No Weapon Formed (Boaz Brown) (10 page)

I clawed my forehead.
Why,
Jesus? Why couldn’t she just stick to the schedule and follow the plan?

“Look.” She snapped her dish
rag at me. “I done took care of plenty kids, including you and your brother.
Y’all weren’t obese. Now, if you go and get fat now, that’s on you. But so long
as you pay attention to your baby, figure out what he needs, listen to your
mother’s intuition, and listen to your
mother
”—she tilted her chin
down—“this baby will be just fine.”

Oh, how I wished Momma could
see Seth now. She’d been right. Seth was a perfectly well-adapted four year old.
My biggest battle with him wasn’t
over
eating, it was
picky
eating.

Daddy welcomed us into the
house, giving Stelson a manly hug and kissing Zoe. He boxed with Seth for a
moment. “Y’all come on in.”

We gathered around the table,
using Daddy’s Styrofoam plates and plastic utensils (Jonathan’s brilliant idea
to help keep the kitchen decent after I told him about the crazy stack of
dishes). Stelson prayed a blessing over the food, and we all dug into a meal
that Momma never would have deemed an appropriate after-church meal. I could
almost hear her fussing:
store-cooked for Sunday dinner? Blasphemy! You
ought to have more respect for the Lord’s day!

I would have given anything
to hear her quote the strict laws she had raised us to follow, even though I
wasn’t condemned by them anymore, thanks to the revelation of grace.

Stelson was unusually quiet.
His way of feeling my father out since their talk. Daddy was tiptoeing around
Stelson, too, talking mostly to the kids and me.

“Is Jonathan coming over?” I
asked.

“Said he might,” Dad
answered. “You ought to know, though. Don’t you talk to him more than me?”

“No. Not since he took that
second job at the gym. Seems like he never figured out how to sit down and
relax when he left the navy. Is that some kind of disorder?”

“Might be,” Daddy said,
chewing at the same time.

I hoped Seth wasn’t taking
notes.

“You know what they say on
those commercials,” Stelson finally added, “they do more by sunrise than most
people do all day. Oh, wait, is that the army?”

“Yeah, that’s the army,” my
father seconded.

“I wanna go to the army,”
Seth announced. This had to be his fifth career choice in a month.

“Really?” Stelson encouraged
with a smile. “Why?”

“‘Cause they get to fight!”

“Nuh-uh,” Daddy quickly let
the air out of Seth’s chest. “Whole world is against us since we elected a
nig—”

I shot Daddy a look that
stopped him mid-sentence, thankfully.

“Since we elected President
Obama. We be the first ones on the firing line. Well, we already were, but they
pushed us up even more so now.”

Stelson swallowed his food
quickly. “Don’t you think things have changed some? I mean, it’s not perfect,
but it’s not 1960 anymore, either.”

Lord Jesus, why did he
have to go there?
I knew
my husband. He had every intention of enlightening my father. But I also knew
my daddy. He was like a tree planted by the water; he would
not
be moved
in his opinions. Those two never needed to discuss religion or politics with
each other. Ever.

My father closed his eyes and
spoke with as much passion as people usually reserve for when they’ve closed
their eyes to sing. “Just because it’s a new century, just because we’ve had a
black president, and just ‘cause we got Oprah don’t mean the world ain’t full
of Paula Deens.”

The debate commenced over
food. Thankfully, Stelson and Daddy were both so hungry that consuming the
chicken tied them to a reasonable volume.

Seth pulled my sleeve and
cupped his mouth. I leaned down to hear his secret.

“Momma, I thought President
Obama was brown.”

“He is, honey,” I whispered
behind a palm.

“Then how come PawPaw keeps
saying he’s black?”

“Some people say brown is
black when we’re talking about people’s skin.” I knew that was confusing.

“Are there people who really
are
black?”

“Yes. There are. Beautiful
people. And some of them were your great-great-great grandparents from a long
time ago.”

“Oh. Do you think I will look
like them? Like PawPaw said?”

“Listen to me. You just be
Seth
.
Don’t worry about your color. Go ahead and finish up your green beans.”

Stelson and my father’s
discourse ran another circle. Next thing I knew, my son let out a wail that
could have called the cows in.

“Waaaaaah! Waaaaah!” he
screamed, wiping real live tears from his eyes.

All conversation ceased as I
searched his mouth to see if something had cut him or if he was hurt.

Stelson flew to Seth’s side
of the table and knelt. “Son, what’s wrong?”

“I don’t
wanna
be
black!” he exploded.

Daddy jumped right on it.
“See! Now that there is a shame!”

