“Come on, ma,” Rashawn groaned, swiveling his head from side to side to see if anybody else was within earshot. Confirming that we were alone in the back of the parking lot, Rashawn leaned in and explained like Ms. Sasha was a kindergartener. “It’s weed, ma. Weed. You gon’ have ya church friends thinking I’m a joog for real. I only smoke weed, ma. I don’t do dope. Come on, ma, say it with me. Weeeeeeeeeeeed,” he sang, motioning his fingers like a choir director, instructing a section to drag the word just like he did.
“Get out my face on this good Sunday morning, Rashawn,” she brushed past him. I stifled my laughter while we fell in line, trailing behind her towards the church entrance.
“At least you’ll be a handsome joog,” I emitted a low chuckle.
“Oh, you would think that shi…”
Rashawn almost cursed, but Ms. Sasha whipped her head around, shooting him an evil glare. “My bad, ma. I meant you would think that’s funny, Elise.” He sputtered, turning to face me. “Have you ever partaken indopebefore, Elise?”
My smile fell and I frowned my face up. Rashawn knew I wasn’t a liar and I did smoke with him every once in a blue moon since college. Usually after a rough visit with my parents. Which, prior to Halloween night, hadn’t happened in at least the last two years.
“Eliiiiiiise,” Ms. Sasha gasped, placing her right hand over her heart. She closed her eyes and raised her left hand high before swatting Rashawn’s shoulder with it.
“Come on, ma! Why you beating me in the church parking lot?”
“If Elise was smoking that dope it was your influence. I can tell by the way you said it,” she chastised him.
“Weed ma, it’s just weed.”
“I was influenced,” I interjected, raising my pointer finger.
“Mannnnnn… you begged for the blunt,” Rashawn called me out.
Ms. Sasha shook her head, lips pursed with disappointment. Her disappointment wasn’t judgy like my parents, though; it was slightly amused, almost like she wanted to laugh, honestly. She spun back around to continue our walk into the church.
“I told yo ass about running off without telling me you leaving. I hate that shit,” Rashawn leaned down to whisper in my ear.
“Rashawn, no cursing on church grounds,” I quipped loud enough for Ms. Sasha to hear.
“Act right, boy. We are about to enter the house of the Lord. Do not bring your narrow behind in here showing out,” shetossed over her shoulder before ascending the six steps that led into the church.
I grinned up at Rashawn while he mugged me. Satisfied, I picked up the pace to catch up with Ms. Sasha.
“Good morning, Sista Williams and family,” one of the ushers greeted Ms. Sasha before motioning towards the last empty pew.
“Good morning,” we sang in unison while entering the church.
Ms. Sasha slid to the end of the pew, and I sat in the middle of the two. Thankfully, the choir was still going, so we weren’t late just yet. We remained standing, enjoying the gospel while the sun filtered in through the stained-glass windows. I always felt loved and welcomed when I entered Ms. Sasha’s church, a complete juxtaposition of the feeling I experienced once I crossed the threshold of my father’s church. My hands clapped along to the beat of the pianist, drummer, and the choir performing their own rendition of Kirk Franklin’sI Smile. The resonance of the drums and the joyful lyrics instantly lifted my spirits, and I joined in singing the lyrics.
When the song ended and the choir eased into silence, Pastor Harriet approached the pulpit. Ms. Sasha’s church had a husband and wife pastor team, and I enjoyed hearing both of them preach the word, but especially Pastor Harriet. Throughout my entire childhood I watched the men lead the church while the women played the backfield. It was refreshing to see a woman in a position I’d always thought was reserved for men. Pastor Harriet was leading the service today and I was more than happy to be here instead of at my father’s church once her calming voice spoke into the mic.
“Before we get our service started today, let us pray,” Pastor Harriet announced, while her husband, Pastor Michael, sat in the chair behind her, looking on with a sense of pride.
We bowed our heads, and the prayer commenced. Pastor Harriet stood up there delivering a powerful sermon on the weight of expectations. Then she made it personal, and I was locked in, wishing my parents were here to receive the message.
“As many of you know, tomorrow will make it four years since we lost my eldest daughter, Regina, to intimate partner violence. This is my yearly reminder that we must do a better job of ensuring that we are creating a safe space for our children. Our children should feel comfortable coming to their parents without judgment, no matter what may be going on. My daughter was engaging in a secret lesbian relationship because she feared judgment from me and her father,” Pastor Harriet detailed, pausing to glance at her husband, who nodded for encouragement.
“That relationship was violent, and we knew nothing about it because Regina feared judgment. God does not stand over us with a clipboard, and we should give our children the same respect. Guide them with love and without judgment. Make your presence a place they run to, not one they feel the need to hide from. If you grew up in church and felt more judged than loved… I am sorry.”
Every word resonated within me, making me feel seen and heard. My emotions boiled over, and a few silent tears streamed down my right cheek. I felt Rashawn reach up and gently wipe my tears away while placing his hand on top of mine. My throat tightened, and I pursed my lips together, puffing out my cheeks in an effort to fight the deep sobs that wanted to escape me. The collection plate made its way to our row, and Rashawn removed his hand from mine to drop some money in the wicker basket.
“God is not disappointed in you. He has not forsaken you!” Pastor Harriet continued, and I broke. My spirit shattered into a million jagged pieces, each one quietly falling back into place as I sat in the pews, tears streaming down my face.
“Preach, Pastor Harriet!”
“Come on, somebody!”
The congregation roared in agreement, shouting, clapping, and hollering, their voices rising in a powerful chorus that aided in lifting my broken spirit. Ms. Sasha took notice and consoled me. I knew it was killing Rashawn not to be the person who rubbed my back and held me close while I worked through my emotions. My heart swelled when Ms. Sasha pulled me into her bosom and rocked me like a baby. That pushed me further over the edge because I’d never experienced that level of affection from my own parents. I tuned out the rest of the church service, allowing my low sobs to consume me while I thought about my life. Ms. Sasha was so loving and encouraging, the way she whispered positive affirmations to me.
