed his math textbook. With his foot on the skateboard, he began to complete his problems. Adjacent to Joshua was the shop's refrigerator. Will opened the refrigerator door and took out a turkey on wheat sandwich and a bottle of vitamin water.
“Here. Eat up.” Will handed Joshua the sandwich and water and took a seat at the table.
Joshua wasted no time; he unwrapped the sandwich and took a monstrous bite. Will smiled as he observed his brother with contentment. It felt good to be able to provide his brother with some semblance of stability.
“How's everything at home?” Will asked.
“Mom and Dad are fighting again,” Joshua said in between bites.
That was not an earth-shattering revelation. The eye of the storm dwelled on Atlantic Avenue, to the point where whenever Will's parents acted normal, he would think that they had been invaded by an alien life form.
“How's my baby sis?” Will asked.
“She cries every time they argue, and her screams could break glass.”
Will loved his baby sister, Elisha. She favored his mother. While Will had known only the addict version of his mother, his baby sister looked like an innocent version of Carroll. Elisha enabled Will to consider what his mother's life was like before she turned to drugs. Elisha also reminded Will of how shallow his relationship was with his mother. He had never asked Carroll about her dreams or aspirations.
As much as Will loved his sister, he doubted that he could raise a baby girl on his own. It was not hard for him to be with Joshua. Will just did the opposite of whatever he had seen his father do. Girls were more complex to Will, and in truth he had not met a girl he could be in a serious relationship with, let alone raise.
“I'm hoping that Dad will let you come live with me,” Will told his brother.
Joshua put his head down, as if the world he lived in was without hope.
“I wish you were there, bro. We could be a family again,” Joshua said.
“Listen, Josh, I know your intentions are good, but that's a fantasy. Too much has happened, and I've seen too much to believe that things can change.”
“I thought you were supposed to believe anything is possible?” Josh asked.
“I believe in wisdom, and the Bible talks about being wise, and when you have people who can't own up to their own mistakes, then there is no hope.”
“You don't give up on your family,” Joshua replied.
“We ain't never been a family, Josh. I don't know what we are, but it sure ain't no family.” Will put his head down to fight back his anger.
“Dad's home now,” Joshua replied.
“We'll see for how long.”
“I think it's for good, and you know our father. He won't say it, but he misses you, and maybe we can work things out if we all lived together.”
“Look, Josh, I know you want us to be a family, but you got to understand something. I'm trying to turn my life around, and I can't do that if I'm living at home. I can't. I'm sorry.” Will tried to hold back his irritation.
“All you care about is yourself. You got a place some rich dude is paying for, and you can care less.” Joshua started to rock back and forth, with his fist clenched. Will knew his brother was holding back both his tears and his fists.
The words had come out of Joshua's mouth, and it was Joshua's voice that had said them, but those were someone else's thoughts and feelings. Joshua was all twisted inside, and Will did not know how to help.
“Most of my friends wish they had their father in their lives, even if he had been in and out of prison like our dad. Don't the Bible teach forgiveness? When are you going to forgive our father?”
That was a good question, one that Will did not have the answer to. He harbored a lot of hatred toward his father, and the more he thought about it, the more he realized he even harbored hatred toward his mother too.
“Just because our father is somewhat in our lives doesn't mean that's a good thing. What example has he set for us? Is there anything that he has taught us that doesn't involve getting over on people?”
“He taught us how to survive, and you know we wouldn't have if he didn't.”
“See, that's the thing. That's not enough for me. I don't just want to survive. I want to thrive, and the life our father offers is no real life at all.”
Will felt like he was talking to a younger version of himself. He leaned back in his chair and watched Joshua eat.
“You know that D-Loc got shot,” Joshua said.
“I heard, but what's that got to do with you?”
“Nothing. I'm just saying. He was a friend of the family and he—”
“He was never a friend of the family. He was a parasite, and you can't expect to have a happy ending when all you've done is brought destruction.”
“He looked out for us, though.”