I gave Daddy the hand.
“Shhh.”

“I don’t wanna be black!”
Seth repeated.

“I’m not gonna shush when it
comes to my grandson,” Daddy raised up from his seat. He leaned over Stelson,
as though he might need to intervene somehow.

“What’s the deal with being
black?” Stelson gently probed.

“‘Cause my last name is
Brown. If I’m black, then people can’t see me,” Seth tried to make us
understand. “Like when you use the black con-struct-no paper in class, nobody
can see when you write on it.”

Stelson smothered his
chuckle. “No, son. Being black isn’t like being a piece of black paper. It’s
totally different. Everyone can see black people.”

“Depends on who you ask,”
Daddy mumbled under his breath.

Stelson redirected Seth’s anxiety.
“Here. Wipe off your face and let’s go outside for a minute.”

My husband and son walked
outside to the swing set that was working on its second generation in my
parents’ back yard.

Daddy and I stayed behind
with Zoe as I cleared the table.

“Now, Shondra, I know you
think your husband’s doing the best he can with Seth. And maybe he is. But he’s
going about this thing the wrong way.”

I stuffed the empty plates
into the trashcan. “Well, how do you think Stelson should have handled it,
Daddy?”

“He should have told him that
black was beautiful. Not no ‘what’s the deal?’” he mimicked my husband. “Even
if Seth don’t never turn brown, he can’t walk around with a hatred for his own
people. What you want him to do—grow up and marry a white woman?”

Daddy’s words stung my heart.
Startled me, really. “Is that what you still think of me? That I grew up to
marry a white man?”

He pinched the fullest part
of his nose. “Naw, Shondra. I didn’t mean it like
that
.”

I blinked back tears to keep
from turning this into a fiasco.

“I’m just saying—I
don’t want our bloodline to turn
completely
white.”

“That’s enough. We’re gonna
go now.”

I heaved Zoe up from the high
chair.

“Wait a minute, Shondra,”
Daddy tried to talk me down from the emotional cliff.

“You know what, Daddy, you
have a right to feel what you feel and believe whatever you wish. But I will
not sit here and let you insult my husband, me, and my family.”

“It wasn’t an insult. I’m
only trying to give you advice. What are grandparents for? I know I’m not your
Momma, and I don’t have all that churchy stuff to tell you, but I got some
years behind me. Been through some things. You gotta give me credit for knowing
something about how to survive in America.”

More than anything, I wanted
to process my father’s words through logic over my feelings. The most hurtful
part was the genuine nature of his comments. These words had come straight from
the abundance of his heart.

“Good-bye, Daddy. I know you
mean well. You really do. And I love you.” I smacked his cheek with my lips.
“But really,
really
, I need you to trust this to me and Stelson, just
like we discussed the last time. All right?”

My father agreed, though I
knew he wasn’t convinced we were doing the right thing.

And Daddy wasn’t the only one
with doubts.

The second honeymoon was
over. Stelson had a busy work week ahead of him, full of meetings and
presentations. He told me not to expect him home before seven any night.

Honestly, I didn’t mind. I
was looking forward to the extra hours. I figured they would give me plenty of
time to make sure the kids were taken care of, dinner was prepared, the house
was tidy, and also to make myself especially presentable before Stelson walked
through the door—like all those “be a good wife” articles suggest women
do.

Didn’t quite work out that
way.

I promise, I got up and took
Zoe and Seth to school at 8:00 a.m. Then I worked out. I went to the grocery
store, stopped to eat a bite, and finally handled some business at the post
office. I might have watched an episode of Judge Mathis while checking a few
emails. And then, lo and behold, it was 2:20 in the afternoon. Only forty
minutes left before I had to go pick up Seth from school, since he was no
longer enrolled in after-school care. If the morning drop-off bottleneck was
any indication of the logjam I could expect at 3:00 p.m., I really needed to be
there no later than a quarter ’til.

How can it be time for him
to come home already?

Nonetheless, I savored the
last few moments of silence, seasoning the red potatoes I’d put in the oven
once I returned with Seth.

Wait. Only Seth?

If I picked him up at three,
that would put me back home at 3:30 after fighting the school zone traffic; I’d
have to go right back out for Zoe. Hardly worth another pilgrimage.

I gotta do better
tomorrow.

The potatoes would have to
wait until I returned home with both of my kids. Meanwhile, I folded a basket
of clothes in five minutes flat so I could get a head start on the other
stay-at-home moms by leaving my home at 2:30 p.m.

. Imagine my surprise to find
myself still three cars away from the turn-in curb.

