Sex In The Sanctuary. Lutishia Lovely

915, she knocked on the door. After a moment, a quiet voice asked tentatively, “Who is it?”

      “It’s your worst nightmare!” Sistah Max explosively responded. “Wife of Bishop Stanley Obadiah Meshach Brook and mother to his four children: King, Queen, Daniel and Esther.” Sistah Maxine was yelling for the world to hear. “Open up this door, you two-bit hussy. I think you’ve got something that belongs to me!”

      Tai was incredulous. She’d never have that kind of nerve. “What happened?” she squealed, leaning forward as though she were watching a thriller on television.

      “What do you think happened? She opened the door. My husband came out, and by this time a few more guests had come out of their rooms as well. Assured that I was the center of attention, I made an announcement. I said real calm and quietlike, ‘You low-life trollop, if I see you or anyone who looks like you with my husband again? I will kill ya and tell God I did it!’” Sistah Maxine’s eyes were twinkling as she relived the story. She buttered the last piece of bread, placed the bread back in the foil and placed the foil in the oven. Before continuing, she took a long swallow from her glass.

      “Well, you know that the next fastest way to spread a message besides telephone is tell a church member. The story was on more people’s lips than that night’s sermon. I became a hero of sorts to the married women and someone not to be messed with to the would-be husband-stealing floozies. It probably didn’t hurt that I signed up for a gun permit as soon as I got back home.”

      “You did what?” Tai exclaimed. No longer able to sit still, she jumped up and reached for a knife and a tomato to begin the salad preparations.

      “Oh, I never got a gun,” Sistah Max went on calmly as she plucked lettuce leaves and placed them in a colander. “But word got out that I had applied.” She took a delicate sip of wine before continuing.

      “The Reverend was in the doghouse for about six months, and I got some of the best jewelry of all our years of marriage. I told him I would not forgive him a second time, and even though vengeance belonged to God—the next bitch I caught him with would think it belonged to me. To this day, to my knowledge anyway, he’s never strayed.” She turned off the fire under the spaghetti, eyed Tai with a slightly raised eyebrow and sly smile, announced that dinner was ready and said she’d “fetch the chil’ren.” Then she drained her glass, patted her coiffed do and walked out the kitchen while humming “I’m a Soldier in the Army of the Lord.”

      Tai smiled at the memory of her mother-in-law all those years ago. That particular heart-to-heart had influenced Tai’s decision to stay married. Mama Max had always been a pillar of strength, but after that day, their relationship took on a new meaning, a more sisterly bond. Tai and King got back together, and although it was different, they were able to pick up the pieces and put them together reasonably well. To his credit, King had gone out of his way to assure her of his love for her and their children. He’d cut back on his overloaded schedule, brought her flowers and gifts, spent more time with her and the kids, and they’d even splurged on a two-week vacation to Orlando, Florida, and Disney World. But Tai never got over the betrayal totally, and after that, all women were suspect. She even felt she’d developed a sixth sense where women who might threaten her marriage were concerned, and that was why Hope Jones was not a surprise.

      Remembering Hope made Tai’s smile disappear. She rose from the couch where she’d downed her second cup of coffee with Bailey’s. She opened the refrigerator but deciding she wasn’t hungry, poured a glass of water instead. She wanted to call Vivian but knew they would still be in church. She needed her friend desperately but didn’t know if she wanted to have this conversation with her. Again. To this day, King denied anything was happening with Hope Jones. Something was going on. King came home later and later. When he was home, he stayed in his office. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. Tai’s intuition told her King was using strike three. She would not be fooled.

      Hearing from God

      The hip-hop sounds of gospel artist Tonex blasted out of Hope’s canary yellow Mazda MG as she sped down I–35 on her way to Kansas City, Missouri, to see her cousin and new best friend, Frieda. “You are my personal Jesus,” she crooned along with the hip-hop singer with much enthusiasm and excitement if just a tad bit off-key.

      Hope felt good. Not only was it a sunny March day in the Midwest, but it was also Sunday, her favorite day of the week. Church had been inspiring. Her praise dance troupe, the Angels of Hope, had performed for the first time and had been heartily received. Their performance alone had been a miracle. It had taken much prayer and a private meeting with the highly opposed Mother Bailey before she convinced this tradition-inclined church matron and others that dancing could be holy, not a matter of “branging that devil’s music into ’de Lawd’s house” as Mother Bailey had more than implied. Even so, Hope had choreographed a conservative routine. She’d prayerfully chosen the music, an updated gospel classic, “I Surrender All.” And rather than have too many steps or other dance movements, she’d decided to use her knowledge of sign language and incorporate a large amount of dramatic hand movements and facial expression into the presentation, combining drama with dance. Not only that but she, along with Sistah McCormick and Pastor King, had codeveloped and taught a two-month praise and worship study course for all who would be a part of the dance or drama department so they would understand the difference between performing for the secular world and performing for the Kingdom. They explained how one’s body could be used as an instrument of praise to God.

      All of the instruction and the rehearsing and the fasting and the praying had paid off. The Spirit of God was evident, even tangible, in the church as the group of eight graceful young ladies danced in their flowing white costumes. Tears flowed from a dancer’s eyes as she remembered her own surrender. One dancer’s face reflected joy, another showed serenity, another, reverence. Their bodies moved as one, twirling gracefully. All to thee, my blessed Savior… Their hands reached toward heaven. Audience members stood with their arms raised in worship. They, too, surrendered everything to God. Problems. Pain. Disappointment. Fear. Their voices rose to join the uplifted arms as saints told God their dreams, desires, needs. The final confirmation of acceptance and proof that God was indeed present was when Mother Bailey, who couldn’t fake getting the Holy Ghost if she tried, had stood crying and moaning reverently, “I surrender, Lawd, I surrender!”

      Pastor King’s message was the crème de la crème. “How To Turn Mourning Into Dancing” was a fitting topic, undoubtedly penned with the dancing troupe’s debut in mind. Had he been inspired after watching their rehearsal earlier in the week? Hope thought so. Perhaps God had spoken to him, as He’d spoken to her. It gave her a warm, fuzzy feeling to think she was on the same page with her pastor because it proved, in her mind, that she was indeed hearing from God.

      Those who tried knew that hearing from God wasn’t always easy. For instance, Hope had been sure she’d heard God say Shawn Edmunds, her former neighbor, first love and boyfriend all through college, was to be her husband. Why else would she have given him anything so precious as her virginity?

      It had happened a couple years ago, during the annual convention hosted by Perry Carlson, a leading minister in Tulsa with a “mega-church” of over ten thousand members. The opening services that Monday night had been extraordinary, and both Hope and Shawn were glad they’d been a part of it. Shawn, a talented bass guitar player with dreamy hazel eyes, filled in for the church’s regular guitarist who’d gone on the road. Known for her original gospel plays and praise dance teams, Hope was seated in the area reserved for special guests, second row center. It offered a perfect place to see and hear the choir and guest speakers, and it gave her two to three uninterrupted hours to stare at and appreciate God’s gift. That was what she considered Shawn to be—a gift from God with her name on it.

      The message that night was entitled “Having by Asking.” The preacher’s text was taken from the Book of James where he, a half-brother of Jesus, was explaining that sometimes people didn’t have what they desired simply because they didn’t ask for it or they asked for the wrong reasons. Hope went home, got on her knees and asked God for Shawn to be her husband. Then she got up, crossed