“He used us, and you can't tell me that life is better with him around than without him.” Will bent down to adjust his shoes for comfort. He saw a blue shoestring hanging out of Joshua's backpack. Will looked at Joshua's pure white shoes. “What's this?”
Will removed the shoestring from Joshua's backpack. He did not wait for Joshua to respond. He beat Joshua to the punch and snatched the backpack from his younger brother before Joshua even had a chance. When Will opened the backpack, he found a royal blue T-shirt and a royal blue bandanna. He laid the items on the table before he removed a green folder with the word
Untouchables
written across it.
Will swung at his brother with the intent to smack him on the back of the head. It was only in a split second of self-control that Will grabbed Joshua by his head instead and pulled him close, within inches of his nose. “Have you lost your mind?”
Joshua responded to Will's question only with deep breaths. Joshua could not shake free from Will's grip.
“Are you trying to throw your life away?”
“Man, get off me! Let my shirt go.” Joshua tried to fight his way out of Will's grip.
Will released his grip to avoid drawing the attention of the people in the shop. Joshua adjusted his shirt. “You don't realize what you've done. You've just handed your life over to the devil.”
“What am I supposed to do? You know I can't just live there and not be down.”
“So you want to be down? Is that what you're telling me?”
“I ain't had no choice, bro. I had to. Everybody on the set says that you betrayed your family when you went into the church.”
“I couldn't care less what they say. They didn't make me, and they don't control my destiny, either. Don't make the same mistakes I made. You're better than that. You have a choice. You just can't see that.”
Will started to become physically ill from what he'd heard. His brother talked about the set as if he had been in it for years and as if the Untouchables were really a family. His concept of family was so distorted.
“Don't you want more out of your life?” Will asked.
“Wanting and having are two different things. I just don't want to be afraid. I want to walk the streets and get respect. I can't get that being some poor boy in the hood.”
“The devil is the master of deception. He had me thinking that stealing was the only way that I would have anything of value. He had me thinking that being in a gang was the only way I would ever be anything of value. It was a lie, Josh. It's all a lie. I'm more of a man now than I've ever been because of Christ.”
Joshua did not say a word. He just put his head down.
“What are you going to do if they ask you to kill someone? Can you live with yourself?”
Joshua did not reply. He just kept his head down.
“D-Loc was one of the most feared men on the streets, and he's dead before he reached thirty. Thirty, Josh.” Will put his hand on Joshua's shoulder and eased him up so that he could look at his brother eye to eye. “You want to live to see thirty?”
Joshua shrugged his shoulders. “Not if it's going to be the same old stuff. I just want to be like you.”
“What's wrong with being like me now?”
“Man, it's not realistic. I ain't going to meet some rich guy to bless me with a new situation.”
“You don't know what God has in store for you. Does Dad know about you being in a gang?”
“Yeah.”
“And what does he say?”
“He doesn't agree with it, but he says I got to do what I got to do.”
Will leaned back in his chair and shook his head in disbelief. A line had formed at the barber college again. Will had to go back to work. “We ain't finished with this. Josh, you got a chance to do something with your life. And if it takes my last breath, then I'm going to make sure that you do.”
The sound of an aggressive horn broke up Will's cathartic moment with his brother. He looked outside and spotted his father in a new Cadillac coupe. There was only one way he could explain having it. Joshua ran out of the barbershop like a kid who had heard the bell sound on the last day of school. With purposeful strides, Will followed right behind, shaking his head. His father let down the window to put out the ashes of his Dutch and then took another puff with a smile, as if he had just gotten away with murder.
The image reminded Will of all those years that he had stolen cars and had never got caught, while his father had always seemed to get caught. It was because Will was smarter. His father knew more about cars than most manuals. It was because Will always had a goal, and he never deviated from that goal. His goal was to steal a car and get it off the streets as soon as humanly possible, get paid, and disappear. His father, on the other hand, wanted to live a lifestyle that he had never had and would never have.

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