Do these other moms ever
leave the school?

In exasperation, I called
Peaches. “Girl, this is some foolishness. I’m here to pick up my baby from
school, twenty minutes early, and we’re already bumper-to-bumper.”

“Hey, people do it every
day.”

“People without lives!”

“What’s your real problem?”
Peaches went straight in.

I made use of the headrest.
“I didn’t get anything done today.”

“What did you do?”

The short list of
accomplishments took every bit of ten seconds to relay.

“Okay,” she said. “What’s
wrong with that?”

“I feel like I didn’t do
anything
important
today.”

“Important like what?”

“Important like…I don’t
know…save the world.”

“How is making sure your
household runs smoothly
not
important?”

Since I wasn’t moving
anywhere any time soon, I put the car in park and poured my heart out to my
best friend who
had
to be somewhere under all that B. Smith. “Peaches,
this is ridiculous. Our parents did not pinch pennies and work extra hours to
put us through college so we could grow up to be housewives. I mean, not unless
we get a reality television show or something.”

Her voice dipped low. “Now,
you know you ain’t gotta be a real housewife to be on a housewife show. You
might stand a better chance as a live-in girlfriend these days.”

“Right,” I chimed in. “But
I’m saying. I feel like I’m not using my
brain
. My
skills
. My
education
.
This is boring and pointless and it’s sucking the life out of me.”

“You haven’t even been home a
whole week yet!” Peaches yelled.

“I know! Can you imagine what
I’ll be like in a month?” I whined.

“You want me to go call the
wam-
bulance?
Please, do you know how many women would love to be in your shoes right now?”

“I don’t care about those
other women. This is
me
.
My
life!”

“Okay,” she sighed. “I’m not
going to tell you how to live your life. But let me ask you this—have you
prayed about this whole situation?”

“No.”

“Start there,” Peaches
ordered. “Just get up tomorrow before everyone else, like you used to when you
were working, and pray. Get your mind right. Ask God to show you what to do in
the next 24 hours, and see what happens. Got it?”

“Mmm hmmm.” When did
she
become the big sister?

“I gotta go. Silent reading
time is almost over,” she said.

“What’s that?”

“It’s when the kids have to
do something silent after playtime. It helps them get calm before homework,”
she spelled out.

“You can
play
before
homework?”

“You can do whatever works
for your household,” she said. “Get some kind of schedule going—you know,
so much time for this, so much time for that after school. And then for the
house, decide what you’re gonna do on certain days. Rotate mopping, dusting, a
little bit every day. And plan a week-long menu. Girl, you’ll have the Browns
runnin’ like a well-oiled machine. And then if you go back to work, it’ll be
easier to plug your assistants back into the equation.”

The school bell rang and the
first children, whose teachers must have had their noses pressed against the
glass, zipped out of the doors. The children’s backpacks bounced heartily as
they found their rides waiting in the circular drive-up.

Once Seth came bounding out
of the building, the rest of the evening flashed before my eyes.

Stelson texted me once to say
he’d be even later than he thought, but I didn’t care. I got Zoe and Seth in
bed as soon as possible, and I was right behind them. When I worked, there was
only a two-hour span between the time I scooped them up from daycare until I
turned out the lights. Now, with
five
hours…

Lord, You changed my mind
and caused me to make this decision. Now I need you to change my heart to
match.

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

My alarm clock showed six
o’clock. Not too much later than the time I used to rise when I actually had a
job.

But this is a job
, I reminded myself. Actually, the
thought was so contrary to my feelings, the words probably hadn’t come from me.
They were from my heavenly Father, the very reason I’d chosen to set the buzzer
in the first place.

The aroma of Stelson’s coffee
was still fresh in the kitchen, though I’d heard him leave about ten minutes
earlier. My husband was serious about getting in his exercise at least three
times a week. After his gym workout, he’d shower and go straight to the office
if his schedule allowed for khakis and a rugby shirt.

Hopefully, in weeks to come,
we’d be able to see each other before he left for work.

But that particular morning,
I was glad for the silence. Glad to return to a routine that had completely
escaped me since Seth came into the picture four years earlier. Were it not for
Stelson praying for our family and calling me into prayer with him sometimes, I
would have been a guest in the upper room.

Quietly, I moved through the
kitchen and made myself a quick cup of tea. That Zoe had super-sensitive ears,
and I had come to believe that she could decipher my footsteps from her
father’s because she never woke up when he was walking through the house. Only
me.

And then came the biggest
wake-up call of all: I had no idea where my personal Bible case was. I’d
carried my smaller, travel Bible to church Sunday, but the sacred one I’d owned
since the previous century, with all the highlighting, my personal notes, along
with my journal, was nowhere in plain sight.

That’s just sad.

After searching through my
nightstand, under my bed, and in Stelson’s office, I decided that it must have
been in my car’s trunk. Going out to the garage was not gonna happen if I
wanted the morning’s peace to remain intact for another hour, so I grabbed Stelson’s
Bible from his desk along with a blank yellow notepad from one of his drawers.

I tiptoed to the guest
bedroom, slowly closing and releasing the door behind me. I felt like
screaming, “I made it!” but instead, tears overtook me as I fell to my knees at
the foot of the full-sized bed.

This was the barest room in
the house, consisting of only my old queen-sized bed and dresser. The closet
was filled with clothes I hoped to wear again, at least in my dreams.

A reflection of myself in the
closet mirror nearly startled me. There, with my head wrapped in a scarf,
wearing an outdated robe, was a vision of my mother in me. I remember when I
used to walk into her room to request money or ask her if she knew where
something was, and I’d find her in this same position. On the floor praying.
Rocking back and forth. With tears in her eyes.

Just like me.

Sometimes, I would slip back
out of the room. Other times, she would look up and ask me if I wanted to join
her. The older I got, the more I said yes, if only for a few minutes.

And now there I was, a grown
woman doing what my mother had modeled for me all those years ago.

“Thank you, God, for her
example.”

I just knelt there and cried.
Cried and cried and cried. Partly because I missed Momma—and anyone who
has lost a mother will agree that it is possible to cry almost endlessly.

But I also released tears of
joy because I’d missed
Him
and, finally, we were reunited. Just the two
of us. And I sensed that He’d missed me, too.

Perhaps the reunion with
Momma would feel the same.

Once I finished slobbing all
over the bed’s comforter, I propped myself up on the pillows and began writing
on the makeshift journal. If memory served correctly, I hadn’t written anything
in my journal for months. And even then, my entries were short, sweet, and
guilty:
God, I’m sorry I haven’t talked to you much. I’m hoping this is only
a season. -Shondra
.

With nearly a full hour to do
whatever came spiritually, I popped in a praise CD and wrote to my heart’s
content, telling God how I had quit my job, telling Him about how Stelson and
Daddy didn’t see eye-to-eye about Seth, asking Him why Peaches seemed so
foreign to me now. She was still my girl and all, but the more I wrote, the
more I discovered resentment toward her, which surprised me.

I went on to discover
resentment toward a lot of things: Stelson steering me to be more domestic,
society saying I needed to lose twenty pounds, my dad acting like I owed him a
dark child.

God, what is all this in
my heart?
Felt as though
I was undergoing a divine intervention.

Daddy led me to the topic
index in Stelson’s NIV Bible, where I searched for the words “bitterness” and
“resentment” and found references to plenty of scriptures that sanded down my
recently-formed heart callouses. The third citation led me to James 3:13-18.

Who is
wise and understanding among you? Let them show it by their good life, by deeds
done in the humility that comes from wisdom. But if you harbor bitter envy and
selfish ambition in your hearts, do not boast about it or deny the truth. Such
“wisdom” does not come down from heaven but is earthly, unspiritual, demonic.
For where you have envy and selfish ambition, there you find disorder and every
evil practice. But the wisdom that comes from heaven is first of all pure; then
peace-loving, considerate, submissive, full of mercy and good fruit, impartial
and sincere. Peacemakers who sow in peace reap a harvest of righteousness.

I closed my eyes, rested my
head on a pillow and let the truth of His words burrow deep into my soul. And
then a verse I’d memorized in Sunday school, circa 1980, flashed on my mind’s
screen: If any of you lack wisdom, let him ask of God. I couldn’t remember the
scripture reference, but I knew it was in there. The Lord Himself must have
written those words on my heart because they popped up like they’d been waiting
for such a time as this.

With the simplicity of a
child, I prayed aloud, “God, I don’t want the world’s wisdom. I want
Your
wisdom. Please give it to me.”

I received it in faith.

Verse after verse confirmed
His desire to pick up right where we’d left off.
For real, God?

Proverbs 1 said: YES.

No probationary period. Just
a willing heart and a desire to meet Him every day.

And an alarm clock to get me
up in plenty of time to meet with the Lover of my soul.
Thank You, Jesus.

That morning, I thought God
was reviving our spiritual intimacy because I had been working too much,
because I was tired all the time, or maybe even because He was tired of seeing
those unfolded clothes on the couch.

But, really, there was much
more at stake than I could have imagined.